“I’d love nothing more than to hear your account.” The duke’s eyes grew round and exultant. Then they fell on the sword on her hip. “What a beauty! That’s true Danubian steel if I ever did see it.”

Perfect. Una would never be free of him now.

Wren grabbed Hal’s hand and squeezed. The last thing she saw before they melted into the crowd was Una’s face contorted with pure, agonized hatred.

Down the ladder and beyond the locked door, Wren struggled to keep herself steady. It wasn’t the darkness that unsettled her, or the cold seeping into the thin fabric of her gown like bog water. It was the way her magic went completely silent.

When she and Hal snuck into the east wing last week, it had nearly screamed at her. It had pulled her to whatever lay behind this door, to the heart of the rot in Colwick Hall. Now, as she and Hal descended an echoing stone staircase, she couldn’t help feeling abandoned, bereft. Whatever had been here before was gone.

What had happened here since they left?

The staircase beyond the door eventually opened into what felt like a cellar, as open and wet as a fresh wound. Hal flipped a switch, and electric sconces surged, buzzing in protest, until the room came into view orb by wavering orb. Although the gloom still hung as thick as low-hanging fog, pale unnatural light shone on the glass vials and gilt book spines that lined the shelves.

The worn red carpet muffled the sound of their footsteps. As she passed a tidy writing desk, Wren trailed her fingers over the page of a book propped open. An empty cup lay beside it, old coffee staining the silver spoon laid out on the saucer. The quiet ordinariness of this place unsettled her. It was too lived in, too frequented.

“There’s another door over here,” Hal said, startling her.

“I really don’t want to go in there.” But Wren knew their answers lay on the other side. She just didn’t know if she was ready to face them. She forced herself away from the solidity of the desk and into the cold, empty air. One step at a time.

Her fingers curled around the doorknob.

Hal gave her a reassuring nod.

She pulled open the door and immediately gagged.

It reeked of death. That sickly sweet, old-meat stench dragged her back to the war, to memories of tents filled with dying soldiers, of bodies bursting open and rotting on the riverbank.

You’re here, she reminded herself. Stay here.