Page 46 of Blackthorn

As appallingly amateurish as her theatrics were, they did the trick with Jane. “Hot water and baking powder will get that out. I’ll see you tomorrow, ya?”

Charlotte thanked her for the tip and retrieved her coat—Draven’s coat, actually—before exiting the greenhouse.

The brisk air slapped against her skin, making her eyes water. She clutched the collar of Draven’s coat, holding it closed against the wind as she headed across the roof.

Eyes watched her.

She turned around to face the blank stare of the darkened windows of Draven’s private tower that no one ever entered.

Or left.

Prisoners were also held in towers.

The thought floated up from her reading of Old Earth histories. She could cite one very famous tower and probably dig up another half-dozen examples if she had a few hours to spend in a library. Usually, one thought of a dungeon or oubliette when it came to prisoners. Perhaps instead of searching the bottom of the Aerie, she should have been searching the top.

No. It was obviously a trick.

Charlotte turned her back to the tower. Three facts ran through her mind.

Draven said she could go anywhere she pleased, except for the restricted areas.

Stringer gave her a key that opened any door.

Jane and Orianne said Stringer was not to be trusted.

The connections were not difficult to make. The key was a test to see if she could follow the vampire’s one rule. Whether it was a test of Draven’s design or Stringer’s plotting remained to be seen.

But Lord Draven never clarified what areas were restricted, and he certainly did not say she was allowed to go wherever she found an unlocked door. He said anywhere.

If there was even the slightest chance that Miles was being held captive in that tower, she had to investigate. She had a key, after all.

Charlotte hurried across the snowy rooftop before she could talk herself out of this clearly bad decision. Miles needed her. She had few friends in this world. Solenne. Her books. Miles. Luis. And now Jane. Precious few. She couldn’t afford to abandon any of them.

With trembling hands—from the cold, she told herself, not nerves—she slotted the key into the keyhole. It turned easily. She pushed the door open and quickly stepped inside.

Chapter Twelve

Charlotte

The Aerie

Draven’s Private Library

Her spectacles fogged over instantly. “Oh, bother,” she muttered, tearing the frames from her face. She could see well enough without knowing if she was in immediate danger, but she couldn’t see a thing under the lenses adjusted to the warmth.

Well, marginal warmth. Certainly warmer than being outside in the wind.

She stood in a small foyer with a staircase to one side that curved along the tower’s wall and a door to another room. Silence filled the space. No voices. No jailors threatening captives. No cries of agony. Not even a clanking of chains.

Charlotte returned her spectacles to their normal resting spot on her face and continued her exploration, starting with the door immediately before her.

“Now this is a library.”

And definitely not a prison cell.

She turned in a slow circle to take in Draven’s private library.

Shelves laden with books lined both the lower and upper levels of the room. The dark wood had been polished to a sheen. Lemon and wax scented the cold air. Thick rugs with vibrant patterns covered the stone floor. Oil lamps, currently not burning, promised a soft glow with their flame safely behind a glass. Two richly upholstered navy-blue armchairs sat by an empty fireplace. Charlotte could easily picture herself curled in front of the fire for hours.

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