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Instead, I wrangled my thoughts into some kind of order and approached the Warden. Everyone else could stand around feeling whatever they were feeling; I wouldn’t allow her to speak first, work some sort of binding magic on us, steer us away from why we were there.

“We’ve come here for two other reasons, Warden,” I said firmly. “One is to report a strange creature I saw in the forest near Ravenswood. A firebird: a creature of flame, with aspects of both woman and bird. Given your experience with all things Olden and the form the Roses take upon going into battle, we thought you might be able to help us identify it and determine whether it was involved in yesterday’s abductions of Anointed magicians.”

The Warden turned to look at me. “A firebird,” she said flatly, asif I’d spoken the strangest word ever conceived.

I resisted the automatic urge to apologize for my description of the creature, refusing to let the Warden cow me. I imagined her face as one of Ryder’s faded leather targets, recalled the fluid rhythm of my body as it moved to follow his commands, and felt a welcome surge of calm.

“And we want to take the Three-Eyed Crown to the university for study,” I added. “Locked up here at Rosewarren, it’s doing no one any good.”

“Nor is it doing anyone anyharm,” she pointed out coolly.

I couldn’t argue with that, but I pushed my doubt aside and held her cold black gaze nevertheless.

“Very well,” she said at last. “You, you, and you.” She looked at Gemma, Ryder, and me. “And you, Professor,” she added, the corner of her mouth quirking slightly. “You weren’t there in the Old Country that night, but I’ve a feeling you will be someday. I’ll take the four of you to see the crown, and we’ll discuss terms. The rest of you can wait in the parlor with Merta and finish your tea.”

Suddenly Merta was at the door, head slightly bowed. Mutely she guided Father, Lord Alaster, Gentar, and Lady Leva inside. She barely resembled the indignant woman we’d brought with us from Thorngrove. I tried not to think about what that meant, how often Mara might have gotten angry with the Warden only to be bound back into silence the next moment.

The Warden swept past us. “Come with me.”

***

We followed the Warden into depths of Rosewarren I never knew existed—deep, twisting hallways of cold stone that turned back on themselves so many times I gave up hope of remembering the way back. Every now and then the Warden murmured something toherself, the flames of our beguiled torches flickered, and I felt something in the air give way around us—most likely protective wards, though in my unease I imagined the earth itself shifting under our feet, creating corridors where previously there had been only dense rock.

At last we reached a small, round chamber. It appeared before us so suddenly, so unnaturally, that a chill cascaded down my body. And in the middle of it, sitting on a plinth of stone, was the Three-Eyed Crown.

Gemma went to it at once, crouched beside it, hesitated, then touched the thick silver band and its three embedded yellow jewels. She held it for a moment, then placed it tenderly back on the plinth and walked away from it, her back to us.

“Did you think holding it would summon your lover to you?” the Warden asked mildly. “The thing’s inert. Whatever power it once held vanished the moment it was torn from its host.”

I couldn’t see my sister’s face, but I could imagine everything she was feeling—every pang of heartbreak, every stifled nightmare of Kilraith taunting her with the voice and face of the man she loved—and I felt the strangest urge to point at the Warden and yell at Ryder to attack her, as if he were some vicious dog just waiting for my next command.

“Cruel comments like that are unnecessary,” I said tightly instead.

The Warden nodded once, her expression unreadable. “I do apologize.”

I didn’t believe for one moment that she meant it, but I bit my tongue, silently fuming.

“Are you certain it is inert?” asked Gareth. Now he was the one to crouch beside the crown and peer at it, squinting through his glasses.

The Warden raised an eyebrow. “You doubt my assessment, Professor.”

“I do. You said it yourself before: You possess binding magic,but no matter how powerful it is, that’s only one kind of magic, and it’s possible other powers might reveal something yours hasn’t.” He pulled out his notebook and pen and began scribbling. “I’d like to take some notes, observe the object while it’s in an environment it’s accustomed to.”

“You’re speaking of it like it’s an animal,” Ryder said. It was the first time he’d spoken in so long that the sound of his voice startled me. He glanced over at me, and my cheeks burned.

“I don’t think,” Gareth said slowly, “that we can discount any possibility when it comes to an object—and a curse—as powerful as this one.”

The Warden turned to me. “Tell me more about this firebird.”

I did, describing it in as much detail as I could, and when I’d finished, the Warden looked utterly perplexed. “I’ve never heard of such a creature,” she said. “And you were the only one to see it?”

“Yes, but others saw its remains—burned trees, embers in the dirt.” Desperate for her to believe me, I added, “I realize it could have been an illusion crafted by a figment, but—”

“Normally a figment’s illusions don’t leave behind traces for others to find,” the Warden said. “I’ve never heard of an entire group of people hallucinating something like that. Though…” She sighed, a soft breath of sound that seemed to shrink her. “These days, with the Mist as it is and with thirteen Anointed magicians missing—”

“Thirteen?”Gemma turned to stare, looking as astounded as I felt.

“Well.” The Warden paused, gave Ryder a quick glance. “Fifteen, including your sister, Lord Ryder, and the boy from Blighdon. By the time your raven reached me, the remaining thirteen had already been reported to me by other means.”