I briefly wondered if he would have hidden something at his country estate, but considering that was where he wanted to send me for safety, I can’t imagine he would risk that.

No. The library is where he studied, where he worked, where he spent nearly all his time.

“If he didn’t want anyone to find something, I doubt we’ll be able to.” Ernest scowls, then tightens his tie. “I’ll—I’ve got to be off. I’ll call on you both tomorrow.” He twitches nervously, and I fear he’s given up on us entirely.

Eleanor waves good-bye to him, then turns to me. “I’m so sorry. We tried.”

I nod, throat tight. Ernest is right. Even if Finn had a book of Hallin magic to begin with, if he wanted the book hidden forever, we have no chance. I wish I could visit him, talk to him. He would know what to do. But I can’t leave the house, and the prison returns all the letters I’ve sent him, unopened. Eleanor’s, too, which is an even greater loss, since she can apparently know things just by her letters being read.

“You can go,” I say, defeated. “There’s no reason to stay here now. Downpike knows he has me. I can’t imagine he’d bother hurting you.”

“A blessing of unimportance. I’ll stay until tomorrow, though. If you need me I’ll be in my room, spying on the letters I’ve sent. Something might turn up.” She squeezes my shoulder as she walks by. “Maybe he’s bluffing.”

I touch my glove, the pins and needles nearly gone. I do not doubt Lord Downpike’s vicious sincerity.

Alone now, I sit and stare blankly at the setting sun beyond the windows. The sun won’t set here for another hour or two, and again I wonder where this library is. I pick up one of the books next to me, a gothic romance, and open it.

Edeline Annaliese Hallin is written in slanted, feminine cursive in the front. I pick up another of the novels. The same. And another. The same.

Finn’s mother. It has to be. I had never heard her name before.

Finn mentioned that parts of this house were his parents’. I know now why this was Finn’s favorite room, why he spent so much time here: it was his mother’s library.

And then I remember something he said out in the hall with a smile of a secret humor: No book of Hallin magic is in this country.

I rush to the windows, pushing against them, trying to find any that slide or open. I must get out, must see what’s beyond this room. Grabbing a chair, I slam it into the window as hard as I can. I’m thrown against the floor for my effort, the window not so much as cracked. Desperate, I start at the far end of the window wall, searching for a hint of an opening. I miss it the first time, but doubling back I notice a small, round indentation in one of the vertical lead seams between glass panes.

I lean in closer, tracing it. Finn’s heavy golden seal ring glints in the dull light, and I’m unsure if I should shout for joy or cry out in despair. Is it better for me to find the book or to fail? I cannot tell. But now curiosity has taken over, and I must see this through. I turn the ring around on my finger and put my palm flat against the glass so the raised circular top of the ring fits into the indentation.

The pane in front of me shimmers and disappears. I walk through into a balmy twilight, on a balcony overlooking a mirror-clear lake surrounded by deep green pines. There are mountains in the distance, carefully groomed gardens immediately beneath me. I turn and look to the side to see a turret jutting out, the flag on top bearing the crest of Saxxone royalty.

The castle. His mother’s library in the castle where she grew up, the one she had to leave forever. I lean against the carved stone railing of the narrow balcony, missing Finn and missing his parents for him. Feeling sorry for a woman I never met who had to leave behind everything she loved and knew, because she could not give up the man her shadow chose.

I smile, knowing at least she got to keep a segment of her old life, a library and a balcony blocked off from everything else. But still home. I wonder if I could choose only one part of Melei to keep with me always, if I knew I could never go back, what I would pick.

I think it would be the sun-spackled glen next to a waterfall hidden deep in the mountain hills behind my village. I should very much like a door that opens there.

There’s a bench in the corner of the balcony. I want to sit on it and think, but then I notice something beneath.

I kneel on the stone floor and duck my head down. There’s a chest, wood carved with the family seal I wear on my finger. My heart racing, I pull it out and find the same lock that kept the window-door closed. The ring fits, and it pops open with a click.

I reach in to find a sheet of stiff parchment on top.

Last Will and Testament of Lord Finley Rainer Ackerly, son of Lord Thomas Ackerly and her Royal Highness Edeline Hallin. Being of sound mind and judgment, I hereby bequeath all my earthly possessions and inheritances to my betrothed, Miss Jessamin Olea of Melei.

Signed this day in front of witnesses,

Lord Finley Ackerly

I sit on the hard floor, stunned and angry. I don’t know what bothers me more—that he claims me as his fiancée, or that he thought the odds of his death were high enough that he had to find one last way to try and take care of me.

“Fie on you, Finn Ackerly, if you think I’m going to let you die.”

I set aside the will with a scowl and return to the chest. Sitting snug in the bottom is a thick volume of deep green, an unfamiliar crest stamped into the cover. I pull it out, brush off a layer of dust, and crack it open.