Page 74 of The Secrets of Roan Island

She straightens and takes a step toward me. “Noah?” She sniffs the air. “You’ve seen my brother.”

She looks so much like him they could be twins. Maybe they are. I wish there was more light.

“Yes. I was with Noah… Trying to find a solution to the venom problem.” Perhaps if she knows what we were doing, she’ll trust me and become an ally.

“I can smell him on you.” Her look is penetrating, a surgeon separating muscle from sinew.

I blush and turn away. “Where are we?”

“My prison,” she replies austerely. “Come with me. We won’t have long to wait, but we might as well be more comfortable.”

“Wait for what?” I ask, scrambling after Zarah as the light disappears through a doorway.

“Winter Solstice. The moons will rise soon, and he’ll come for me. You too, I suspect.”

The room is comfortable, with a neatly made bed and a desk on which sits a closed, leather-bound journal that remindsme of Noah’s great-great-grandmother’s journals. A fire dances behind a grated fireplace, a tin beside it filled with wood. An abandoned embroidery project lays haphazardly on a small sofa. In the corner, a copper tub sits beside a wardrobe and a dresser with a mirror. A bookshelf graces the other wall and a table with two chairs fills the middle of the room. Everything an imprisoned person might need.

“How long have you been here?” I ask, turning to take in the room.

“Too long.” She stills, then sits on the sofa. The embroidery hoop slips and clacks against the wooden floor. “Sit.”

I don’t. Instead I study her, unsure. “Why are you here?”

She raises her eyebrows at me as if the question is absurd. “Have you met Hammish?”

I guess it’s not surprising that a man like that would keep his daughter under lock and key. He’s a monster. I bet he uses her against her brothers for his own sick pleasure the same way he tortured Shemaiah to punish Noah. I swallow the tears that rise in my throat. “He tortured Noah.”

“I hate him.” When I look up, startled and confused, she clarifies, “Hammish.”

She waves a hand at the chair near the table and again tells me to sit, her voice softer this time. I drag it closer to her and sit down.

“Where are Shemaiah and Jafeth?” she asks.

“Gone. To collect the women for tonight.”

She nods. “They’ll be back soon.” Standing, she silently paces. “Why areyouhere, Ruby Rose?”

I don’t know her, and yet, I find myself telling her everything. Well, almost everything. I mention the research and Hammish’s invitation. I tell her about the new moon party, leaving out private details, of course. I tell her about discovering the Gate House and the morgue.

She listens, attentive and thoughtful. When I tell her about helping Noah with the research, she tilts her head, a shrewd and intelligent look in her eyes.

After I finish telling her how Hammish brought me here, she stares at me unnervingly.“You love him?”

“Excuse me?”

“Noah.”

I swallow. My heart picks up speed, my stomach light and twitchy. Do I love him? I remember the pain of learning about the women in the morgue, of what he’s done. I think about my longing for him. I think about coming together only hours ago, and the gentle, beautiful meeting of our bodies and minds. Of wanting to take care of him, just like his grandmother’s journals described her desire to care for her mate. As much as I want to deny where my feelings have taken me—and it would be smarter to deny it—I can’t.

Voice caught in my throat, all I can do is nod in affirmation.

“I need you to see something.” Zarah moves to the desk and back so quickly, I’m not prepared, nearly toppling backward on my chair. She grasps the chair’s back to keep me upright, then holds out a book. It’s just like the journals from the Gate House, aged leather and pages that seem ready to crumble with a touch.

“This was one of the books my father dumped in here to keep me entertained.”

I open it to see the familiar script of Noah’s great-great-grandmother. “Another journal.” It’s in Mavarri like the rest “Has Noah seen this one?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

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