incident with you tomorrow. If there’s any information you can give me—anything at all that you think might have caused the saboteur to target you last night—it would be of great help to our investigation.”
She nodded, then hesitated as the butler led her toward the stairs. She did have information to give him; she was the only person who knew that the sabotage had been carried out by a sorcerer. Why not tell him now, rather than waiting until tomorrow? It would only take a moment. She paused on the bottom step, feeling dwarfed by the expanse of white marble and gilded banisters. “Sir?”
Ashcroft turned, his ruby eye catching the light of the chandeliers. He didn’t look annoyed, only politely questioning, but her conviction faltered. Perhaps now wasn’t the right time, after all—not with the butler and all the other servants listening.
“Where is your demonic servant?” she asked instead.
Ashcroft looked faintly surprised. “I keep her out of sight during the day, since demons upset my wife, Victoria. It’s for the best. Lorelei has always served me faithfully, but one should never allow oneself to grow familiar with the creatures. It’s best not to forget that they only obey us because they are bound to. Sorcerers have paid dearly for that mistake.”
“Like Nathaniel’s father,” she said tentatively.
“Ah . . . well.” His face clouded. “I don’t know the full story. Only that there were certain . . .” He shook his head. “Alistair was a good man. He wasn’t himself at the end. I wouldn’t wish to speak ill of the dead.”
Elisabeth turned his words over in her head as she followed the butler upstairs. What had Ashcroft meant to say before he’d trailed off?
She couldn’t begin to fathom the bond between Nathaniel and Silas—how it was possible for Nathaniel to be so friendly with him not only knowing what he was, but after what he had done. And yet—Silas didn’t seem to have ever hurt the younger Master Thorn. Why hadn’t Silas taken advantage of the opportunity to harm him when he was only twelve years old, vulnerable and afraid?
She frowned, shoving the thoughts aside. She shouldn’t waste time thinking about Nathaniel. It was none of her business if he wanted to risk his life trusting a demon.
“Your room, miss,” the butler said, stopping outside a door. His voice was muddy-sounding, as if he had difficulty speaking. She looked up at him in surprise, and felt a twinge of unease. He was a huge man, solidly built, and considerably taller than even Elisabeth, which made him the tallest person she had ever seen. His suit fit oddly, and his gaze was curiously unfocused in a waxy face.
A rosy-cheeked servant bustled over, looking flustered. Flyaway strands of mousy brown hair wisped free from her bun. “Oh, good gracious, you’re Miss Scrivener, aren’t you? Come along, come along—I’m Hannah, dear, and I’m going to look after you while you’re a guest here in the manor. Thank you, Mr. Hob.”
Mr. Hob nodded and slumped off.
“Don’t worry about old Mr. Hob,” Hannah whispered, noticing Elisabeth’s stare. “He had a fit some years ago that robbed him of most of his speech, but Master Ashcroft still hired him on when no one else would. A very decent thing to do, and Mr. Hob’s as harmless as a fly, though he does sometimes give people a fright if they aren’t used to him.”
Shame flushed Elisabeth’s cheeks. She resolved not to stare at the butler again, or to be afraid of him. Obediently, she followed Hannah into the room.
At first she couldn’t conceive that this was a bedroom. She felt as though she had walked into an ice sculpture. Everything had been painted, upholstered, or embroidered in delicate shades of silver and white. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, reflected in the vanity mirror. The furniture was carved with elaborate flourishes and curlicues that reminded Elisabeth of the patterns that frost formed on windowpanes during Austermeer’s coldest months; the knobs were made of solid crystal. Most astonishingly of all, a sapphire gown had been laid across the bed, waiting for her. Amid all of the wintry colors, its deep, lustrous blue stood out like a gem against snow.
“There must be a mistake,” she said. Carefully, marvelingly, she touched the vanity table, half expecting it to vanish like an illusion in an enchanted castle. Next she eyed the gown askance, feeling as though it too might disappear if she looked at it directly. “That dress doesn’t belong to