Page 9

I open a desk drawer and toss her into it. Then I stack books and folders on top before locking her inside.

Even with her laughter slightly muffled, I can hear every word she’s uttering.

Invenire puellam pulcherrimam et sapientissimam in tota terra, et si te amare contigerit, te et omne tuum genus e tenebris tuis noctes liberabo.

It’s my curse once a day for good measure, a cruel reminder that I’ve consistently failed to restore my former life: “Find the most beautiful and wisest girl in all the land, and if she should fall in love with you, I’ll free you and all your kin from your darkest nights…”

Ignoring the sudden ache in my chest, I walk over to the wall on the far end of the room and light a lamp.

Ahead of me stands a copy of every legal record in town, and I’m determined to uncover more about the woman who nearly shot me.

She definitely wouldn’t have missed.

I run my fingers across dusty spines and stop when I reach The Village Ledger: Kingdom Six.

Blowing the dust off the cover, I pluck a rose bloom and set it on top of the book.

“Show me any servants who are indentured to Isabelle Arwyn’s family, and then show me her entire bloodline. Now.”

The pages gleam and flip one after the other in slow motion, as if they’re surprised to be summoned.

They’re tempting me to return the book to the shelf, but they abruptly flip fast in reverse—stopping at page twenty-four.

Morris Arwyn m. Elizabeth Arwyn (deceased)

Isabelle “Izzie” Arwyn

There are no servants listed, and every person in the line before Izzie’s parents are deceased.

I set down the book and grab another, The Village Census.

“Show me every woman in this village who is within five years of age of Isabelle Arwyn.”

The pages in this book don’t dance or hesitate to give me what I ask for. They detach from the spine all at once and circle around me, hovering in the air.

I read the names on every sheet and recall each maiden’s face with ease. I’ve met them all before, bartered their family’s debts, or worse, been forced to sit with their fathers as they were offered to me for marriage.

“You may return to the book,” I command. “Thank you.”

They fall to the ground and organize themselves before finding their places within the spine.

“What exactly are you looking for, Boss?” My right hand, Lafayette, walks into the room. “If you don’t hurry up and tell me, I’ll have to ask the asylum doctor pay you a visit.”

“There’s no need for that.” I turn around. “Tell me how a beautiful girl could live in this village without ever being listed in the records. How she could be here without leaving a single trace of her existence?”

“If she’s a bastard child or an orphan who was abandoned by a spinster, it’s possible.” He strokes his chin. “The only other way is if someone didn’t want to pay taxes on her, but… That’s unlikely. I keep fairly good records, and my list of beautiful girls is complete.”

“It can’t be if the woman I’m searching for isn’t on it.”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “I’m calling the doctor.”

“Maybe she came from another kingdom…” I move toward the end of the shelf, pulling out other books, making other requests.

“Um, with all due respect, and as fun as this little game seems, we’re running out of time, G’aston.” His voice is now faint. “You promised that you would focus on freeing us from this hell more than ever this year.”

“That’s what I’m doing, Lafayette…”

“You should be upstairs, making an effort with the Swan,” he says. “The curse doesn’t just affect you, and if you’d stayed upstairs a little longer, you would’ve seen that you two have a lot in common.”

I highly doubt that. “Did you ask her if she likes to read?”

“I did.” He nods. “She’s not the slightest bit interested in books, so you won’t have to worry about her having an untamed mouth, and her thoughts won’t be polluted with nonsense.”

“Sounds like she has a lot in common with you.”

He ignores my comment. “She also enjoys hunting and looking for new adventures in the woods. Those things alone sound very promising, in my opinion. What do you say?”

I want to tell him she’s a waste of my time, but a sudden applause sifts through the floorboards above.

“Hoorahhhh!” The men exclaim, a sign that someone has ordered a round of drinks for everyone.

“You can request a private meeting with her and her father,” I say.

“For tomorrow?”

“If you insist, Lafayette.”

“I do. Thank you.” He rushes toward the staircase.

I don’t have the heart to tell him that the woman is obviously lying about a love for hunting. Her hands are as dainty as dandelion petals, and her legs are far too wispy for anything other than swimming.