She carried her candle in one hand and her shoes in the other, making her way as softly as she could to the door of Brión’s quarters. There were no guards in the hallway; she breathed a prayer of thanks and pushed the door ajar. The bedchamber was in darkness. All was silent. Lily lifted the candle, peering in, not quite prepared to walk right up to his bed.

The covers were on the floor. The pillows had been torn open; feathers drifted uneasily in the draft, an eerie summer snow. The chamber was littered with clothing, most of it shredded. It was as if some monster had run riot here. There was no sign of Brión.

“Go,” whispered Lily to herself as her gorge rose and her mind filled with unspeakable images. “Go now and don’t look back.” No creeping out the front door. No slipping out the kitchen door. There would be guards outside; her father was careful. She must go back to her own chamber and out the window, the same as last time. And hope nobody saw her before she reached the little side door. Hope that door was open. She suspected it would be; the uncanny wind would have seen to that. Her adversary had challenged her. Lily had promised herself she would be brave, and she would meet the challenge. Ash, she thought, making his name a talisman to keep her safe. I’m doing it for you, Ash. I’ll fetch you home and make an end to this.

A sudden tap at the door.

Geiléis started, nausea rising in her at the wrenching interruption. She had been deep in the tale. She ran down the steps, strode to the door and flung it open. Senach cringed visibly, as if he expected her to strike him. She had never hit him; he was a good servant. “What?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion, my lady. This is something you will want to hear.”

At her gesture, the steward entered her quarters, closing the door noiselessly behind him.

“Very well. Tell me.”

“The scholar, Master Flannan, has come down from St. Olcan’s, and he has brought some news that may be unwelcome to you.”

“What news? Should I be speaking to Master Flannan in person?”

“You are the best judge of that, my lady. Master Flannan is talking to Mistress Blackthorn. Telling her and Grim of a secret store of manuscripts that was uncovered when the contents of the scriptorium were removed in preparation for the roof repairs. They thought they’d got everything out, but these were cunningly concealed, and were only discovered today. Master Flannan believes one of the documents may concern the . . . the history of the Tower of Thorns.”

She was as cold as ice. It was that night all over again, and the chill embrace of a fey wind. Oh, foolish human girl!

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that Master Flannan has brought this document with him,” she said. She would burn it. Tear it in small pieces and scatter it to the winds. Drown it deep.