Chantress Read Online Free Page A

volume. Taking a quick look behind him, he tucked it into his coat. Was he stealing it?
    Voices rang out in the hall. The thief—if that’s what he was—went still.
    “Funny sort of place to meet, a library,” a man in the hall complained. “And a library about magic, at that.”
    “Keep quiet, Giles!” a cross voice replied. “D’you want the whole world to hear you?”
    The boy made a run for it, but he was too far from the hidden panel to reach it easily. Instead, he veered toward the draperies closest to him, some distance from mine. He vanished from my sight as the massive library door swung open.
    I shrank back against the wall, then wished I hadn’t, for I could no longer see anything. But it was too late now to adjust the curtains, for the men were coming into the room.
    “Ravendon House is one of the greatest establishments in London, indeed in any city in England,” the cross man was saying. “And one of the largest and oldest as well. You must understand, Giles: It’s an honor to be invited here.”
    I heard the word London with some relief. At least I was in my home country—if not in any house I remembered.
    “I wouldn’t take the place on a silver plate, myself,” Giles answered. “It’s a cursed, drafty old warren. And say what you will, this library is a deuced odd place to meet.”
    “It’s not for you to question Lord Scargrave’s judgment. Not if you’re the King’s man.”
    “Of course I’m the King’s man,” Giles harrumphed. “None truer, ’pon my word. I’d not turn spy for him otherwise. Informing on family, on friends—it’s not a gentlemanly thing to do, eh?”
    “It’s for the good of the country,” his friend said sharply. “And if our friends and family behave themselves, they won’t have anything to worry about. You ought to be pleased that Lord Scargrave has called us here. His invitation is a mark of favor and trust.”
    “But—”
    “Enough. You may have forgotten where you are, but I haven’t. And I’ve no wish to find myself before my lord Spymaster in the Council Chamber. Or worse.”
    “Forget I said anything,” Giles said nervously.
    “Let’s talk of something else, then. No, wait a moment—I think I hear him coming.”
    Blinded by the draperies, I could not see anyone enter. But I heard the heavy tread of footsteps on the library floorboards, and the groan of the door swinging shut.
    A deep voice said, “Gentlemen, you know why I have called you here.”
    It was a pleasant voice, even musical, but there was a note in it that made me keenly aware of how very dark and cold it was by the window, and how very thin even the thickest velvet curtains were when nothing else stood between you and discovery.
    “You have offered to serve the King,” the deep voice went on. “You have offered to serve me.”
    “Yes, Lord Scargrave,” the two men murmured.
    “That being so, I give you this simple task: to listen carefully to those around you, and to report any disloyalty to me, so that I may keep His Majesty safe.”
    More murmuring: “Yes, my lord. Yes.”
    “And for the sake of His Majesty, I set another task before you as well, a task I ask of everyone in my employ: to keep a watch for anyone who works magic by singing, or any other sign of Chantress blood. You know what to look for?”
    “The spiral scar,” said Giles’s friend promptly. “Raised and white and no bigger than a penny piece, right at the base of the forearm.”
    My breath caught in my throat as I fingered the scar on my arm. A birthmark, that’s what Norrie had called it. But Giles’s friend had described it precisely. And what had my song been, but magic?
    “Correct. Should you meet any such, you will inform me at once.” The deep voice added, “Only me, you understand. Not one word to anybody else.”
    The answer came in unison, swift and obedient. “We shall report to you—and only to you.”
    “You had better.” The voice was no longer pleasant, but harsh