“If you’ll excuse us.” Peeling Sable’s hands off him, Rooke turned towards Emeline, took her elbow gently between his fingers, and began leading her away.
Emeline glanced back once, shooting a murderous thought at the person responsible for the mess she was in.I will pay you back for this.
He stared after her, looking far less sure of himself as he ran both hands uneasily through his hair. As if Emeline’s presence here wasn’t just unwelcome, but something far worse.
TEN
ROOKE LED HER INTOdark rooms lit by dozens of candles, their flames illuminating a four-poster bed draped with white curtains. Its softness beckoned, reminding Emeline that she hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours.
Next to a bay window seat inlaid with green and gold cushions sat a writing desk, and on the wall opposite the bed, musical instruments hung from copper pegs. Emeline found a seemingly endless assortment of guitars and ukuleles, as if the collection had been curated just for her. She tore herself away from the beauty of them.
At least my imprisonment will be comfortable.
In the center of the room, three attendants of varying sizes awaited: tall and solid, wispy and lithe, short and plump. Their skin tones ranged from chestnut brown to dewdrop white, and as soon as Rooke left, the women grabbed her wrists and pulled her into the washroom.
“Wait … no … I’m supposed to see my grandfather …”
Emeline tried to fight them all the way to the copper tub, where they stripped her, then pushed her into the steaming rosescented bathwater. It surged up and over the sides as Emeline fell in, splashing onto the tiled floor. Soft pink petals floated on the surface of the water, gathering around Emeline’s shoulders and knees.
They forced her head under.
Emeline came up spluttering and gasping.
When she tried to escape, they did it again and again, until Emeline yielded and let them wash her. They soaped her mudencrusted hair until her eyes burned with suds. They scrubbed her skin until it was raw.
“Where’s my grandfather?”
They ignored her.
After they toweled her off, Emeline grudgingly let them dress her in a pale gold gown that fell to the floor. A trail of delicate poplar leaves was sewn into the bodice. The leaves, stitched in ivory thread, trailed gently along the boatneck collar, as if blown there by a breeze. They were so finely wrought, she could almost see them moving.
Next, the women braided her black hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, lacing it through with sprigs of Queen Anne’s lace.
Last, they took her sliced palm and carefully salved it, then wrapped it tight with slender strips of gauzy white cotton, fastening it with a golden pin.
“There,” said the curvy brown attendant, her voice like summer rain. A smile ghosted her soft lips as she turned Emeline to the gilt mirror. “Look.”
In the polished smoky surface, Emeline found a stranger staring back. Gone was the broke musician who desperately needed new jeans, who wore her grandfather’s oversized cardigan to keep him close, and who rarely remembered to brush her hair.
The girl standing in the mirror had stepped straight out of a story. Her black eyes were dark pools in her pale face, and her cheekbones were dusted with gold to match her dress.
She looked utterly foreign and strange.
Her eerie reflection reminded Emeline that once, she’d believed all of Edgewood’s stories alongside Pa and Maisie and everyone else.
When did I stop believing them?
She couldn’t remember.
While her attendants beamed at their finished work, nodding with approval, the pale, willowy woman opened the door leading out into the adjacent rooms. The other two slid Emeline’s feet into silken white slippers, then ushered her through the door.
On the other side, two hedgemen stood guard. Each raised a finger to his lips.
A moment later, Emeline realized why.
Loud snores echoed throughout the warm room filled with growing green plants. On a table nearby sat a stack of newspapers and a deck of what looked like worn playing cards. Near the fire crackling in the hearth, bundled in a thick blue blanket, a gray-haired man slept in a rocking chair. Head slanted back, mouth hanging open.
Pa.
