Ashcroft would be at the Royal Ball, too. She wouldn’t even be able to see Nathaniel’s completed illusion. . . .
She sat up straighter. “Wait a moment. I’ve thought of something.”
“Tempting as the prospect is,” Nathaniel said, “we are not attempting world domination. It sounds fun in theory, but in reality it’s a logistical nightmare. All those assassinations and so forth.” At her blank look, he explained, “Silas used to tell me bedtime stories.”
“I’m serious,” she insisted. “I’ve had an idea. We may not have the evidence to make an official accusation against Ashcroft, but that doesn’t mean we’re helpless. We can still show everyone who he truly is.”
“I don’t follow.”
“We confront him in public, at an event where all the important people in Brassbridge can see his reaction. He believes he destroyed my mind. And even before he used that magic on me, he had no idea that I overheard everything he said while I was under Lorelei’s glamour.”
She saw the moment that Nathaniel understood, because his expression went carefully neutral. “You want to take the offensive,” he said slowly. “Reveal yourself to Ashcroft, and make a public accusation before he can regain control of the situation.”
She nodded, leaning forward. “Everyone might think I’m raving mad at first, but there are too many suspicious coincidences to ignore. He won’t be able to talk his way out of it. And with you by my side, accusing him along with me . . . think about it. Even if he tries to hurt us, he’ll only prove—”
“No,” Nathaniel interrupted. “Far too dangerous.” He stood and briskly clapped his hands. “Meeting adjourned.”
She grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back down before he could cast the spell to dismiss Katrien. “When is the Royal Ball? It’s soon, isn’t it?”
Nathaniel scowled.
“The ball is this weekend, Miss Scrivener,” Silas provided. “Master Thorn, of course, is expected to attend, and his invitation includes a companion.” When Nathaniel shot him a look of betrayal, he returned an angelic smile. “You did not order me to be silent, master.”
Elisabeth ignored Nathaniel’s sputtered protest. “Silas, would you be able to keep an eye on Ashcroft for us? Without him seeing you?”
He considered the question for a moment, then inclined his head. “I could follow him throughout the night, in case he attempts to retaliate. The Chancellor’s servant, Lorelei, is not a significant threat to me. Nor are the lesser demons in his service.”
A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the way Lorelei had spoken about Silas in Ashcroft’s study. “The Royal Ball would be a perfect opportunity,” she said, turning back to Nathaniel. “And with Silas watching out for us, we would be far safer. Please,” she added. “I know this is a last resort, but it could be our only chance to stop him.”
“You might as well do it,” Katrien said from the mirror. When all three of them looked at her, she shrugged. “Provoking the kingdom’s most powerful sorcerer, turning Elisabeth loose in a ballroom . . . what could possibly go wrong?”
TWENTY-FIVE
PRESENTED WITH THE genuine article, Elisabeth conceded that it had, indeed, been foolish of her to mistake Ashcroft Manor for a palace. The real palace was so large that she couldn’t see the entire building through the carriage’s window. Instead she gaped at its towers upside down in the reflecting pool, which flashed past for an eternity, lit by votives floating on the water. She felt as though they had passed into a different world, leaving the city far behind. The drive up the lane clung to her like a spell—the trees sparkling with fairy lights, hedges trimmed into geometrical mazes, and fountains in the shape of swans and lions, everything veiled in the alluring shimmer of dusk.
But her bewitchment faded like a glamour as the coach slowed, joining the line of carriages pulling up at the front doors. The carriages stretched in a chain all the way around the reflecting pool, ejecting an endless stream of guests, who ascended the steps in candlelight. Soon, she would have to convince all of them of Ashcroft’s guilt.
Her stomach lurched when the coach came to a full, final stop. A servant in the palace’s rose-colored uniform opened the door, and Elisabeth accepted Nathaniel’s hand, stepping down carefully in her tightly laced silk shoes. His severe expression faltered as his hand grazed the cape covering her gown.
“Scrivener,” he said carefully, “I don’t mean to be forward, but is that a—”