It was seeing the wardrobe and remembering those days that did it. Phoebe had a flash in her mind’s eye of a wooden floorboard, and a tiny symbol carved into the surface of the wood. The symbol had been barely visible since it hadn’t been filled with blacking to make it stand out, but with a child’s curiosity, she’d seen the strange flaw in the grain of the wood and crawled closer to investigate it.
It had been near the wall, next to the back edge of the wardrobe. Here, in her uncle’s bedchamber.
It had been the same symbol she’d seen just today, on the torn scrap of paper that had been caught by her arrow.
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