Chapter Twenty

The night would come back to me in fits and starts, fragments of a dream washed red with blood.

A cry for help. Bones snapping beneath my fingers. The scent of deep forest, then the reek of fear. A body broken on the floor. Golden feathers scattered like fallen autumn leaves.

Someone was holding my hand, but when I tried to sit up I felt the bite of heavy iron chains around my chest and legs. I blinked up at the ceiling, listening to the voices around me fade. The hand in mine was familiar and small.

“She’s awake! She’s awake! And she doesn’t look so mean now.”

Poppy was sitting beside me on the bed; I had another stirring of memory, remembering the times I had woken to her face and voice before. Those times, I had not been strapped down to the bed. My head ached, and I groaned, then accepted a bit of tea from Poppy, who held my head while I sipped.

“It’s very late now,” she said. Mother was there, too, standing at the end of the bed watching over us. She never looked tired, as if impervious to the wear of exhaustion. “The others all got tired and went away, but I said I would stay with you. Bartholomew, too.”

The dog gave a huff from somewhere next to the bed. Restrained, I could only crane my head a little. Blessedly, they had changed my gown and done what they could to clean me. At least I did not feel the wretched digging of bugs in my hair.

“Do I want to know what happened?” I murmured. My throat rasped as if filled with nettles.

“I found you before you could take too much of the sap,” Mother told me gently, her hands folded in front of her. She had left her veil somewhere and stood only in a crinkled silk gown. Her bare arms had dune upon dune of muscle. “Even so, one of the Upworlders noticed you among the trees. They . . . could not withstand your fury.”

“All smashed up,” Poppy clarified helpfully. “Like Mrs. Haylam’s mushy peas.”

“It took all of us to subdue you,” Mother added. Her smile was different now, sad. Mournful. “I will not leave your side. The risk of Father’s influence is too great.”

“The tree,” I wheezed.

“I have seen to it,” Mother said. “I can speak to the heart of a tree, and that one did not go quietly. It left a rotten wound in the earth. When there is more time I will purify it, and soon his ashes will be washed away by rain and wind.”

That ought to have pleased me, but my unease remained. If so much as a speck of him persisted, my control over him was in doubt.

“Even if I remove his spirit,” I murmured, closing my eyes and sinking down into the pillow, “I still have his blood. My father burned a field of captives alive to imprison you. That kind of darkness, that madness, will it always come out?”

Mother came around the bedpost, and Poppy made room for her, the two of them side by side, though it was Mother’s turn to take my hand. There was no reason to doubt her power, but her touch proved it, inducing a soothing warmth to trickle up from my hand to my chest, releasing the tightness there.

“He once gave me a bouquet of enchanted snapdragons. When the sun shone on them, they giggled like children, and when night fell they made the dearest snoring sound,” she recalled, her smile brightening for an instant. “That goodness was in him, too, and I know you have it.”

“Perhaps not,” I said, closing my eyes again. “I can’t seem to stop killing.”

“You will, Louisa. When he is gone and your mind is your own again. I can speak to the heart of trees, yes, but I can speak to the heart of my children, too.” She sighed and squeezed my hand tighter. “I only fear that the Dark One will try to harness your power to fight Roeh.”

Poppy leaned over and poked at one of the chains around my legs. “If we take these off, Louisa can help. I want them to go away and stop being so mean so Bartholomew and I can play in the yard again. I hate being stuck inside all day. It isn’t fair! I haven’t even gotten to do my screams because Mary went to stupid old London.”

She pouted, sliding onto the floor to curl up with the dog.

“I may have to unleash him,” I told Mother slowly. “One more time. If it means I can see him removed, then I will do it. Please try not to be too disappointed. These are my friends, after all, and I would see them protected.”

Her sad smile returned, and the warmth of her touch narrowly stayed my tears. It was hard to cry when she held my hand. I tried to remember if my own human mother had ever demonstrated such kindness, but no memories surfaced, only shouts outside my bedroom door, and my drunk of a father screaming at her while I hid beneath the blankets.

“Show mercy when you can, Louisa,” Mother said, and reached for the first strand of chains, loosening them, “for the world is far too short on it.”

In the morning, I was invited to take my breakfast with Mr. Morningside, though Mother refused to drift far from me. He allowed her to join us in the sitting room just off the main foyer—the place where he had first taught me to change a spoon into whatever my heart desired—but not before I caught the tail end of an argument between him and Dalton. Waiting outside the French doors, I couldn’t help eavesdropping, putting a finger to my lips to keep Mother from saying anything.

