Dot glanced back at Cate, the mother who at last looked on her living daughter.
Then at Theodora.
Or, perhaps, the person who hadbeenTheodora.
For a diminished creature stared at the girl on the bed holding the bread knife.
Gone was the woman who Dot had met in a dark hallway, the Grand Magician of the King, the painter, the scholar, the one-woman empire. How bizarre that so much of a person was not in their skin or hair or clothes, but in how they stood and the way they breathed. Theodora’s eyes were empty. She did not look at Dot. The very last costume had fallen away.
‘You were the one who attacked Belchamber,’ said Theodora quietly.
‘How else did he end up beneath the trapdoor? I am a little surprised you didn’t immediately think it was me – but then you went on and on about my mother having the knife, and who was I to contradict you?’
Theodora stared at the bread knife in Opal’s hand.
‘You had it this entire time,’ said Theodora.
‘Of course I did,’ said Opal. ‘Right in this room, beneath my bed, for years.’ Theodora shut her eyes for a moment. ‘Your talent isn’t wards,’ Opal went on. ‘It is denial. It is running away. It is cowardice, and perhaps stupidity – who else could it have been but me?’
‘Opal,’ said Cate, pleading. ‘Sweetheart.’
‘I told you to shut your mouth,’ said Opal to her mother. ‘One more word and I will cast you out of this house. You helped. You weakened her wards by reconfiguring the runes and I will admit, it made the spell easier for me, and I thank you, but you can go backto the forest now. Your purposes – although unasked for – have been served, Mother.’
Theodora’s face contorted.
‘Oh, don’t look at me like that,’ said Opal. ‘What choice had I? Of course I attacked the spirit. He found out something about Dottie, didn’t he? My master wouldn’t have wanted you lot to have that. I had to do something.’
‘Theo?’ said Dot at last. She had countless questions, but the one that stumbled out of her mouth was, ‘What is this room?’
‘It is rather sad that you have a pet name for her,’ said Opal. ‘Don’t you know whatTheowas going to do to you?’
Theodora winced. Cate watched on, her whole body tremoring, too shocked, it seemed, to say a word.
‘She was going to sell my blood,’ said Dot.
Opal laughed nastily. ‘Just your blood? How very naive to think that Salamander would take some paltry phial and not the rest of you.’
Dot felt her heart stutter. She clung to the doorway behind her.
‘Dorothy,’ said Theodora, reaching out her hand.
‘Don’t touch me,’ said Dot, lurching away. Theodora flinched.
‘Opal,’ begged Cate. ‘My love, I—’
‘Your love?’ Opal cackled, rose from the bed and turned elegantly to reveal her back, the satin dress low enough that they could see the violent scars where the bread knife had pierced flesh and fat and bone. ‘I wasn’t your love that night, was I, Mum? Could have used a sharper blade. A paring blade. A dagger.Anythingwould have made for prettier scars than an old bread knife.’
Cate closed her eyes. ‘I lost my mind,’ she whispered. ‘I misinterpreted my threads. I thought Lio meant to murder you. I never meant to causeyouharm.’
Opal snickered and twirled and fell back to the bed.
‘Darling,’ said Cate, ‘I am prepared to spend the rest of my life atoning for what I did but you must tell me – what is this room? Did she keep you locked in here?’
‘How dull-witted you are,’ sneered Opal. ‘Do you really think she could cage me?’
Opal looked at Theodora, and the once-gallant witch shrank under her gaze.
The gesture reminded Dot so extremely of herself that at last she came to understand.
