"Yes, my lady."
He escorted us up the stairs to unlock the door that would take us into Woodcourt, placing us back in the servants' area, which appeared to be empty. Even here, the contrast from the dungeons was so sudden, it almost took my breath away. How could such horror exist directly below the plush carpets and fine wooden floors that I had once trod upon so casually?
Before leaving us, the guard offered me a slithery smile. "No offense, my lady, but you're the prettiest prisoner we've had in the cells since I've been here."
Trina made a gagging noise and shut the door in his face. Then she shoved me against the wall with her forearm pressing at my throat. "Did you tell your father to arrest those people?"
I pushed her back. "If you want to fight, then I will win, and I'll make you fix my hair when it's over." Trina wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her chest heaving in anger. "I didn't know about this, I swear it. Do you think I'd let them arrest Rosalie, after what I've already done to that girl's life?"
"Maybe you don't care," Trina said. "Just when I thought you were different from the Dallisors, this happens!"
"How many of those prisoners were Coracks?" I wasn't sure why that question mattered to me, but it did.
Trina shrugged. "There were what, twenty people brought in? Maybe more? I'd guess less than five were Coracks. What are you going to do?"
Did she think I could fix a problem on this scale? "You know what Lord Endrick has planned for me tomorrow--what power do I have to change this?" I leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to run until this nightmare faded into memory. Rosalie had stared directly at me, and if there had been any expression in her eyes beyond blame and disgust for ever having met me, I didn't see it. And then there was Tenger.
Trina's voice became venomous. "Listen carefully. If those prisoners don't go free before the end of this night, I will leave Woodcourt and order Darrow's death. The Coracks will blame you for these arrests. All our future attacks will be targeted on Woodcourt, and on you specifically."
"Nothing I say could possibly help them!"
"Then do something! I swear to you, Kestra, I will follow through on my threats. If Tenger is dead by morning, then so is Darrow."
"I'll take care of it," I said, pushing past her and walking toward the library.
"How?" She was following so close behind me that she practically stepped on my heels.
I didn't answer. Mostly because I had no idea how to fix this. But I would. Whatever the line was between loyalty and treason, I was surely about to cross it.
Gerald met me on the way to the library, his brow creased with concern. Was that because of his fear for my safety, or for whether the diary had been returned to its hiding place? Other than Darrow, my greatest worries were focused on the diary. I didn't know whether I'd get the chance to move it from the library shelves and put it back under the desk again, especially now.
After a quick assessment of my appearance, Gerald offered me a polite bow. "My lady, I am relieved. You look none the worse after that visit to the dungeons."
"I'm no better either." My anger at Gerald wasn't fair, but I felt it anyway. "Did you know what was in the diary when you gave it to me?"
He shook his head. "The day Lady Dallisor died, I snuck that key away from here and sent it to my people. The key was not supposed to return to Woodcourt until it came in your hands. No one but Lady Dallisor has read that diary, not even her husband."
I wished I could discuss its contents with Gerald, though it probably didn't matter now, and this open hallway was no place for such a dangerous conversation. Two nearby maids surely heard me whisper to him the only thing I dared say: "I don't want to know the things I now know."
"Life doesn't give us what we want. It gives us what we need and asks what we will do with it."
"Don't speak in philosophies, Gerald. You should have warned me."
He gave a quick bow. "Yes, my lady. I assume you are here to see the master? That's why you were allowed to leave the dungeons?"
A sudden weight pressed on my shoulders, but through it, I asked, "Where is he? In his library?"
"Of course. I'll take you there."
I had half-expected to see Simon near the library. He would've come here to gain permission for my release, and should've known I wouldn't be far behind. Maybe he'd been sent on other errands. It would have helped to see him.
Gerald knocked on the door and we were allowed to enter. "Sir Henry," he said, with his customary bow, "your daughter is here." I said nothing, and certainly did not curtsy.
My father was standing near the library's window, gazing out on his land, the colors of his fields cooling along with the weather. "Wait in here, my blue friend." That was undoubtedly meant as an insult, reminding Gerald of his place.
"Yes, Sir Henry." Gerald offered me a weak smile before bowing his way over to the back wall. He made an excellent spy, one who was perfectly willing to humble himself before a man he surely hated, all to remain trusted. Lacking Gerald's humility--lacking any humility whatsoever, actually--I could never be so successful.
Now my father turned, furrowing his brow as he looked me over. Normally, I would have returned his stare, pretending to feel as indifferent as he always was, but this time, I found it hard to look at him at all.