The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(64)
The chests hadn’t been there the day Mama died. Maybe Papa had moved them so that he wouldn’t have to walk over the place where she’d last been. Or maybe he’d just run out of space elsewhere.
“Move faster, girl. I know you know how to get down a ladder.”
Blue carefully slid down another step, her knuckles white with strain as she gripped the rungs.
There was no wintermint. No spilled herbs.
No Mama.
She was going to be fine. Papa had always wanted her to face her fears, and now she was. Of course she’d never imagined facing them in front of Dinah Chauveau, but she couldn’t afford to think about that. Not if she wanted to keep her nerves under control.
Her foot found the dirt floor, and she slowly pried herself off the ladder. Her knees shook, and she nearly stumbled, but caught herself in time. Panic skittered through her at the thought of landing on that cold dirt floor where Mama had lain dying.
Dinah stepped off the ladder and faced Blue. “What are you waiting for? Light the room.”
The faster she obeyed, the faster she could get through this ordeal.
Blue turned and made her way to the wall torches in their glass hurricane shades. Pulling a candle from her pocket, she touched the wick to her lantern’s flame and then carefully lit each torch along the walls. Before long, the cellar was bathed in a warm golden glow that did nothing to calm the frantic beat of Blue’s heart.
“Where would your mother’s things be kept?” Dinah asked, sweeping an arm out to encompass the towering stacks of crates and the wooden chests.
Blue shrugged as she gently blew out the flame on the candle she held.
Moving rapidly, Dinah wrapped her hand around Blue’s hair and yanked the curls back until Blue staggered, her face tilted toward the ceiling.
“Maybe I can’t leave a bruise on you for the prince to see, but there are plenty of other ways to make sure you’re compliant.” Dinah’s voice was cold. “Don’t underestimate how far I’m willing to go to right the wrongs done to me.”
Blue winced as Dinah pulled on her hair, and tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not for this woman. The tears Blue shed in the root cellar belonged to Mama alone.
“Let’s try again. Where are your mother’s things kept?”
“I don’t know.” Blue’s voice trembled, and she swallowed hard.
Dinah’s nails dug into Blue’s scalp. “Do you know what happened to the last servant of mine who refused to obey me?”
“I’m not your servant.” Blue blinked her tears away and met Dinah’s gaze.
“Close enough.” Dinah’s voice was stern. “I own you, Blue. I own this house, the shop, and everything inside them. If I want, I can burn all of it to the ground and send you far away.”
The panic threading through Blue’s veins burst into a thin flame of anger. “Might be hard to explain to the royal family why you destroyed their friend’s home and then got rid of her.”
Dinah’s smiled winked out. “I don’t explain myself to anyone. Show me your mother’s things.”
“I don’t know where they are.” Blue winced as Dinah’s grip tightened.
“Of course you do. We’re surrounded by drying herbs, bottles of roots, and satchels of ground flower petals. There are several old cauldrons on that upper shelf. This is an alchemist’s cellar, and you are the alchemist of the house.”
“I never come down here.” Blue’s throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and the panic took over again, sending shivers across her skin. She looked away from Dinah and tried to simply breathe.
Dinah released Blue’s hair and cocked her head. “Are you afraid of this place? Is that why you tried to refuse me?”
Blue clenched her jaw and remained silent. Hang this monstrous woman and her demands. What Blue felt, what she feared, belonged to her alone.
“What happened, Blue?” Dinah’s voice was soft and compelling. “Did you get locked in here as a child?”
Blue drew in a deep breath. “If you find what you’re looking for, will you leave me alone?”
Dinah’s smile prickled the hairs on the back of Blue’s neck. “Oh yes. When I find what I’m looking for, I’ll leave.”
Something about Dinah’s tone left a slick, oily coat of unease in Blue’s stomach, but she ignored it. If all Dinah needed from her were a few of Mama’s old spells that used rare ingredients, Blue would somehow find the courage to turn the root cellar inside out searching for them. As far as Blue knew, Mama had never designed a dangerous potion, so while Dinah might be able to make some coin off it, there would really be no harm in letting her take it.
Not that Blue could stop her anyway.
“I guess we should start with the crates. I think they’ve been here the longest,” Blue said.
Hours passed as the two dragged down crate after crate. They found old clothes that might have belonged to Blue as a child. Books full of childish drawings and early attempts at recipes, all with a big B scrawled in the lower right-hand corner. Parchment with old bills of sale from the shop, Wintermass decorations, and a dusty supply of knitted socks with holes in the heels, a darning needle threaded through one of the socks as if someone had stopped repairing it midstitch.
“This is useless.” Dinah glared at Blue as if holding her personally responsible for their failure to find any of Mama’s things. Dread sank into Blue as she watched Dinah turn from the crates to size up the chests in the center of the room.