Chapter Three – Jessa #2
“It’s the damn magic,” I sigh. “You can bet someone tried it before me and left a note in a diary where he described how quickly the equipment disintegrated inside the room. The challenges have unwritten rules. You’re supposed to pass the tests the way they were designed to be passed.
I was honestly worried I wouldn’t be allowed to enter the tunnels if I brought someone with me, but it appears there’s no rule against it. ”
I pause and wipe my nose again.
“Anyway. The second bodyguard was a troll. Incredibly strong and with thick skin, you know? He got me through the Drowning Room, and we made it to the second challenge. We call that one the Puzzle Wall. It’s a massive wall covered in rotating stone discs, each one weighing over fifty pounds.
You have to align them to form the Holloway family tree.
Wrong combinations trigger poisoned darts from holes in the walls.
The troll had the strength needed and could lift me to reach the high positions, but several darts got through his hide.
Medieval hemlock poison. Fast-acting. He started convulsing within minutes.
I had to abandon the puzzle and drag him back through the Drowning Room.
He survived, but he was violently ill for days. ”
Castien is silent for a long moment.
“For the first challenge, you mentioned the trap door mechanism has multiple locks?”
I nod. “The Drowning Room is a high-ceilinged chamber. Water pours in from vents in the walls and fills the room fast. The trap door is at the bottom. I have to dive down repeatedly, work on the mechanism, and surface for air before I drown. The mechanism is complex. I know the general solution because I’ve studied it, but the exact configuration changes each time.
It requires my blood on specific seals, and physical force to turn the locks at the same time.
Eventually the water reaches the ceiling, and there’s only a shrinking air pocket left.
The final lock needs both blood and strength simultaneously.
When it’s unlocked, the water drains through floor grates, and the trap door opens. ”
“You know how to solve it?”
“I know the principles. The execution is what matters.”
Castien stands in front of the iron door, his glowing eyes fixed on it. He’s perfectly still, his wings folded tight, his hands at his sides.
“I will not fail like the first two,” he says.
There’s no arrogance in his voice, only certainty.
I look up at him and feel something shift in my chest. I don’t know what it is.
Relief, maybe, or hope. I’ve been carrying the weight of two failures for weeks, and now I’m standing next to someone who doesn’t breathe, doesn’t bleed, and can’t be poisoned.
Someone who might actually get me to that vault.
Dear God – and no, I’m not religious, but…
dear God! – just the idea that I might finally get my hands on my ancestors’ treasure makes me feel weak in the knees.
The way my life will change if Castien can truly beat the traps and challenges…
I can barely wrap my head around it. My mother and I will never have to suffer again.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. One step at a time. And let’s not forget this is my third try. I cross my fingers behind my back discreetly, so Castien doesn’t see and think I’m a superstitious idiot, and hope that the saying “third time’s a charm” is true.
“Mr. Tremaine will have dinner ready soon,” I say. “You are invited, of course.”
“I don’t require sustenance,” he says bluntly.
Right. Of course he doesn’t.
“There’s a room ready for you at the gatehouse,” I say. “Mr. Tremaine prepared it.”
“I don’t require rest.”
It takes so much restraint for me to not roll my eyes. It makes my throbbing headache intensify.
“I’m aware. But the room is there if you want privacy.”
He inclines his head slightly.
“I will make use of it. Thank you.”
“I will make use of…” – who talks like that?! It might be the cold, the constant sneezing and my nose running, but some things about this guy are pissing me off.
Another awkward pause stretches between us. Castien excels at awkward pauses, and he’s slowly infecting me.
I’m cold, tired, and my head is pounding. I want Garrick’s soup, a hot bath, and eight hours of sleep.
“Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we start,” I say. “I want to be in the tunnels before the sun is up.”
What sun? The metaphorical sun, perhaps. Stupid UK weather.
“I will be ready.”
Okay, I’m done with this. He’s made of steel, but he might as well have been made of ice. Bloody ice king. Ice angel, or whatever.
I turn and walk back through the dungeons, leaving him to study the heavy door to the Drowning Room.
I don’t look back. I climb the stairs, cross the entry hall, and step out into the drizzle.
It has turned colder while we were inside, and the wind coming off the cliffs cuts through my jacket.
I pull it tighter and head across the overgrown grounds to the gatehouse.
Garrick has the door open before I reach it. The smell of chicken soup hits me, and I could cry with relief.
“Come in, Miss Holloway,” he says. “Before you catch your death.”