“I know, Senior,” I said.
Ira snorted. “Morag will be preparing a room for you now. We’ll have a proper discussion about your … role … here tomorrow, when we are both refreshed and you’ve had a chance to change your clothes.”
I glanced down at my damp dress. Mother would have been horrified if she’d seen me walking through the hall in such a state. She’d have banished me to my rooms and told me not to come out until I was washed, scrubbed, dressed and my hair carefully styled to match the latest fashion. Ira didn’t seem to be too concerned about my appearance. I supposed it didn’t matter much to him. He wasn’t in that good a state either.
He returned his attention to the letter. I took advantage of the silence to study him more closely. He was older than I thought, I guessed. There was something about his slow, deliberate movements that suggested his rejuvenation spells were finally starting to wear down, even though his eyes were sharp and it was clear he was a powerful magician. I wondered, suddenly, if he knew my parents - or even my grandparents. I’d never heard of Ira Rubén. He must have been exiled years before I was born or the Grande Dames would still be wittering about him.
They’ll be wittering about me now, I thought, with a flash of bitterness. I wonder if Mother will ever be able to hold her head up in polite society again.
I coughed. “Do you know my parents?
“I haven’t met them, Ira said, tonelessly. “I’ve been away for quite some time.”
Ouch, I thought. Father was in his late forties. If Ira had never met him, even as a little boy, he had to have been in exile for fifty years or more. How long has he been here?
Ira cleared his throat. “We’ll discuss basic rules tomorrow,” he added, “but there is one rule you need to know now. You are not, whatever happens, to go onto the sixth floor.”
“The sixth floor?” I couldn’t help asking the obvious question. “What’s on the sixth floor?”
“My private rooms,” Ira said, curtly. His voice hardened. It was suddenly very easy to believe he was related to Grandfather. “You are not to go onto the sixth floor. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Senior,” I said. I didn’t want to know, but I had to ask. “What will happen if I do?”
Ira gave me a humourless smile. “I’ll let the wards have you,” he said. “You won’t enjoy it.”
I swallowed. Father had told me that there were rooms and suites in Rubén Hall that I was never to enter for any reason whatsoever. Some were workshops, where my father’s apprentices studied potions; some were private rooms for secret conferences. I’d disobeyed him a few times when I was younger, only to discover that the wards were quite effective at keeping me out. Father had made it clear, more than once, that I’d only brushed against the outer layers. The inner layers were far nastier.
“Yes, Senior,” I said. This was Ira’s territory. He was entitled to guard his privacy however he wished. I didn’t think that even Father, if he was still the Patriarch, could demand an inspection without consequence. “I won’t go up there.”
“See that you don’t,” Ira told me. His eyes bored into mine for a long moment. “Have you eaten enough?”
I looked at the empty tray and nodded. It would do, for the moment. I wasn’t quite sure what time it was, but it felt late. I simply hadn’t slept very well. My body was reminding me that I’d spent most of five days in an uncomfortable carriage, having an uncomfortable ride to Kirkhaven. I needed a bath and a sleep, perhaps not in that order.
At least I can sleep in a proper bed, I told myself. That will be something.
Ira rang his bell again. Morag reappeared, almost at once. She must have been waiting outside the door. Mother’s maids did that, standing outside until they were summoned to attend their mistress. They’d always been willing to play games with a little girl, but the moment Mother called them they had to drop everything and run to her side. I felt a pang of homesickness that hurt, more than I cared to admit. I might be allowed to go home one day, if I was lucky, but I’d never be that carefree girl again.
Morag nodded to Ira. “Yes, Senior?”
“Take Bella to bed,” Ira said. “And …”
“Isabella,” I corrected, hastily. “Bella is … Bella is someone else.”
Morag’s expression became more pinched. “As you wish, young mistress,” she said, sardonically. “Isabella, come with me.”
I glanced at Ira, surprised. Mother would not have tolerated such churlishness from her servants, not even for a second. The maids had to be on their best behavior at all times or they’d get the sack. Or worse, they’d be sent to tend to my elderly relatives instead. Mother was strict, with firm ideas of how things should be, but she wasn’t obnoxious. The elders, on the other hand, could be thoroughly unpleasant at times. I didn’t know the details, but one particular great-uncle had driven away a dozen maids until Father had a long … discussion … with him.
“Go,” Ira said. He waved a hand at the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I rose, dropped a curtsey and followed Morag to the door. The air outside felt colder, somehow, as we made our way up a flight of stairs. They were meant to be carpeted, I thought, but someone had removed half the carpet to reveal the wood beneath. I kept a wary eye on the floor, just in case I stepped on a nail. I’d had the sense to wear my outdoor shoes, but I didn’t know if they’d protect me from something sharp. It grew harder to see as we reached the fifth floor and started down the corridor. The light crystals were brightening and dimming, seemingly at random.
“My room is at the end of the corridor,” Morag said. I jumped. She’d been so quiet that I’d believed she wasn’t going to say anything. Her voice was sharp, as sharp as Mother had sounded when she’d caught me digging up her roses. I wanted to snap back at her, but I was too tired. “You are not to go inside without my permission.”
I nodded, wordlessly. Mother had made it clear that neither I nor Akin was to enter the servant quarters. I didn’t understand the reasoning, but she’d been blunt enough to convince me that some lines were best not crossed. Morag deserved what little privacy she could get, I assumed. She’d probably have more privacy at Kirkhaven Hall than I’d had at Rubén Hall, back in Shallot. There were far fewer prying eyes.
And no one bothered to say a word when she claimed a guest suite for herself, I thought, wryly. Servants normally stayed below stairs, on the ground floor. Ira probably didn’t care enough to object.
We stopped outside a blue door. Morag put her hand against the wood and muttered a charm, then pushed the door open. I followed her into the room, feeling cold. If I needed magic to open the door … I would be trapped, as long as I wore the cuff. Normally, I could go in and out of my rooms whenever I wanted. I’d set the wards to ensure I didn’t need passwords or charms to step through the door. But here … this wasn’t my room.
Yes, it is, my thoughts mocked. It is your room as long as you are living here.
The Blue Room was blue. Everything was blue, save for an oaken double-poster bed in the exact center of the room. The blue walls looked cracked and faded, the blue bookshelf was empty, the blue wardrobe door was hanging open, the blue window shutters were firmly closed and locked … I rolled my eyes as I saw the blue door, leading into what I guessed was the bathroom. My trunks rested neatly against the far wall, waiting for me to open them. I realised, with a flicker of horror, that I couldn’t open them. The locking charms needed magic to open them.