Chapter 17
Tonight, there would be magic
Isobelle was the last to breakfast the next morning. She woke from broken sleep with a heavy exhaustion she’d never felt before – not after the worst of her nights on the road, sleeping on the ground or sheltering from the rain.
Now, she was simply empty, strangely disconnected from herself. Hilde left her only long enough to fetch herself some fresh clothes, and then braided Isobelle’s hair for her while she sat quietly.
‘Come,’ Hilde said, linking an arm through hers. ‘We will go downstairs.’
When they arrived in the little room the innkeeper had set aside for them, Sylvie, Jane, Tabitha and Orson were already there, serving themselves from the pot of porridge stewing over the hearth.
Isobelle watched them as if from a distance, and moved to take a seat, ignoring the breakfast offerings.
Then Tabitha stepped aside, and Isobelle saw Gwen.
Gwen looked up at that moment, and when their eyes met, a jolt ran through Isobelle’s whole body, her stomach twisting itself into a knot of distress.
Then Gwen turned back to the cup of tea she was making, and something inside Isobelle curled up as if to brace against a blow.
‘Here,’ Hilde said, setting a bowl of porridge down in front of Isobelle, who immediately nudged it away with one finger. Hilde shot her a startled look of alarm – an Isobelle too upset to eat was an Isobelle none of them had encountered before.
‘So,’ said Jane, dropping into a seat opposite. ‘What’s the plan for today?’
‘We figure out what’s going on in this town,’ Sylvie said, joining her. ‘What kind of spell or curse is in play.’
Everybody looked at Isobelle, waiting for her to take charge. Isobelle couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She wanted to go back to bed, curl up under the covers where nobody could reach her, and wait for the sleep that would free her from the need to deal with any of this.
The silence drew out as Orson took a seat beside Sylvie, Tabitha on his other side, and then Hilde brought over her own porridge. Only Gwen remained standing, focused on the tea she was making as though it was what would save the town from enchantment.
Eventually, when it was apparent that Isobelle wasn’t going to say anything useful, Sylvie sipped her tea and took over instead.
She was clad in one of her usual black dresses, though it was cut fetchingly and she was certainly wearing a hint of colour on her lips that wasn’t strictly a part of the average widow’s wardrobe.
‘It’s time for a council of war,’ she declared.
‘We can’t just meander around, asking people what they think, chasing the fairytales that people tell their children.
We need to find out more about what really happened here.
Old Gargery was helpful last night. His lordship, on the other hand, clearly doesn’t think there’s much of a threat. ’
Isobelle folded her hands in her lap, wishing they weren’t so cold. Some part of her was grateful that her friends were here to carry the load when she was tired. The rest of her was too numb to think properly.
Gwen finally came to join them at the table. The others had left the chair next to Isobelle’s free out of habit, and she was painfully aware of the other girl’s presence as she moved behind her, her skin prickling at Gwen’s nearness.
Gwen sank down into her chair, and then set down the cup of tea she’d been making so carefully, sliding it over until it rested in front of Isobelle.
In her surprise, Isobelle forgot herself, and looked up. Gwen’s green-eyed gaze was waiting for her once more, and though it was guarded, it wasn’t hostile. Then she looked away again.
Isobelle lifted the cup, taking a careful sip. It was loaded with cream and an exorbitant amount of honey, exactly as she liked.
The warmth of the tea spread inside her, thawing her insides.
Gwen had said they’d figure out what was happening here in Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea, and then she’d take Isobelle back to Darkhaven.
This didn’t feel quite like Gwen doing the absolute minimum required for her honour. This felt … like a gesture.
Isobelle took another tiny sip of the sweet tea, and let the warmth of it reach her limbs, along with a tiny, tiny flutter of hope.
Sylvie, not noticing the seismic upheavals happening inside Isobelle, was running through their intelligence by counting points off on her fingers.
‘There was a witch,’ she began. ‘A sorceress, as people called her. She controlled the local beasts, sent them mad, had them attack those who lived here. Perhaps she summoned actual monsters, though we don’t know that. ’
‘Gwen literally just chopped one to bits,’ Jane protested.
‘We know there was a monster,’ Sylvie granted her. ‘We don’t know if it’s connected to the sorceress. We can’t assume anything. Except …’ She glanced at Tabitha. ‘Do you know if your mother … was she a witch, like you?’
