Chapter 14 #2
“My sister was my best friend,” I choke out. “But the more I learn about her time here, the more confused and helpless I feel. I just…miss her.”
My voice is so soft and shattered, there’s no way the girl heard. She’s probably already several floors below. But when I glance up, she’s still standing there, considering me as she heaves for breath.
“If I tell you what happened, will you leave me alone?” she finally asks.
I nod as I wipe my nose on the sleeve of my dress.
After another long silence, she says, “I didn’t want to carve those things.
Your sister literally forced me. She curled my fingers around a knife, jabbed another against my throat, and shouted threats until I was willing to do anything to get away from her.
But in all the ways that matter, my hands are clean. ”
She holds up her hands, but I’m already shaking my head. “You’re lying!”
The girl laughs bitterly. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” Then she flies down the staircase, disappearing into the shadows of the palace.
I thump down hard on the landing to catch my breath, but the longer I stare down the empty stairwell, the more I wonder if I’m the one lying to myself.
I’ve heard several unbelievable stories about Rowenna’s time here, and the others turned out to be true. What if this is another?
Are you really going to believe a random servant over me? Rowenna demands. Why would I carve threats against myself? It doesn’t make sense.
That’s the problem. Nothing about her time on the mountain makes sense. Why would she drink bagrava tea and reveal her precious memories to one of Soren’s councilors? Why would she send me letters full of falsehoods about Vanzador and act completely out of character?
You shouldn’t have to betray the core of who you are in order to uncover your enemy’s weaknesses.
Rowenna’s laughter feels like an ice-cold draft against my cheek. It’s sweet that you believe that. A testament to how well I sheltered you. Perhaps a little too well.
“I never asked to be sheltered,” I snap at the empty stairwell. “I could have handled the truth. In fact, I would have been far more prepared to navigate all of this if you hadn’t kept me in the dark.”
If I hadn’t kept you in the dark, you wouldn’t have come at all.
It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut, because she’s right. I would have been too terrified to come here and avenge her if I had known what I would be up against. I would have counted myself out before I even tried. I would have done nothing—like Father.
The realization makes me lurch to my feet, and I storm back to my bedchamber, unsure who I’m more frustrated with: my sister, for always being right, or myself, for being so pathetic and incompetent. The opposite of what Tashir needs.
The moment the door slams behind me, I begin rooting around my chamber like a wild boar.
Yesterday, when I first combed the space, I did so slowly and methodically, fearful of potential traps and dangers.
This time, I am on the attack. I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, but I dart around the room, overturning tables and pulling out drawers, searching for something, anything, that proves the real Rowenna was here.
Some sort of confirmation that I’m on the right path, despite how useless and inadequate I feel.
But I don’t find a trace of my sister or the truth.
It’s like Rowenna was a ghost before she even died.
With a growl of frustration, I pluck one of the gold-lidded pots off the dressing table and hurl it at the nearest wall. It shatters against a protrusion of blue topaz, and I scream even louder as the glass tinkles into the carpet. “Why am I here? What do you expect me to do?”
When Rowenna doesn’t answer, I throw another pot against a fiery-hearted opal. Followed by a jar of perfume that explodes against a cluster of purple amethyst. I hurl every trinket within reach while tears stream down my cheeks, making the room swirl like a watercolor painting.
I attack my haversack next. My fist closes around one of the unripe bagrava fruit I harvested during the fire, and I let it fly. It smashes against a vein of white quartz and turns into a satisfying spray of pulp—all except a small clump of purple flesh that appears to be hovering in midair.
Frowning, I pad over to the gemstone wall and poke around.
Everything inside me goes cold when I find the chunk of bagrava resting on a small doorknob, nestled seamlessly in the quartz. It’s so well camouflaged, I could have easily missed it for months. Years.
I try the knob, and a hairline fracture appears, forming the shape of a small door. A hidden door with direct access to my rooms.
Rooms that also belonged to Rowenna.
I tell myself it’s most likely a cupboard. Or another linen closet. But that’s of little comfort, because a person was living in my washroom closet. And if this door leads somewhere as innocuous as maid’s quarters, why bother concealing it so thoroughly?
Everything about this knob feels sinister. Orchestrated
A shudder grips me as I imagine Ro lying fast asleep on the feather bed, serenely floating through dreams of Tashir.
Completely unaware of the click and scrape of the door.
Oblivious to the shadowy presence creeping across the room.
Waking to the cold bite of steel against her throat as an intruder forced her out of bed and marched her to the cliffs.
That scenario is far more believable than Rowenna holding anyone at knifepoint.
It would have been easy for the serving girl to swap roles with my sister and paint herself as the victim when she relayed the tale.
I have no doubt she knows about this hidden door; she cleans this room every day.
And she clearly hated my sister. The only trouble is, it’s equally difficult to imagine someone so timid and flighty threatening someone as strong and clever as Ro.
Soren and Alaric, on the other hand…
They must know about this hidden door too. They could have conveniently “forgotten” to secure it. Perhaps they even encouraged an assassin to slip in and murder my sister. It would have been the perfect way to keep their royal hands clean and facilitate the exchange. Me for Rowenna.
Do Mother and Father realize they condemned both their daughters when they revealed my abilities as a master gardener? Soren would have never wanted me otherwise. And Ro would have never been killed.
Devastation and fury slosh around my stomach like ice water. I want to scream and cry. Fight and flee. All of it at once.
If I were back in Tashir, I’d sprint to the fields and channel these feelings into my work.
Earth Mother and the plants have always been my solace.
But that isn’t an option here. I won’t grow so much as a blade of grass for Soren.
Unfortunately, burying my head in the dirt and hoping Tashir will magically be freed isn’t an option either.
I tighten my grip on the doorknob and take a breath for courage. I must keep moving, keep pressing, until I discover the truth.