Page 68 of Enslaved

Well done.Emma’s voice whispers in the back of my head, soft as a half-remembered lullaby.Well done, my love. We do what we must. Every sacrifice is worth it in the end. We must save them. We must save them—

“Miss Darlington!”

I look up, confused. I seem to be leaning heavily against a shelf of books, my breath coming in short, painful gasps. Through the darkness and the haze, I can just discern Thaddeus Creakle’s square spectacles gleaming on the end of his nose. He holds a lantern high, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of my ball gown. “Why, Miss Darlington, this is a surprise. You do look rather well, don’t you?”

It's too much.

I burst into tears. Great, fat, soppy tears, accompanied by choking sobs. Poor Thaddeus leaps back a step or two, wholly unprepared for such a deluge of emotion. But he steels himself and hastens to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “There, there,” he offers timidly. “You’ve had a turn, haven’t you? Come with me, my dear. We’ll find you a quiet place to rest, to recover yourself.”

He keeps up this gentle crooning as he guides me to his favorite workroom in the back of the library. The sight of all those bookbinding tools, those stacked and scattered pages, and numerous leather volumes halfway through repairs, makes my heart twist with something between pain and relief. This is where I belong. Here is work which always needs doing, and these books won’t try to kill me while I’m at it. Maybe it will be good. To return to Aurelis, to keep company with Thaddeus and the other librarians, to forget . . . to forget . . .

“Here, Miss Darlington.” Thaddeus eases me onto the work bench then fishes into the front of his robes and produces a large handkerchief. Accepting it gratefully, I dab at my eyes and blow my nose, gasping out apologies to which he responds with a gentle, “No, no, not at all.” Only when I’ve finally managed to calm myself and drawn a few steadying breaths, does he ask, “Is there anything I can do?”

I twist the sodden handkerchief in my fingers. “There’s nothing anyone can do. I . . . I fear I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Oh?” Thaddeus perches on the bench beside me and rests his hands on his knees. “Well, surely even the worst mistakes can be undone again. The first step is acknowledgement of error, and there! You’ve covered that already.”

I sniff and dash a last stray tear from my cheek. “I don’t think it’s as simple as that.” Seeing the concern in his wrinkled face, I hastily shake my head and force a little smile. “But in other news, I hope I’ll be rejoining the library staff soon.”

“Is that so?” Thaddeus smiles back and pats my hand fondly. “I must say, I would be delighted to have you back. None of these others are worth half of you, and the pixies have been causing all sorts of trouble lately. In fact, I would love to—”

“Clara!”

My blood runs cold. Still seated, I turn sharply to the half-open door, gripping my skirts. I know that voice too well to mistake it.

“Clara Darlington!”

Muttering under his breath, Thaddeus gets to his feet, steps to the chamber door, and utters a threatening librarian’s,“Hsssssst!”

A figure in elegant livery steps into view beyond Thaddeus’s stooped shoulders. Danny. Pale as the dead, his shoulders straight and firm. He bows to Thaddeus. “Your pardon, Master Librarian. Lord Ivor has summoned Clara Darlington to attend upon him at once. Have you seen her?”

My heart sinks like a stone. Immediately, the vicelike grip of Obligation takes hold. I know then that the Prince has done as I commanded. Up until this moment there was a part of me which had hoped he would resist, would find a way to break my hold over him. And I would hate him and rail at him for thwarting my plans and secretly bless him without even knowing I did so.

But no. The Obligation holds me with a force I’ve not felt since I was Estrilde’s minion.

“Miss Darlington?” Thaddeus turns to me, his brow crinkled with concern. “Do you know what this might be about?” His voice trails off as he gets a good look at my face. “Oh,” he finishes softly. “I see.”

I step out from behind him. “Thank you, Mister Creakle.” I offer back his handkerchief, but he shakes his head, indicating I should keep it. I smile weakly then turn to face Danny, my expression a careful blank. “Yes. I’m coming.”

Danny is silent as he escorts me from the library. Once outside, he tries only once to speak, but cannot seem to find the words. He manages only a faltering, “Clara?”

I cast him a sad look. The Obligation is pulling me, leading me away from him. It hurts, and I cannot linger, so I quickly take his hand and squeeze it. “Have courage,” I whisper. “It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

Before he can answer, I gather up my skirts and hasten away. He does not call after me or try to follow. Perhaps his own Obligation to Estrilde prevents him from doing so. What a pretty pair we make—he enslaved to Estrilde; me to Ivor. A well-matched set, some might say. But not for much longer. The Prince must even now be well on his way to Illithorin’s Waste. How he will find his way to the towers, I cannot guess. But he will. I know he will. And he’ll retrieve the Water of Life, and he’ll fulfill each of those mad bargains I’ve made. He’ll be back with the bloodgem before I know it. Surely.

I remember the way to Ivor’s chambers, though I’ve never been inside them before. Estrilde used to send me with little messages and gifts for him. That was until she began to suspect his partiality for me more than a year ago. I’ve not been near his apartments since. Now the pull of the Obligation urges me on. It isn’t long before I’m standing in front of his door, knocking timidly.

It opens at once. One of Ivor’s servants, a dwarf man with a thick black beard, greets me as though he knows who I am. “Lord Ivor awaits you in the front room, miss,” he says, beckoning me. I nod and slip through the door, following the servant down a short passage. He opens another door, peeks inside, and announces, “Miss Darlington, your lordship.” I draw a long breath, let it out slowly. Then, taking hold of my courage with both hands, I step through.

And find myself staring into the Prince’s violet eyes.

He’s here.

He’shere.

He shouldn’t be, but he’s here, leaning against the arched window frame across the room, arms crossed, face masked in a nonchalant smirk.

I stop dead in my tracks. My heart seems to have stopped as well. Because he’s here. I’d convinced myself he was long gone, and now . . .

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