As soon as he left, Seri fell off the bed—right onto the rug he’d used to abduct her, now spread on her floor, looking perfectly innocent. Seri tried to stand up, but she couldn’t get her legs to move. She curled into herself on the ground, breathing hard, wanting to cry, but unable to. Her mouth was dry and parched, but she would not touch the drinks he’d left her.

The room hummed with magic. She felt it, as she had in her castle, but there it had been comforting and here it was oppressive. Everything was beautiful and everything was dangerous. She was afraid.

Seri took a deep gulp of air. She was at his mercy, powerless in many ways, but she still had her mind, and she still had her soul. She refused to yield either of those things to him. No matter how afraid she was, she couldn’t act on fear. She would be herself. She would strive to do what was right, no matter what.

It would be all right. Her uncle Englebert was a powerful, if reclusive sorcerer. Her father would find him and shake him from his decades’ old stupor. They would storm the tower, duel this evil sorcerer, and rescue her. Help would come. All she had to do was wait.

Seri stood up shakily. She saw her reflection from the great gilded mirror, but there was an enchantment upon its sheen, and so she threw the sheet back over it. He would not spy on her. She glanced at the wardrobe, at the dresses made of satin in blue and gold and white. The thought of his dresses touching her skin made her flesh crawl. She closed the door. She would not dress for him. The dress she wore now was a simple red wool with mud and grass stains—but it was her own.

Seri went to the water bowl and washed her face—not to look pretty for him, but to clear her mind. She did not know what his plans were for dinner, but she was determined not to eat the food. She would eventually need to eat and drink or else she’d die—but tonight, at least, she planned to keep her wits about her. She was going to learn all she could about him and the other girls and this place she was in.

With that in mind, she opened the doors and stepped outside.

Her door led directly to a long staircase. She was in a turret, she supposed. Seri walked down the stairs as best she could. Her legs were shaky, and once she tripped, but the magic coils leapt out and caught her, before she could fall. So the enchantments would not let her come to harm, either.

At the end of the stairs, there was a door, and the door opened to a large waiting room. There was nothing there but gray marble floor, polished so brightly it shone like glass, and a large chandelier, burning bright with candles. Mirrors were everywhere—silver, not gold, but with the same enchantment as the one in her room.

Four strange girls milled around the waiting room They were all dressed up, in wispy ballgowns so delicate they seemed like fairies, their hair pinned up with pearl combs. They were young, Seri thought, with a sickening lurch. None of them bore any signs of turning into a dragon.

“She’s out,” said one of the girls, and they all turned to look at her. Their eyes contained pity, but some wore the same glazed expressions Seri had so often seen on her father.

“But you’re not dressed?” a young girl blurted.

“I’m wearing what I came in,” Seri said. Her voice sounded raspy. “If he’s mad, he is mad. I’m not here to please him.”

The girls exchanged looks. One came up to her. She was the oldest of the bunch, perhaps twenty, and she had brown hair and a plump, pale face with a pointed chin.

“I am Rilla of Castle Lune. Who might you be?”

“Seri,” she said, then cleared her throat. “I mean, I am Serihilde of Castle Staghome.”

“Welcome,” Rilla said, clasping her hands. “I am sure this is very upsetting. We’ve all been captured, taken from our home. I am sure this must come as a terrible shock but let me assure you that all is not as dire as it seems. You may even find your stay pleasant. There is much amusement at this tower.”

“I’m sure there is.” Seri looked into the mirror. “For him.”

She could feel him staring back at her. That was the purpose of the mirrors, she’d guessed—to spy on them. Watching them, as if they were his collection of pretty dolls on display.

Seri turned back to the captive girls. “What does he want?”

No one answered. One cleared her throat.

Seri looked at Rilla. “What does he want?” she asked again.

Rilla looked away. “We are required to dress and have dinner with him at seven o’clock, every night, unless he is traveling,” she said, as though reciting house rules. “After dinner, he selects one girl to sit with him in the backroom. The rest of us are dismissed to our rooms.”

“And what does he do to girls there?” Seri asked.

“Talks, mostly,” Rilla said. “Sometimes, he asks about our health or our families, sometimes he talks about himself, sometimes he speaks of nothing. But sometimes, he speaks of… of what we might do in order to go back home.”

“Which is what?” Seri asked.

The girls looked away.

Seri felt queasy. “Does he come into your beds at night? Does he rape you?”

“No, he never touches us… not unless we say so,” Rilla said quickly. “When we’re ready to give him whatever he wants, he takes the girls aside, breaks the curse, and sends them home.”

“Or he murders them,” someone piped in, the youngest of the girls, who seemed barely fourteen.

“Lotte, you know that isn’t true,” Rilla chided.

“It might be. No one actually knows what happens to them,” Lotte said. “Because no one ever sees them again. He says he’ll take us home, but we don’t really know.” She looked at Seri. “I’m not trying to frighten you, but—”

“I’m not frightened,” Seri said. “I want the truth.” She turned to Rilla. “Do you actually know what he does to the girls, once they’ve given him what he wants?”

Rilla looked down. “No. But he tells us they’re safe.”

And they were supposed to trust this liar, this mad man? Seri looked around the room. The girls were drenched with fear. They were afraid of doing what he asked and afraid of not doing what he asked. So they shuffled about, in limbo. Seri looked in the mirror again. What did he want? He had them all at their mercy, but that wasn’t enough.

“What’s his name?” Seri asked.

At if on cue, the double doors clattered open. The sorcerer stood in the doorway. He was impeccably dressed in all black, with white gloves and polished boots. Along with his clothes, he was wearing a new face, one of a handsome and tall man of thirty or so. He stepped into the room, and the girls stepped back, except for Seri, who stood her ground.

“My name is Brandeis Louis Arnwolf of the Secret Tower of Abnoba. But you may call me Brand, if you prefer,” he said, with a bow.

Seri did not move. “Is that your real name?” she asked. “Or another disguise, like the illusions you wear upon your face.”

“I leave that to you to figure out, Lady Serihilde.” He stepped closer to her, and his eyes flickered over her body. Seri folded her arms across her chest. She wondered if he’d do something to her for failing to dress, but he decided to ignore it.