bed. A few more minutes of rummaging produced a pair of warm, sturdy boots only slightly too large. Though hardly a match for the dress, they would serve for tramping around Roseward. She also found what looked like a waterproof cloak.
After adding these treasures to the dress on the bed, Nelle paused and considered. Somehow she didn’t like to strip and change in this strange woman’s room. But what other option did she have? Carry it all back to the lighthouse and change there, with Mage Silveri just upstairs? No, definitely not.
Nelle hastily pulled at the ties of her blue overdress and left it in a puddle on the floor. Her chemise was in better shape, so she kept it on as she slipped into the soft purple gown.
It was . . . delicious. So smooth and wonderful against her skin. Much nicer than she’d expected. Was this how high-class ladies always felt when they dressed in their beautiful gowns? Why weren’t they happy all the time? Nelle arranged the folds of the skirt, feeling strangely girlish and vulnerable as she swished them this way and that. Seven gods! She felt like a five-year-old child again, dancing in a pretty new frock Mother bought for her with stolen coin.
This thought sobered her somewhat. She wasn’t here to play dress-up. She had a mission, a job to do.
Dropping the skirts to fall almost to the floor, Nelle moved to the vanity and took a seat. The light from two filthy briar-shrouded windows was too poor to see her reflection beyond a hazy impression. An impression that made her frown. Her hair tumbled in a mass of snarled curls over her shoulder. Draggs-wench hair. She might put on the pretty gown and parade around like a little fool. It didn’t change who and what she was.
Nelle narrowed her eyes, meeting her own gaze in the glass. She studied herself for some moments.
“Are you going to do it?” she whispered. Her voice was soft but clear in the quiet room. “Are you going to . . . kiss him?”
That was her job, after all. Mage Gaspard had sent her here for the purpose of taking Silveri by surprise with her poisoned kiss, the Sweet Dreams drug she’d inherited from her mother, which could knock a man out for up to twenty-four hours. Ample time for her to search the lighthouse tower, ample time to find the Rose Book.
The Rose Book . . . which she now knew bound the Thorn Maiden.
Why did Gaspard want that spell so badly? Didn’t he understand that a being like the Thorn Maiden couldn’t be controlled? He would end up like Silveri, his whole life spent trying to contain the nightmare monster before it got out and destroyed everything.
Nelle shook her head and ran a hand down her face, pulling at the skin beneath her tired eyes. What choice did she have? Gaspard had Papa. Gaspard would kill Papa if she didn’t return with that book in the given time. She must do what he wanted.
Mother had charged her to take care of Papa no matter what, and she had promised. She had promised over her mother’s dead, broken body.
Bowing her head, Nelle gritted her teeth. Then she looked up at her shadowy face in the mirror again, her eyes glinting bright. Of course she would do her job. Of course she would get the Rose Book and return to Wimborne. Of course she would kiss Mage Silveri, drug him, leave him gasping on the floor. She would look into his face and watch his eyes as he felt the poison course through him, as he realized what she had done.
Nelle bit down on her lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. “Maybe it’s for the best?” she whispered. “If the Rose Book is taken away, won’t that spare him in the end? If the nightmare is removed, he won’t have to keep fighting it. Maybe he can leave Roseward then, return to his own world. Have a life of his own.”
As if the fae king who’d cursed him would ever allow that to happen.
Her fingers tightened into fists. “Anyway, why are you so concerned?” she growled. “You don’t know him from anyone, and what little you know about him ain’t exactly to his credit. He’s a Miphato, after all. Sure, he’s been kind to you these last few days, but what difference does that make?”
She could argue and rationalize all she liked. The truth remained: