Isobelle met Gwen’s eye, her brow furrowed. Gwen knew what she was thinking – perhaps Gargery was right. Gwen still wasn’t convinced there was magic at play here, but Isobelle was, and she was almost certainly wondering if perhaps the magic only affected those with unresolved fear.
‘What of the other witches in the area?’ Isobelle asked doggedly, turning her gaze back to the old man. ‘Surely they would have helped talk her down?’
Gargery’s lips tightened. ‘The paladins of the Order said they couldn’t be sure who was causing the attacks, or which ones were her secret supporters. They rounded up every witch within ten miles of the town and brought them to the tower.’
‘And?’ whispered Isobelle.
Gargery’s thumb rubbed slowly at the wooden leg beneath the fabric of his trousers, as if rubbing away some long-ago ache in a muscle that no longer existed. ‘And they never came back.’
It was a quiet walk back to the main town. The girls bade Isobelle and Gwen goodnight at the entrance to the inn, and Gwen and Isobelle went upstairs, both quiet, both absorbed in their thoughts.
‘So the sorceress was real,’ Isobelle murmured, her eyes on the corridor floor. ‘And the paladins were real. And the sorceress did terrorise the town, and the paladins did stop her.’
‘But at what cost to the other witches?’ Gwen finished the thought for her, her own mind grim.
‘I imagine their fate is the same as what would’ve happened to those women who came to Darkhaven to report that a dragon had razed Aberfarthing to the ground.’ Isobelle’s voice was thick and tight – Gwen did not have to know her as well as she did to feel the anger and helplessness radiating from her.
Gwen reached out and took her hand. ‘Perhaps the animal attacks were a coincidence and they simply used this idea of the sorceress to do what men have done since the dawn of time. Round up every independent, intelligent woman in the area and get rid of them all at once.’
‘I don’t believe that.’ Isobelle was chewing on her lip. She glanced at Gwen and saw her expression, and she offered a tired smile. ‘I mean, I certainly believe they’d take the excuse. But Gargery’s story … have you everheard of adeertrampling a man half to death? Something happened here.’
They considered the possibilities in silence.
‘I suppose what we need to do is pay a visit to that tower,’ said Gwen finally. ‘See what we can learn from the ruins to fill in the gaps in the story.’
‘We’ll make a plan tomorrow,’ Isobelle said firmly, her fingers tightening around Gwen’s. ‘Come to my room – I don’t want to go to sleep just yet.’
Gwen had not forgotten the memory of Isobelle in her arms in the water, or the soft heat of her lips, or the sound Isobelle had made when they kissed. Gwen tightened her fingers through Isobelle’s and kept going past her own room towards the one at the end of the corridor.
Isobelle drew her in close, wrapping one arm around Gwen’s neck and seeking her mouth for a kiss, somewhat more tentative than their last, but no less absorbing. With her other hand, Isobelle fumbled for the door latch. They stumbled inside, laughing as Gwen gracefully tripped over something in the gloom, and Isobelle groped for a candle. It took some time to get it lit, and eventually Isobelle had to forbid Gwen from touching her until she got the wick to flame, illuminating the room.
They both froze.
The room had been a mess when they’d left – dresses strewn around in Isobelle’s fruitless search for a bathing costume. Now, it was a disaster.
Boxes and cases had been overturned, and clothes thrown everywhere. Books littered the floor, spines broken and pages torn, and Isobelle’s jewellery had been dumped in a glittering heap on the rug. Her writing case had been torn apart, and ink puddled on the papers, letters and notes scattered across the desk.
Someone had ransacked her room.
15
An expiration date for us
Isobelle stood frozen in place, simply staring at the carnage that had once been her possessions. Ink had soaked into the rug, and flowers lay strewn under the windowsill. Her trunks were open, clothes scattered as if someone had picked them up by the handful and tossed them aside. Her mind jumped from detail to detail, refusing to absorb the whole of it all at once.
She felt … violated. Someone had been here, had put their hands all over her things without her knowing. She felt as if someone had pulled aside the screen while she was in the middle of getting dressed.
‘Stay here,’ Gwen said quickly, instantly becoming the warrior who’d fought a dragon: light on her feet, competent, wary. She moved past Isobelle, taking up a poker from the fireplace and investigating the room.
Once she’d checked under the bed, inside the wardrobe, behind the door, outside the window on the eaves below,and determined they were the room’s only occupants, she lowered the poker and looked back at Isobelle. ‘Who would do this? And why?’
‘They didn’t take my jewellery,’ Isobelle managed, looking down at the sparkling pile, ‘so it wasn’t burglary.’
‘Could someone want to scare us?’ Gwen suggested, doubtful. ‘Want us to leave? Why would they?’
‘You just slew a sea monster, anyway – they can’t possibly have thought you’d scare so easily,’ Isobelle replied. ‘Though perhaps that’s why they targeted me.’
‘The worst part is that the whole town saw us heading off to Lord Bingleton’s, and I’m sure word went around that we were at the springs,’ Gwen said slowly. ‘We can hardly start by asking ourselves who knew the room would be unattended. I don’t believe there are any town guards, but I suppose we could ask his lordship if he has anyone who could try to figure out …’ But she trailed off, pinching the bridge of her nose.
