placing it in the lock, rattled it until the door creaked opened.
The room behind it was impossibly small. Awen took a step toward it to get a better look, but she stopped shy of where Rosaline might be able to push her in. The room held three small cots, each with a sheet, a thin blanket and a pillow. That was it.
Awen backed away from the room slowly so that Rosaline might not notice her reaction.
But Rosaline smiled and gestured toward the room with her left hand.
It was Tori who spoke, still some feet back: “Go in your room, girls.”
Genevieve and Carmella looked cautiously at each other, then stepped forward into the room.
Awen remained still again, waiting as she had outside the inn. But this time, she dared to look straight into Rosaline’s black eyes.
Rosaline remained expressionless…until under Awen’s stare, her eyebrows knit together in just the slightest hint of anger.
Awen let a tiny smile play on her lips, and then she walked into the room.
The door closed and locked behind her.
Ten
The three girls stood silently in the black room, breathing in the damp air. The only light came from the moon, its beams slipping in through a tiny window on the back wall. A slight chill in the air made Awen shiver. She crossed her arms in an attempt to stay warm.
Carmella’s voice broke the silence. “Well, I suppose…we may as well sleep?” Her voice wavered: “Or try?”
“Yes, I suppose…” Genevieve trailed off.
Awen’s eyes were getting used to the dark, and she could just make out the outlines of the other girls. She sighed, meaning to voice her assent, and edged forward, arms outstretched, feeling for one of the cots. She did not need to move very far, as her hands touched a cold blanket after only two steps. Awen cautiously rolled onto the cot, which squeaked under her weight, and sat up.
Hearing Awen’s movements, Genevieve and Carmella resigned themselves to their own cots, one on either side of Awen.
No one spoke for what seemed like a long time. Five minutes, maybe. Awen wondered if the other girls had fallen asleep.
Awen sat cross-legged on her cot with her back straight but her head falling slightly forward. The silence and the cool, damp air felt unexpectedly calming, as if the atmosphere in the little room were giving her a massage. The coolness cleared her head, erasing the strange warmth that had pervaded it in the tavern below. And now she began to think, her mind wandering back to the thoughts that had disturbed her earlier. Rosaline and her plans, the names, the town, the library…
Genevieve’s whisper penetrated the silence: “Awen. Carmella.”
Awen, still looking down, resituated herself on the cot, its squeaks acting as her reply.
“Yes?” Carmella whispered back.
“You asked…before. If we knew what was going on…?” Genevieve seemed to be waiting for another response.
Awen looked up to her left, toward the dark shape of Genevieve.
“Mmm,” Carmella murmured.
“Well, I heard something.” And then she gasped.
Awen whipped her head around, trying to see, or hear, whatever had stopped Genevieve. There was more silence. And then she heard it, too: creaky footsteps, slow—too slow to be anything but the steps of an eavesdropper, just outside the door. Awen did not move. The steps lacked the clink of Rosaline’s heels; they sounded more like the crunch of leather boots. She thought of Mr. Berwick. Her heart banged in her chest.
The girls were all silent, the only sound their breathing. The footsteps ceased.
Awen’s throat tensed. She held her breath.
The footsteps started again. One…two…three…They were getting softer, receding back down the hallway into nothingness.
Awen exhaled audibly.
“I was going to say,” Genevieve continued, her voice quieter, hardly audible, each word spoken with care. “I heard Tori and Rosaline talking, when I was waiting outside the door for my harp lesson. Tori is the harp teacher,” she added, for Awen’s
The room behind it was impossibly small. Awen took a step toward it to get a better look, but she stopped shy of where Rosaline might be able to push her in. The room held three small cots, each with a sheet, a thin blanket and a pillow. That was it.
Awen backed away from the room slowly so that Rosaline might not notice her reaction.
But Rosaline smiled and gestured toward the room with her left hand.
It was Tori who spoke, still some feet back: “Go in your room, girls.”
Genevieve and Carmella looked cautiously at each other, then stepped forward into the room.
Awen remained still again, waiting as she had outside the inn. But this time, she dared to look straight into Rosaline’s black eyes.
Rosaline remained expressionless…until under Awen’s stare, her eyebrows knit together in just the slightest hint of anger.
Awen let a tiny smile play on her lips, and then she walked into the room.
The door closed and locked behind her.
Ten
The three girls stood silently in the black room, breathing in the damp air. The only light came from the moon, its beams slipping in through a tiny window on the back wall. A slight chill in the air made Awen shiver. She crossed her arms in an attempt to stay warm.
Carmella’s voice broke the silence. “Well, I suppose…we may as well sleep?” Her voice wavered: “Or try?”
“Yes, I suppose…” Genevieve trailed off.
Awen’s eyes were getting used to the dark, and she could just make out the outlines of the other girls. She sighed, meaning to voice her assent, and edged forward, arms outstretched, feeling for one of the cots. She did not need to move very far, as her hands touched a cold blanket after only two steps. Awen cautiously rolled onto the cot, which squeaked under her weight, and sat up.
Hearing Awen’s movements, Genevieve and Carmella resigned themselves to their own cots, one on either side of Awen.
No one spoke for what seemed like a long time. Five minutes, maybe. Awen wondered if the other girls had fallen asleep.
Awen sat cross-legged on her cot with her back straight but her head falling slightly forward. The silence and the cool, damp air felt unexpectedly calming, as if the atmosphere in the little room were giving her a massage. The coolness cleared her head, erasing the strange warmth that had pervaded it in the tavern below. And now she began to think, her mind wandering back to the thoughts that had disturbed her earlier. Rosaline and her plans, the names, the town, the library…
Genevieve’s whisper penetrated the silence: “Awen. Carmella.”
Awen, still looking down, resituated herself on the cot, its squeaks acting as her reply.
“Yes?” Carmella whispered back.
“You asked…before. If we knew what was going on…?” Genevieve seemed to be waiting for another response.
Awen looked up to her left, toward the dark shape of Genevieve.
“Mmm,” Carmella murmured.
“Well, I heard something.” And then she gasped.
Awen whipped her head around, trying to see, or hear, whatever had stopped Genevieve. There was more silence. And then she heard it, too: creaky footsteps, slow—too slow to be anything but the steps of an eavesdropper, just outside the door. Awen did not move. The steps lacked the clink of Rosaline’s heels; they sounded more like the crunch of leather boots. She thought of Mr. Berwick. Her heart banged in her chest.
The girls were all silent, the only sound their breathing. The footsteps ceased.
Awen’s throat tensed. She held her breath.
The footsteps started again. One…two…three…They were getting softer, receding back down the hallway into nothingness.
Awen exhaled audibly.
“I was going to say,” Genevieve continued, her voice quieter, hardly audible, each word spoken with care. “I heard Tori and Rosaline talking, when I was waiting outside the door for my harp lesson. Tori is the harp teacher,” she added, for Awen’s
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