Page 75 of The Moorwitch

I bite my lip; he’s right about sleep being the best recovery from a mind-altering spell, but still, anger at his methods courses through me.

“I demand a full explanation,” I say. “Shall we start with the fact that there is an entire faerie realm hidden in your back garden?”

He rises, putting down his cup. There are dark circles around his eyes, the whites around his irises bloodshot. I gather he hasn’t slept at all, not since before the attack by Lachlan’s servant. There is still a faint dust of silver in his hair, and as he rakes his fingers over his head, it rains onto his shoulders.

“I will be asking the questions, Rose. If that even is your name.”

“Of course it’s my name!”

“Are you truly from London?”

“I am.”

“You went to the Perkins Charity School?”

“I did.”

“And why are you here, on my land?”

I start to reply, then realize how easily he’s pulling answers from me, how I’m giving them without a thought. I become aware of a slight tug at my navel, as if a hook has been sunk into me, and I look up then and see it: a wide complicated knot strung between the rafters of the cottage.

A truth knot.

My stomach twists. I lurch forward, but Conrad crosses to me in an instant, stepping into the doorway just as I am trying to leave it. His hand meets my waist, and he traps me against the jamb. When I try to break past, he only gives a grim smile and holds me more firmly in place.

“Be still, Miss Pryor, and let me do my job,” he says gruffly. Framed in the doorway, he looms over me, unmoved by my glower. “Forgive me. But I cannot allow you to leave just yet. Now, why are you here?”

I resist. But my abdomen is tightening, making me nauseated, and before I can stop it my mouth opens and words spill out, drawn by hooks of magic. “I am here becauseyouwon’t let meleave!” I point furiously at the spell strung above. “I did not agree to this interrogation! Take your hand off me!”

Truth knots are powerful and difficult to Weave, and also entirely illegal without a court warrant.

His hand remains on my waist, gentle but unyielding. “This will not take long, and if you have nothing to hide, you’ll be free to go.”

I try to think of a way around the magic, but he doesn’t give me the chance. His questions fire as rapidly as arrows, and I am forced to deflect as best I can, giving him only just enough truth to satisfy the spell’s demands.

“Did you seek out Ravensgate and my family on purpose?”

“No. I had never heard of you, nor this house, before I met you on the road that day.”

“Do you mean me or my sister any harm?”

“Of course not!”

“Did you know of my association with the world of Elfhame?”

I shake my head. “I knew nothing of it, not until I saw you open that portal.”

“Why are you in Blackswire?”

“I am awaiting my ... employer.” I expect the truth spell to stop the word cold, but it slides off my tongue anyway. And I remember, then, before we ever left London, Lachlan telling me to Weave warming knots into his carriage in exchange for my new wardrobe and threads. It had been such a little thing, a moment I’d forgotten as soon as it was over.

“And who is your employer?”

“His name is Murdoch, Lachlan Murdoch.”

“And what is his business?”

I manage to think my answer through before replying truthfully, carefully: “He is a cloth merchant. Can I ask a question now? Whatabout: How many strong children shall I give you, oh laird of Ravensgate?”