OVER THE NEXT few days, Chancellor Ashcroft treated Elisabeth with nothing but solicitous concern. She was confined to her room during the mornings and evenings, but for a brief time in the afternoons, Hannah dressed her and brought her down to the conservatory for some fresh air. There she rested under Hannah’s supervision in a cushioned wicker armchair, with a blanket over her legs, breathing in the humid, earthy sweetness of plants and flowers. A riot of blossoms and lacy ferns enveloped her, their exotic petals dripping with moisture. This would have formed the very image of paradise, had she not also been surrounded by demons.

Now that she had seen Mr. Hob’s real form, she saw demons everywhere. They scuttled to and fro on errands. They swept leaves from the flagstones, watered the pots, and pruned the flowers. Most were less imposing than Mr. Hob: smaller, their skin scaled instead of wattled. Some had sharp teeth, and others long, pointed ears. All of them were dressed incongruously in Ashcroft’s golden livery. Guests often strolled along the paths, but they never spared the demons a second glance. To them, the creatures appeared as nothing more than ordinary servants. And the demons likewise ignored the guests, going dutifully about their tasks.

It was not the demons themselves that frightened Elisabeth, but rather the question of how Ashcroft had gotten so many to obey him. They were clearly lesser demons, not highborn demons like Silas and Lorelei. What had he promised them? What offer could possibly be tempting enough that they were willing to don uniforms and serve him? The possibilities were too horrifying to imagine.

She waited breathlessly for a chance to speak to someone, anyone, from outside the manor, but none of the guests ventured close enough for her to warn them. They observed her from a distance, as if she were one of the Chancellor’s rare hothouse specimens: a carnivorous pitcher plant, or a poisonous oleander.

That afternoon, she forced herself not to flinch as a demon crept closer with a pair of shears and began trimming a palm behind her. Its skin was bright red in color, and its eyes were pitch black from edge to edge. Hannah hummed obliviously, tugging a needle through her embroidering hoop. The tune was lilting and odd—another one of Lorelei’s melodies.

Whispers caught Elisabeth’s attention. A group of girls her own age stood peering around a splashing indoor fountain, dressed in silk and lace. She could only imagine what she looked like to them, sitting stock-still, darting tense glances at a servant.

“What a pity,” one of them said. “It was so kind of Chancellor Ashcroft to take her in. I hear she is quite mad.”

“No!” exclaimed another, clutching her parasol.

“Oh, yes. Apparently she assaulted a physician. She nearly knocked him to the floor, according to Father. Her state of derangement results in beastly strength.”

“I’m not surprised. She’s enormous! Have you ever seen a girl so tall?”

The first said archly, “I might have once, in a traveling fair.”

“I heard from Lady Ingram,” yet another put in, “that she behaved strangely at the dinner the other night. She spoke little, and when she did, she was rude and appeared to have never been taught any manners. The warning signs were there from the start, said Lady Ingram.”

Anger boiled up inside Elisabeth, threatening to spill over. She didn’t hate easily, but she found in that moment that she hated Lady Ingram, hated these girls—how could they be so cruel and speak of manners in the very same breath?

A girl gasped. “Do you see how she’s glaring at us?”

“Quickly, run—”

Elisabeth’s fury drained away as they fled out of sight, their dresses’ ribbons flouncing through the palm fronds. This, she had just realized, was yet another element of Ashcroft’s plan.

Horribly, it made a great deal of sense. The more he displayed her in public, the more his guests could gossip about her, becoming increasingly convinced of her madness. Meanwhile, they saw for themselves that he was sparing no expense to keep her comfortable and well. Just as he placed an illusion on his servants, he wove a greater deception around himself, all without expending a single drop of magic. Even if Elisabeth did manage to speak to someone, they would only see her attempts to seek help as further evidence of her derangement.

She saw no way out of the trap he had built for her. Escape wasn’t an option. If she attempted to run, he would know that she suspected him, and the game would come to an end. She would lose any chance she had left to expose him, however small. Her only choice was to play along.

Somewhere outside the conservatory, a clock chimed the hour.

“Come along, dear,” Hannah said, rising from her chair. “It’s time for your daily visit with the Chancellor. What a kind man, to take such a personal interest in your recovery. I do hope you appreciate everything he’s doing for you.”

Elisabeth bit her tongue as she followed Hannah out of the conservatory. If only Hannah knew his true purpose for summoning her to his study every day. Dread closed in on her with every step she took into the manor’s shining, mirrored halls. By the time she reached the study, her insides were in knots. She struggled to control her expression as the door swung open, revealing Ashcroft wiping his hands on a cloth.

“Good afternoon, Miss Scrivener. Why don’t you come in?” Though he sounded as warm as ever, she glimpsed a spark of frustration dancing within his mismatched eyes. It was the only sign that these visits hadn’t yet yielded the information he desired. “Hannah, would you bring us tea?”

At his welcoming gesture, Elisabeth stepped inside and sat rigidly on the sofa. She forced her eyes not to stray to the grimoire on Ashcroft’s desk. He always covered it with his cloak before she entered, but she knew it was the same grimoire he’d been studying her first night in the manor. Its presence left a sour, musty taste on the back of her tongue. The way he was scrubbing at his hands suggested it was equally unpleasant to touch.

Ashcroft set the cloth aside and settled across from her in his favorite armchair. He looked so genuinely concerned that, despite everything, she could almost believe that some part of him cared about her. Then sunlight struck the depths of his ruby eye, and she remembered in a flash the way the Director’s red hair had spilled across the floor.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked, with a gentleness that made her skin crawl.

“Much better, thank you.” She swallowed, gathering her courage. “I think I might be ready to leave now.”

Ashcroft’s brow furrowed sympathetically. “Just a few more days, Miss Scrivener. The physician was most emphatic about the importance of bed rest.”

She looked down, trying not to let her terror show. Luckily, the physician hadn’t included what she’d told him in his notes. Ashcroft wouldn’t bother with these meetings if he had.

A knock heralded Hannah’s return with a tray of tea and iced cakes. Elisabeth made a show of nibbling on them, even though she could barely force their sweetness down. Her stomach lurched when the door clicked open again. This time, it wasn’t Hannah. She had only a few seconds of warning before Lorelei’s glamour wrapped around her like a warm, smothering blanket. Then Ashcroft leaned forward, folding his hands in front of his knees.

Every day, this was how the interrogation began.

“Now, Miss Scrivener,” he said, “why don’t we talk about the attack on Summershall again? Let’s see if you remember any new details, shall we?”