Page 61 of Court of Shadows
I managed a small smile, and swallowed the urge to cry. “I’m only trying to stop a war and outwit an ancient god of the forest. How hard could it be?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Father’s chambers were the very definition of neatness. His bags were arranged in an orderly row under the window, his suits packed in the wardrobe, a leather case with rows and rows of little glass vials sitting on the desk. Most of the rooms in Coldthistle were arranged similarly, with a wardrobe to the left upon entering, a small bathing area connected to a sitting area on the right, and a writing desk beyond, the bed across from the desk and a window center to it all.
The air was thick with his now familiar woodsy cologne, though other whiffs of perfume danced across my nose. My heart raced as I tiptoed to the desk, inspecting the dark leather case. There were three rows of ten little bottles, each fixed with a handwritten label describing the scent within. This was the life’s work of Croydon Frost, a man who was probably rotting in a ditch somewhere, his face and fortune stolen by a mad god.
I peered into his bags but there was nothing of interest there, just jars of insects for his spider and a few changes of undergarments. Nothing. For a “man” of wealth and taste, his traveling style was practically ascetic. But I had seen him handling correspondence, so he must be storing his post somewhere. I returned to the desk, poking lamely at the black case. The bottom of it did seem rather thick, but no tray of bottles sprang out of it no matter what I did. Was it a false bottom?
Running my fingers over the entire thing produced no result. Out of desperation I began picking up each of the vials and checking underneath. And there it was—on the second row of bottles, third from the left, a round depression that looked out of place. I pushed down on the circle and heard the false bottom unlatch, a tray springing out from under the vials.
Stacks and stacks of letters were revealed, and I began paging through them at random. Most were leftover correspondence of Croydon Frost the actual man, for the penmanship did not at all resemble the letter I had received from Father. Underneath those notes was an expense ledger and under that a series of folded papers. I spread them flat on the desk, glancing at the door, reminding myself that I did not have all afternoon to spy through his things.
At first the pages just looked like nonsense, lists of names with lines drawn haphazardly between columns. Then I looked closer, realizing that they were not random at all but organized in chunks. Family trees. At the very top he had listed his own name and then jotted down women he had taken as lovers over the years. And, although the records went back only twenty years or so, there were many name. Dozens. I flipped the page. Hundreds. My stomach tightened, a sick feeling spreading through my body as I read the names over, searching for my mother. Most of the names were crossed off, which I could only assume meant they were dead.
The troubling part was just how many names were struckthrough, and the sheer number of his own children who had mysteriously died young.
My God, in the twenty years since he awoke, he has been breeding offspring and then eliminating them.
I searched desperately for my mother’s name, and in doing so came across a family tree that looked painfully familiar.
1793: Deirdre Donovan________Brandon Canny
Daughter:Amelia Jane Canny
Maryhadkilled Amelia. Mrs. Haylam had been right, only not in the way she thought she was. Was it sheer coincidence that Amelia had been here, too? That she was,God, my half sister? That was his latest kill; other girls remained between Amelia and me, and there were others after, but no other child on the list had their namecircled. Just me.
He hadn’t been lying about that; he really was here for me. I had no idea if I would ever find this list again, and did my best to memorize what names I could that had not yet gotten the strike-through.Auraline Waters, Justine Black, Emma Robinson... I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams that I had this many half sisters. The busy, miserable cheat.
Perhaps I could warn them if my scheme tonight did not go as planned. But then, if that happened, I would not live to write those letters. I thought of all those crossed-off names and wondered if he would kill me, too, after getting what he wanted. He needed the book, and maybe he really was too weak to handleits burning touch, but once he had it I would no longer be necessary.
I left before I could be discovered, a renewed sense of purpose putting wings on my feet. It was late afternoon. Not much time now. I rushed down the stairs, breezing by one of the Residents, who didn’t seem puzzled by my emerging from Father’s room. After all, it was my job to change over the bed linens and empty the chamber pot upon request. My timing was perfect, for I met Lee just as he came scurrying out of the west salon.
“Oh thank God,” he panted. “I couldn’t keep him there much longer, Louisa. Mrs. Haylam needs me—apparently the Breens are getting squirrelly. They checked Malton and Derridon and found nothing, of course. They’re becoming convinced we know something about Amelia. She wants themtaken care ofsoon.”
“No!” I pulled him toward the wall, lowering my voice to a whisper. “If Poppy tries to do anything, we all die, do you understand? Mary isn’t here to shield anyone.”
Lee swore under his breath, nodding and leaving me as he trotted off toward the kitchens. “I’ll see what I can do. Did your, um, chore go smoothly?”
“I found what I was looking for,” I told him resolutely. I very nearly saidMy feet are on the path.What had come over me? “Remember—tonight, nobody goes to the trial.”
“Right. You can count on me, Louisa. We can keep them safe.”
Then he was gone, pushing through the door and into the kitchens. I went on my way, too, rounding the corner and finding Father still tucked up in his chair, reading, his faithful spider companion wandering back and forth across his shoulders.
“I have good news,” I said with top brightness. Of course, as he turned and looked at me I made a big show of checking the room for any listeners. It was stupid, but I needed him to think I was pulling off a grand scheme for him, notonhim.
His smile was wolfish as I approached, thin face dominated by that satisfied grin.
“How did you do it?” he asked, giddily interested.
I leaned over his chair, keeping a wary eye on his spider friend. “I nicked Mrs. Haylam with a knife while we prepared lunch. It was easy enough to get what I needed from Mr. Morningside after that.”
Then I winked and he practically collapsed with laughter. I shivered, remembering the ugly echo of the spiders and snakes that seemed to laugh with him outside the pavilion last night. His eyes twinkled, and I could almost see the red pinpricks there, concealed by his guise.
“I’ve hidden it in a safe location, and as soon as it leaves the house the Residents will realize it, so we must be careful. I will bring it with me to the Court and leave it under the table.Ourtable,” I said, making things up as I went. It was a plausible story and apparently one he believed. “Tonight, after the trial, Iwill bring it to you. I suggest you attend. What I have in store for Mr. Morningside will please you greatly. It will be a night to remember.”
Another wink.