“We made a pact,” Henry was saying. He sounded murderous, cold. “And you broke it! In the moment when it mattered most, you broke it.”

“Because you lied.” Dalton, on the other hand, was passionless.

“THAT’S WHAT I DO.”

The house trembled.

Dalton’s voice came closer; he was just about to leave the sitting room. I backed away, pretending we had just descended the staircase and I hadn’t heard the last of their row.

“I know,” Dalton said, opening the doors but turning his head inward. “To my everlasting regret, I know. And I wished—and I wish—that you would be more than that. That’s what a man is—more than his parts, more than his history and his destiny doomed him to be.”

Dalton had no words for us as he marched away from the salon, turning sharply to take the stairs two at a time. I hesitated a moment, listening to his retreating steps, and then tiptoed through the doors to find Mr. Morningside gripping the edge of the breakfast table, his back to us.

“A deal over breakfast,” he crowed after Mary had brought us a light meal of cheese, fresh bread, and what could be spared of the dried venison. She had resumed her role at the house almost at once, as a distraction, maybe, or habit. “Under siege and yet we’re practically civilized. Do you think they ate so well while the horse was being rolled into Troy?”

“I don’t think I care,” I said, exhausted. Mother’s peaceful presence had helped, but being chained to a bed had made sleep a near impossibility. “If you want to make a deal, then Dalton should be here, too.”

We sat at one of the small tables adjacent to the pianoforte, not far from the windows facing the west. It was the farthest room in the house from the shepherd’s property, likely an intentional choice. There had been no signs of activity along the fence, but that made me more nervous. It had all the makings of the calm before the storm, and my foot bounced beneath the table, giddy and alert.

“He has already agreed to recover the book,” he told us, pouring sugar into his tea and stirring it with deft little circles. He was positively singing with cheer. “Your display last night pushed him over the edge. He came to me early this morning and made his offer.”

My appetite was not what I expected it to be. Mother did not eat, either, but held her teacup as if simply for the pleasure of it. I choked down some of my own but took no interest in the leathery venison.

“So Dalton will find the book; then do we depart for Constantinople? How will we make the journey?” I asked.

Mr. Morningside gagged on his scone. “Louisa, you rascal, what makes you ask that?”

Ah. So Dalton had left out the small detail of the diary. I forced myself to take a drink of tea and look casual, but my hands trembled. I wanted to keep my possession of the journal a secret from him for as long as possible. There was every chance that Mr. Morningside would try to rig this deal to his advantage, and I wanted one tiny thing up my sleeve just in case. After all, he had told me himself that I was part of the game, and I needed to act accordingly. “You are in our game now, and in this game, running only takes you to the edge of the board, it does not remove you as a piece.”

“The entrance, the place where the books can be destroyed . . . It’s far to the east, in a salt plain. Dalton told me about it, about you and Mrs. Haylam going there when you were all much younger, just after . . .” I glanced nervously at Mother, but she didn’t seem bothered. “Just after the Schism.”

“Ah, so it is Dalton after all who is the rascal. No matter. Yes and no, Louisa, there is an entrance at Lake Tuz, but there are many, many entrances. I know of one much closer, in fact. You could be there by morning if you left now on horseback.”

I nodded and frowned, feigning puzzlement. Yet what he said made sense. When I’d met the Binder at Cadwallader’s, it had been in a space that was nowhere, and perhaps this place where Henry wanted us to go was similar, a destination between worlds, hiding somewhere in the shadows.

“He also told me there were riddles,” I continued. “As part of our arrangement, I want you to give me the answers.”

“Of course,” Mr. Morningside said. “Dear Louisa, there’s no need to look so cunning. It’s my greatest desire that you should enter the Tomb of Ancients safely and fulfill our bargain.”

At that, I could not hide my interest. I set down my teacup and leaned slightly toward him across the table while he nonchalantly buttered his scone again.

“So you’ve been inside,” I said, repeating his name for the place. “The Tomb of Ancients.”

“Inside? No. No, I’m afraid there are certain limitations that prevent me from entering,” he said. The sigh of frustration that followed seemed genuine, but then, he was a very talented actor. “You, however, should have no trouble infiltrating, so long as you follow my instructions and use your wits. I can only help you so far, Louisa, for I do not know what awaits you inside.”

“But the books can be destroyed there?”

Beside me, Mother winced. I was now a book, having Father’s knowledge of ours buried in my head, and that meant I, too, could be destroyed there.

