The other girl started and glanced back at her.
Gwen studied her face, unable to pinpoint one specific cause of her uneasiness, but unable to dismiss it either. ‘Is everything okay?’ she settled on, pitching her voice too low for the servant to hear.
Isobelle hesitated. Then her gaze warmed, her lips curved, and she tilted her head in that way that made her blue eyes sparkle. ‘Everything’s fine – I’m just desperate to find out what on earth is goingonin this place! Let’s go talk to Bingleton.’
Gwen fell into step behind her, a chill numbness aching where usually Isobelle’s smiles left a tingling warmth. She’d seen Isobelle pull out that particular smile so many times she knew it by heart – it was so expert that scarcely anybody noticed that the warm gaze, the curved lips, the sparkle … they were a mask. An expert mask, but a mask nonetheless.
And one Isobelle had never before used on Gwen.
Gwen gave herself a shake. Isobelle had said there was nothing wrong; Isobelle didn’t lie, not to her. The mysteries of this place were enough to drive anyone to distraction. That was all it was.
They’d left a message for Tabitha, telling her where they intended to go, so Gwen was not entirely surprised to see the young red-haired witch waiting in the sitting room to which the servant led them. She was, however, surprised to see who had come with her.
‘Orson!’ Isobelle exclaimed, coming to a halt. ‘What are you doing here?’
Orson bowed to Isobelle and then to Gwen. His manner was as chivalrous as ever, though he still didn’t meet Gwen’s eyes. Or Isobelle’s, Gwen noticed. ‘Tabitha came to the stables for the loan of a horse while I was visiting my own. I offered to accompany her on her ride.’
‘Well, well,’ murmured Isobelle, looking briefly smug. As the servant led all four of them out, Gwen stepped closer to Isobelle.
‘Are you trying to set up Orson and Tabitha?’ she whispered incredulously.
‘And why shouldn’t I?’ Isobelle replied, flashing Gwen a conspiratorial grin – one that banished once and for all Gwen’s earlier misgivings. ‘Tabitha obviously doesn’t take any nonsense from anyone. She’ll soon have him sorted out.’
‘But isn’t Orson, you know … do you think he’d be interested?’
Isobelle hesitated, and Gwen waited for her to organise her thoughts. Isobelle had known Orson since they were children, and his preferences were not so easily summarised – she and Gwen had discussed this before, for he made it no secret around those he trusted, and for a time, the three of them had trusted one another.
He was still a romantic, still longing for partnership, just … not so much into the physical acts to which such partnerships usually led. When he and Isobelle were younger, he’d waxed poetic about courtly love – the kind of love that never progressed beyond admiration and devotion – and how alien he felt when he realised all the other knights seemed to feel quite differently.
‘Maybe Tabitha shares his particular leanings,’ Isobelle said. ‘Perhaps she also sees the value in romance. You never know.’
The servant led them to Bingleton’s receiving room, an airy chamber on the newer side of the house with tall windows that cast long knives of afternoon light across the carpeted floors. Lord Bingleton himself awaited them there, and offered them all a bow of greeting.
‘Welcome, ladies, Sir Orson, and … er … um,’ he said, bungling Gwen’s titles somewhat before plastering a smile on his face that did not quite distract from the beads of perspiration that had broken out across his brow. His blond curls were perfectly coiffed, however, and his attire was impeccable. ‘May I offer you something to—’
‘Cut it out,’ said Isobelle smoothly, advancing upon the poor young lord like a particularly genteel cat upon a mouse. ‘We need some straight answers, Lord Bingleton. No more of this “legendarye” talk. What really happened? You were quite shifty about the sea monster when we arrived. You must be aware that your people think it’s the work of the evil sorceress, back from the dead.’
The air went out of Bingleton and he sagged like one of those big, floppy dragon streamers once the wind had died. ‘Listen … Lady Isobelle—’
‘Yes?’ Isobelle said sweetly.
‘Back from the dead? It’s nothing like that. I—’ Bingleton blinked furiously, then sank down onto an ancient carved chair with a groan. ‘I didn’t want us to be known as “that sea monster town”!’
Orson made a choking sound. ‘You’re setting this place up as a shrine to an evil sorceress, and you draw the line at sea monsters?’
‘Yes, but that’s mostly make-believe. All ancient history, over fifteen years ago. The sea monster isreal. Was real, anyway.’ Bingleton gave Gwen a tentative, nervous grin. ‘Do you have any idea how much attendance has fallen at the Darkhaven weekly market? Lord Whimsitt says nearly twenty per cent! People don’t want to be eaten by a dragon. No offence, miss. Er, sir. Er … miss.’
Gwen waved aside his fumbling and took a seat near his, resting her elbows on her knees. ‘I found the prospectof being eaten by a dragon somewhat alarming myself,’ she muttered.
Isobelle glanced at her. For a moment the other girl’s eyes were grave and intent, but then the mask came back and she clicked her tongue at the man now sagging in his chair. ‘You owe us an explanation, Lord Bingleton.’
‘I want this place to be a destination for travellers,’ Bingleton responded, gazing from Isobelle to Gwen and back again. ‘La tour de la mort. Iknowpeople will come from leagues away to see it and take part in the story, and many of them will be coming by sea. These tour-travellers – tour-ists? – they don’t want real danger, only the seeming of it.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’ Isobelle shook her head. ‘You owe us an explanation for what’s happening in your town, Lord Bingleton. Something is affecting your people. Are you not aware that they seem to be under a spell?’
Gwen watched Isobelle out of the corner of her eye with a sort of awed fascination. When Isobelle got it into her mind to do something, she did it, come hell or high water. Gwen could’ve burst in here with her half-finished sword and tried to appear threatening, but Isobelle, with her lavender gown and carefully styled hair was far more terrifying than Gwen could ever hope to be. And all without ever uttering a threat.
Isobelle could talk about the evil spell afflicting the town until she was blue in the face, but Gwen thoughtprivately that there was no better proof that magic existed than Isobelle herself.