Surprise flashed across Tabitha’s features as she looked from Sylvie to Isobelle to Gwen, and back. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied finally. ‘I was so young when she died, I barely remember her at all. My aunts never said anything, and my father had left long before that.’
Hilde got up and switched seats, so that she could sit next to Tabitha and reach out to take her hand. ‘Last night we spoke to Gargery and learned that it wasn’t just the sorceress the paladins dealt with … they took all the witches who lived here in Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea.’
Tabitha stared blankly at Hilde’s gentle face. ‘I don’t understand. Took how?’
‘Well …’ Hilde glanced over at the others. ‘We think they may have killed them. They were led away and never came back. So—’
‘So if my mother was a witch, she may not have been one of the sorceress’s victims at all. She might’ve been killed by the very men who were supposed to come here and protect her?’ Tabitha’s eyes burned with a sudden, intense fury. ‘What was it Lord Bingleton called them? The “shining paladins”?’
‘We’ll find out why, Tabitha,’ Sylvie cut in, her voice cool but firm. ‘We’ll find out what happened. Let’s focus on what we know.’
‘We know Bingleton’s spread the story that the sorceress had a lover,’ Orson said, picking up the list. ‘His lordship said he’s hiding out in the tower, trying to bring her back from the dead.’
‘Perhaps Lord Bingleton was closer to the truth than he knew,’ Tabitha suggested. ‘‘Perhaps her lover was real, and he has already raised her to attack the town that let the paladins murder her.’
‘A justifiable motive,’ Orson agreed, and Isobelle could have sworn she almost saw Gwen smile. It seemed Gwen was hopping on the same ship bound for a romance between Orson and Tabitha.
‘We’re speculating again,’ Sylvie pointed out, drawing all eyes back to her.
‘There is another thing we know,’ Hilde said, swallowing a healthy mouthful of porridge. ‘We know that somebody doesn’t want us poking around what happened here. Isobelle’s room was ransacked last night.’
Every pair of eyes around the table swivelled to Isobelle, who took a gulp of her sweet tea.
‘What did they want?’ asked Tabitha, her gaze intent. ‘Did they take anything, leave any clue?’
Maybe they wanted to ruin my life? If so, job well done.
Isobelle fought the need to look at Gwen, and instead made herself shrug. ‘They didn’t take anything. Not even my jewellery, which they left right out in the open.’
Sylvie leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers.
‘It could be an attempt to drive us away, if they think we’re getting close to some truth they want to hide,’ she suggested.
‘We could go to the tower, but Bingleton has assured us there’s nothing there but an old ruin awaiting renovation.
Doesn’t it seem more likely that one of the townsfolk is behind all this? ’
‘We could leave.’
All eyes turned to Gwen, whose voice had cut through the chatter. She sat gazing towards the window, its thick glazing distorting the view beyond so that the grey sky and greyer sea melded into a single monochromatic ripple.
Isobelle’s heart sank. Gwen wanted to go back to Darkhaven, to relieve herself of Isobelle, to have the space she so clearly desired. Isobelle clung tightly to her teacup, praying it wouldn’t shatter in her hands.
‘You want to run away?’ Orson broke the silence, frowning at her.
‘From what?’ Gwen eyed him, her manner with him much easier than it had been the last few days.
‘From a town that doesn’t want us here, and a few people who find it difficult to speak about an old tragedy?
We’ve killed their sea monster and sampled the town’s offerings for their tour-ists.
I can give it my seal of approval, which is why we came.
It seems someone wants us to leave, so why not go? ’
No one spoke. Not one person in the little gathering seemed to know what reply to give to the idea that Gwen, of all people, wanted to run.
Gwen rose to her feet, dipping her hand into her pocket and drawing out a much-folded piece of paper. ‘I’ve had a letter.’
Isobelle’s throat tightened so abruptly she nearly choked on her tea. Was Gwen really about to share the gory details of what had happened the night before? But no, the letter from her parents was still on her dressing table, in her room, and this …
Gwen had continued speaking. ‘It was waiting outside my door this morning. It’s from Darkhaven’s master-at-arms, Master Grimshaw.
Evidently, it has occurred to Lord Whimsitt that he sent us off to a fun, relaxing travel destination, and that we might accidentally be having a good time, which, obviously, is not to be borne.
Grimshaw writes that we are to return within a week or he will send the castle guard to fetch us home. ’
Isobelle’s headache was back. She rubbed at her temples and said quietly, ‘Is that why you want to go? To obey Whimsitt?’