Adne wasn’t surprised to find the entire tour group staring at her, waiting for her answer. Sabine probably was equally unsurprised that Adne hadn’t been paying attention to the narrative as the tour progressed through Rowan Estate.
“No, thank you,” Adne answered, making sure to smile at the tourists.
It had to irk Sabine that she’d been assigned the worst apprentice ever. Adne couldn’t believe otherwise. But Sabine never showed irritation at Adne’s shiny new absentmindedness, and Adne presumed that Sabine’s kindness was a sign of concern.
Adne’s own lack of annoyance upon being reprimanded for her nighttime excursion to Rowan Estate and subsequent assignment to assist Sabine with the tours derived from her own fears. Though Adne sensed her punishment was intended to be of the “be careful what you wish for” variety, Adne didn’t mind the days confined to Rowan Estate and kept under Sabine’s guard. The night in the garden had frightened Adne enough that she welcomed Sabine’s vigilance . . . at least so far.
And at least enough that she felt guilty about being such a poor tour guide, more of a burden to Sabine than anything resembling helpful. Adne had a hard time keeping on task, whether it was during the actual tours or studying the history and anecdotes necessary to keep visitors entertained. Most days Adne could barely recall things about Rowan Estate that she should have known offhand. There didn’t seem to be room in her mind for any of it.
Since the incident (that was what Tess called it when doling out Adne’s punishment), there were only two things that Adne could concentrate on for sustained periods of time: the hazy memories of what transpired in the garden and the contents of the papers she’d found just before something or someone had beckoned her into the winter night.
Adne studied those papers when she was supposed to be memorizing the tour scripts. While other facts and stories slipped in and out of her mind, unable to find a resting place, Adne had no trouble committing what she’d discovered in those old pages to memory.
Perhaps the exception could be accounted for because of the unsettling information scrawled across the yellowed paper. Or maybe it was because Adne was certain that information had profound implications, but she wasn’t sure what those implications were.
I should tell someone.
That thought crossed Adne’s mind at least twice an hour, but it was always chased away by that low voice.
This is a secret. It’s our secret.
Adne repeatedly justified her silence about the pages by assuring herself that anything they might have once revealed was made obsolete by the Rift’s closing.
It didn’t matter that all Keepers were not created equal.
It didn’t matter that the Harbinger’s bond to this world had been manifested physically as well as magically.
It didn’t matter that the Searchers’ salvation, the long-awaited Scion, shared the same blood as the bringer of their doom.
All of that was past. What Adne knew would someday feature in the footnotes of a history book or as obscure trivia about the Witches’ War.
As she rationalized the keeping of these secrets, one crack in her resolve remained.
Logan, too, carried the blood of the Harbinger. And Logan had hired thieves to ransack Rowan Estate’s library.
Logan was hunting for something. And Adne couldn’t help but wonder if she’d found it. Even if she had, she didn’t know why Logan would risk exposing himself to the Searchers. He must believe there was something to gain by tapping into the origins of the Keepers.
But what?
The tour group began to move along the hall, and Adne tried to listen with interest as Sabine described the estate’s art collection. This part of the tour was utter fabrication given that Bosque’s paintings of captured Searchers in torment had been disposed of and replaced by greatest hits of the Dutch masters and landscapes by William Sonntag. But Adne only managed to focus for two paintings before something turned her head toward the far end of the hall.
The sound was so quiet, Adne considered for a moment that she’d simply imagined it. Only for the sake of curiosity, Adne took a couple of steps in the direction from which the noise that might not have been a noise came. She heard it again.
Muffled, but plaintive, with a keen edge that could not be silenced.
Adne glanced at Sabine, who was directing the herd of tourists into the next room. Determining that she could slip away for a few minutes without causing alarm, Adne stayed toward the back of the group, and when the last visitor had entered the conservatory, Adne quickly walked in the opposite direction.
Keeping her footsteps light, Adne followed the strange sound. It pulled her down the hall as if she held a string that someone on the other end was slowly winding up. The sound led her around a corner into a hallway whose rooms were hidden behind closed doors.
Still following the noise, Adne approached one of the doors and pressed her ear up against it.
A shaking breath. A choked-off sob.
Someone was inside. And they were crying.
Adne didn’t knock. Instead, she turned the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.
The weeping stopped suddenly.
“Who’s there?” a woman’s tremulous voice called out.
Adne peeked her head into the room. Her throat closed up when she recognized the questioner.
Sarah Doran’s eyes were bloodshot, her face chalk white. She was kneeling on the floor beside an open steamer trunk, and her arms were wrapped around what appeared to be a baby’s blanket.
“Oh, Ariadne.” Sarah squinted at Adne, and some of the hostility left her voice. “I don’t mean to be rude, but is there a reason you’re here?”
Letting herself into the room, Adne approached Sarah cautiously. “I’m helping with the tours.”
“The tours.” Sarah’s face scrunched up. “How quickly they’ve forgotten this was someone’s home.”
Adne began to frown, but then she noticed the room’s features. Unlike the opulence of Rowan Estate’s other rooms, this bedroom was simply appointed. And it looked as though someone was still living in it. A hooded sweatshirt was casually thrown over the chair beside a desk that was piled with books. The closet door was open and Adne saw boys’ clothes hanging inside.
“This was Shay’s room.” Adne spoke aloud without intending to and instantly regretted her words.
“I take it you never visited him here.” Sarah’s reply had a cold edge to it.