“Yes, it is where the books are created, I know that to be true,” Henry said, and I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. He flecked a bit of crumb off his jacket and fixed me with one of his wide, charming smiles. A curl of black hair fell roguishly in front of his yellow eyes. “But we must not discuss it aloud in too much detail—it is a protected place, and I am not eager to call out its guardians. I will write down your instructions, the better to avoid detection.”

I shuddered at the thought of anyone getting cut in half by an angry scorpion creature.

“If you insist.”

Mr. Morningside studied me over his cup, perhaps divining that I knew more than I let on. But he said no more on the subject and drank his too-sweet tea. “Then it’s settled.”

“I wouldn’t say that. How do I know you will uphold your end of the deal? I am risking my life to destroy that book. You could simply refuse to help me once I return. No, I think you should remove Father’s spirit from me now, before I fix your problems.” I sat back in the comfortable chair, enjoying his brief but visible discomfort.

He tugged at the bottom of his jacket and looked at me askance. “We will put it down in writing, of course, Louisa, and I always honor my contracts.”

“That doesn’t satisfy me.” I dug my finger into the tablecloth, holding his gaze. “If I return from the Tomb of Ancients and you do not remove Father’s influence over me, there must be some penalty.”

“Such as?” He leaned down toward the floor, then produced quill and ink from a leather satchel. Having arrived in the sitting room after him, I had no idea he had brought his tools along, waiting for just this moment.

“Such as . . .” I paused, but the answer occurred to me quite readily. “Such as the deed to Coldthistle House and all within it. The Black Elbion included.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snorted, smoothing out the parchment next to his breakfast. “That’s hardly fair, Louisa. Be reasonable.”

“Reasonable? A book for a book, it’s the definition of fair, and the house is for my life, the one I might easily lose in the tomb. Those are my terms, Morningside, you are free to refuse me and find another way to unmake the white book.”

I hated the feeling of his eyes burning into mine, and that I wanted constantly to turn away. This was a test, and I was determined to pass. He had, of course, slanted the terms of the deal to his advantage, but if this was a game, then I would not be easily played. At last, he sat back, wetting the pen and putting it to paper.

“Exactly as I said it,” I added. “I won’t have you worming out of this. If you do not remove Father’s spirit from me when I return, having destroyed the white book, then the deed to Coldthistle House and the Black Elbion are mine. And I warn you, I will check that contract over a dozen times if I must.”

“You’re learning,” he muttered. “I’m not sure if I should be relieved or annoyed.”

“Don’t push me.” At that, his eyes flicked up from his work. I continued, “I know why you’re making me wait, why you want Father’s influence to remain as long as possible. You need me to defend against the shepherd.”

“An astute observation.” But he was teasing, and rolled his eyes, writing out the remainder of the contract. I could see him tacking on a clause for Dalton’s part in it, and I would be studying that, too. “I know it would never occur to you that I might have somewhat-less-than-evil intentions, but my feeling is that you will want that unholy strength in you to survive the tomb. All that you have seen, all that you have survived, will be nothing like what it will demand of you.”

Severed fingers. Severed body. Cracks in the skin that bled golden light. Madness.

I swallowed, anxious, and turned my attention to Mother.

“And you know nothing of this place? The Tomb of Ancients?” I asked.

Her eyes went soft, and she tilted her head to the side. The long pink braids of her hair were undone, the long tendrils combed out over one shoulder. She pushed her hands into that tumbling mass of hair and idly began making a plait. “My heart says I know it, long for it, like a child fresh from the womb longs to be swaddled. I know it and yet I do not; I have no memories of it, but to hear the words spoken: Tomb of Ancients . . .” She shook her head and let go of her hair. “I never thought to study such things. I never yearned to go back to the place where we began.”

Mr. Morningside dashed off the final line and blew on the page, then handed it across to me, taking up his tea again. His eyes were distant. Cold. “I pray you never see it, never go near it—”

The lines I cared most about had been copied down correctly, and I put down my signature next to his, unaware that he had trailed off midthought. Then I heard Chijioke crash through the door, gasping for breath.

“They’re here,” he shouted, his hand pressed over his heart. “The Upworlders. They’ve come.”

“What incredible timing they have,” Mr. Morningside groused, standing. He took the contract and rolled it up tightly, then placed it in his leather satchel. “We will need all your fury, Louisa. Give them your worst. We must draw them here in great numbers and give Dalton time to recover the white book. And then? Then it will be your time to see the Tomb of Ancients.”