DARKHAVEN | "Three Sisters" Book One

Chapter Sixty-One

Roslin

A thrall in a hood of black came with summons for Roslin. No explanation. No warning. Just the words, "He wants you."

"Who?"

No answer.

Roslin had not attempted to make conversation again—not that she particularly wanted to anyway. She just followed in silence, wondering if her dread was apparent.

Imagine her surprise when the thrall passed the hallway that might have otherwise led to the Orchestrator's tower and, instead, took her to Mercer's chambers.

Novak's chambers, Roslin reminded herself.

The thrall knocked on Mercer's door, then walked off before he even answered.

"Enter."

There was something cold in Mercer's voice. Something Roslin hadn't heard before.

But he had told her to enter, and so she did.

"What is it?" Roslin asked when the door was shut behind her. The room within was cold and dark save for the few magelight lanterns the once-knight kept burning at all times.

He, too, shared the same aversion to darkness as Roslin.

"You've been busy." Mercer stalked from the shadows at the far end of the room like a cat. There was fire in his silver-blue eyes. "Or was it your sister? No, of course not; you'd never blame her. Not even when you've been so foolish."

Roslin blinked, taken aback. Mercer was usually kind to her. "I don't—What is this about?" She felt sick. Frightened.

Don't turn on me, she begged inwardly, you're the only constant I have.

Her lips trembled at the thought, so she bit down on them to silence her body.

He is your enemy, she reminded herself. He is a traitor. He is waiting for his turn at you.

Then, unbidden, No he isn't, no he isn't, and no he isn't.

"You know what this is about."

Silence. Roslin usually would have stammered out something nervous. She was a miserable combination of eager-to-please and defensive, and this had always made her ramble in the face of confrontation...which she'd spent her life trying to avoid at any cost.

But nothing came.

"You're not going to say anything?" he asked as he stalked across the room. "You're not even going to try to tell me what I already know?"

Her throat went dry. "I don't—"

"Actually, don't," he hissed. "Don't insult me, Roslin. Not after all I've done for you."

Her eyes stung. "I don't understand. What did I do?" Her voice was weak and small.

"Do you know what would've happened if I hadn't been the one to find out?"

"Find out what?"

"Your book," he spat. "The one you hid across from your own fucking room."

Roslin took in a shuddering breath. "I—I put it there—"

"And right away I know that means Gia put it there."

"No!" cried Roslin. "She had nothing to do with it!"

"Do you know what Wicklowe would have done to you? To her?"

Roslin's hands twisted together nervously, and she found that no longer could she meet his gaze. "How did you find it?"