Gwen looked at her, and then followed her gaze up, all the way up to the exact apex of the vaulted ceiling.
There, in the exact pose and style she remembered from Isobelle’s smashed necklace, was an owl. Olivia’s symbol, the symbol of whatever strange life she had led before becoming Isobelle’s maid.
Gwen’s breath came out in a gasp.
Tabitha was watching them intently, her eyes widening, her fingers gripping her own arms. ‘The symbol of the Order of the Evening Star,’ she said, her voice tense. ‘It’s everywhere here. You recognise it?’
Isobelle nodded, her face expressive, showing every turn of her thoughts as she and Gwen both tried to understand what they were seeing.
Olivia – humble, practical Olivia – connected with this ancient order of paladins that fought witches? Yes, Olivia had her mysteries – scars she wouldn’t explain, a skillset that made no sense for a lady’s maid to possess, and contacts with interesting skills that included document forgery and doomsday preparation. But … this?
‘How do you know them?’ Tabitha broke into Gwen’s thoughts like a cord stretched to snapping point. She had taken a step back from them, eyes wide.
‘We don’t,’ Gwen croaked, recognising some rising emotion in Tabitha’s gaze. ‘I promise, we … we had no idea what the owl meant. Isobelle’s maid had a necklacewith this on it. I … she can’t possibly be connected with this …’
Isobelle still hadn’t spoken, but Tabitha’s unease reached her, and she nodded slowly. ‘I can’t explain it, Tabitha. But like Gwen said, we didn’t know anything about this Order, or your mother, or … or any of this, until we arrived in Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea.’
Tabitha’s gaze swung between them, searching and intent. Then she bowed her head. ‘I believe you,’ she muttered. ‘Look … you should both go. Before he comes.’
‘But … you’re coming with us,’ Isobelle replied, brow furrowing.
Before Tabitha could reply, the shadows at the far end of the great hall moved, and a sound came floating towards them, weirdly distorted by echoes and the intervening space.
The necromancer waswhistling.
Tabitha’s whole body tightened, and she drew back into the shadows of the foyer, beckoning Isobelle and Gwen to follow.
‘I was going to show you,’ Tabitha whispered, her eyes fixed on the distant figure, which was setting things out on a table, looking for all the world like a servant setting out dishes for a grand meal. ‘He did something to me when we arrived – some kind of binding ritual, with my blood.’ She raised her hand, and indeed there was a red line across her finger. ‘I can’t leave.’
Gwen set her jaw. ‘Look, there may be something to magic after all – we all felt that spell in the woods, before it started to go wrong – but surely you don’t think he’s actually trapped you here with herbs and spells? You can leave … just put one foot in front of the other.’
Tabitha turned large, hollow eyes on Gwen. ‘I can’t leave. You think I haven’t tried?’
Gwen gazed around the corner at the distant figure. He appeared to be wearing a dark robe of some kind, the hood drawn up. The object he was placing now was – Gwen shuddered – a human skull.
And he just keptwhistling.
A cheery tune, one Gwen recognised from a travelling minstrel who had come through Darkhaven a few months before, about a maiden and a dragon striking up a somewhat unorthodox relationship. Full of limericks and innuendo, a tavern song, designed for laughter and good cheer.
The necromancer adjusted the placement of the skull on the table, and his little chuckle echoed back towards Gwen.
Then he began to stride towards them. Gwen stiffened, and nudged the others until they were behind the pillar, listening to the man’s footsteps. They shuffled a bit to stay concealed, moving sideways to keep the stone support between them and him.
He was now between them and their exit.
Gwen’s eyes scanned the room, until they lit upon one of the torn, ancient pennants – this one was moving slightly, as in a breeze. She caught Isobelle’s eye and tilted her head, summoning her and Tabitha, who Isobelle was holding gently by the arm, to follow her.
Behind the pennant was a section of crumbling wall, beyond which lay the deep indigo-black of the night, visible through a small gap. Gwen peered back the way they had come, and carefully began levering out a few more stones until she could fit herself through. She gestured towards the others, but Tabitha shook her head, her eyes wide and face tense.
Isobelle squared her shoulders. Gwen braced herself, recognising that particular gesture of hers. ‘Right,’ said Isobelle. ‘Come with us. Let’s try it, all three of us. You said magic is about belief – we’ll get you out of here.’ She slipped through the opening and then held out her hand.
The young witch swallowed, her eyes round and lips tight with fear, but she took Isobelle’s hand and stepped forward.
Andscreamed.
Her body spasmed, arching painfully, fingers curling claw-like, eyes wide with agony. Gwen, acting on pure instinct, reached out and snatched her back across the threshold. Tabitha sagged in her arms, and Gwen held her close. She met Isobelle’s gaze over Tabitha’s shoulder – the blue eyes were wide with shock and guilt.
Isobelle wasn’t used to not being able to simply will things to be different.
