I went past a few buildings, but none of them were suitable to search. Too many rooms. It was only when I wandered away from the central courtyards, to the very edge of the residence, that a better target caught my eye: a building with large windows and plenty of footholds. I walked through an archway and viewed it from the other side. Red ivy grew in swaths across its facade. I walked around the building, trying to find an open window. There were none. I’d have to break in. Wait—there was one—a small window, open just a crack, on the first floor. I hauled myself onto a low wall, and from there I took the drainpipe. The window was stuck fast, but I forced it open with one arm. I lowered myself into a tiny room, probably a broom cupboard, thick with dust. I cracked open the door.

I found myself in a stone corridor. Empty. This excursion to the House couldn’t have gone any better. As I examined the doors, looking for some sign of what might be behind them, I tensed. My sixth sense shivered: two auras. They were behind a door directly to my right. I stopped dead. “. . . know anything! Please—”

There was a muffled noise. I pressed my ear to the door.

“The blood-sovereign will not hear your pleas.” The voice was male. “We know you saw them together.”

“I saw them once, once in the meadow! They were just training. I didn’t see anything else, I swear!” This voice was high-pitched with terror. I recognized it: Ivy, the palmist. She was almost choking the words. “Please, not again, not again, I can’t stand it—”

An awful scream.

“There will be no more pain when you give us the truth.” Ivy was sobbing. “Come now, 24. You must have something for me. Just a little information. Did he touch her?”

“He—he carried her out of the m-meadow. She was tired. But he was wearing gloves—”

“You’re sure?”

Her breathing quickened. “I—I don’t remember. I’m sorry. Please—no more—” Footsteps. “No, no!”

Her pitiful cries twisted my stomach. I wanted to flush out the spirit of her torturer, but the risk of being caught was too great. If I didn’t get these supplies, I couldn’t save anyone. I clenched my jaw, listening, shaking with anger. What was he doing to her?

Ivy’s screams went on and on. My stomach heaved when she stopped.

“No more, please.” Ivy was choking on her sobs. “It’s the truth!” Her tormentor was silent. “But—but he feeds her. I know he feeds her, and she—she always looks clean. And—people say she can possess voyants, and he must be—must be keeping it from the b-blood-sovereign. Otherwise she would have been d-dead by now.”

The silence was damning. After that was a soft, heavy thump, then footsteps and a closing door.