Chapter 5
After so many nights sleeping on the floor in Jildarin's storeroom, it should have felt wonderful to be in a bed—her own bed in her own room, albeit one she hadn’t visited in seventeen years.
But Rylana didn’t sleep well. She dreamed of wandering lost in tunnels under the castle with troll-god idols leaping off their pedestals to stalk her, their red eyes glowing all the while.
When she woke in the middle of the night, sweat plastering her shirt to her torso, she felt alone, discombobulated, and out of place in her childhood bedroom.
Even though it had a lovely location in one of the rear towers, with windows that overlooked the lake, it was no longer home, no longer a comforting sanctuary.
In the darkness, she rose and looked out a window toward Tranquility and wondered if Jildarin missed having her sleeping in the corner of his lair. Probably not. More likely, he was delighted to have the space to himself.
“I should have invited Sylin up to sleep on my floor,” Rylana murmured, shuffling back to bed. Oh, she would have offered the settee under the window, but Sylin would have opted for the rug in front of the fireplace.
Sylin had, however, remained in the library, opting to rest on its hard marble floor. She’d wanted to doze where she would wake if Vormalt climbed up from the ancient temple.
Since Rylana wanted to question him, she’d been glad Sylin had volunteered to keep guard.
Rylana didn’t want Vormalt to be able to sneak out without explaining what he’d been doing under the library.
For that matter, how had he learned the buried temple existed?
Rylana hadn’t had any idea. If her father knew about it, he’d never mentioned it within her hearing.
Since the tiles had needed to be smashed to gain access to the trapdoor, she was inclined to believe that generations might have passed since anyone had known of the temple’s existence.
When the first hint of predawn light brightened the sky outside, Rylana got up, pushing away another round of troll-god-laden dreams. The memory of the red-eyed idol kept coming to mind, whether she was sleeping or awake.
After using the lavatory, she walked down the stairs to the library, hoping Vormalt had woken up and could explain things.
What had he meant when he’d asked Sylin if she would help reveal the secrets of the city?
What could a long-abandoned temple have to do with Tranquility?
And what had Vormalt done down there besides knocking the idols over?
And why had he done that? Or had whatever magic he’d unleashed been responsible?
“Sylin?” Rylana called softly before entering the library. It was never wise to startle an assassin. “Did Vormalt come out?”
Her nose crinkled. The air smelled odd, musty with a tang of something that reminded her of rotten eggs. She didn’t recall noticing that the night before. She yawned, not feeling rested, as she peered around the library.
When nobody answered her questions, Rylana walked into the room, glancing toward the corner with the trapdoor. The blue glow hadn’t returned, but only one of the lanterns they’d brought in the night before was there, still on the floor where they’d left it. Someone had closed the trapdoor.
Her first thought was that Sylin had done it to ensure Vormalt would make noise if he tried to leave, and she would wake up. But when Rylana walked deeper into the library, she found Sylin in the spot she’d left her, sleeping on the floor with a bookcase to her back.
“Sylin?” Rylana asked, surprised her comrade hadn’t woken at her first call—or at the faint creaks from Rylana descending the stairs. “Were the night’s events that exhausting?”
When Sylin’s eyes didn’t open, concern swept into Rylana, and she knelt by her friend. Sylin was breathing, but this couldn’t be natural sleep. Usually, Sylin slept like a bird with one eye open, ever alert.
Rylana yawned, and alarm smacked into her. Why was she yawning so much?
Heart hammering, she almost ran out of the library, but she couldn’t leave Sylin.
“That smell,” she remembered, shaking her comrade’s shoulder.
This time, Sylin’s eyes opened, but they were bleary, and she was slow to turn her head and focus on Rylana.
“Did someone blow something into the air? A sleeping drug or something?” Rylana looked toward the trapdoor. “Vormalt. Who else would it have been?”
Sylin pushed herself into a sitting position. “I… don’t remember.”
“Let’s get out of the library.” Rylana stood and helped Sylin to her feet.
They both yawned.
“If that’s what happened,” Sylin said, “I’m chagrined that I didn’t hear it—him.”
“Maybe he threw a powder or smoking vial or some such into the library before coming up the ladder.”
“It could also have something to do with the troll magic,” Sylin said.
“Are troll gods known for their sleep spells?” Rylana pointed toward the far hallway, wanting to get out of the library before she succumbed to whatever was lingering in the air.
“No, they favor curses, malisons, and maledictions.”
“Aren’t those all the same thing?”
“To a troll, there are distinctions. I—” Sylin halted and lifted a finger.
The thud of a door shutting sounded. It had come from the utility hall near the tower, and Rylana spun in that direction.
The butler shambled into the library, his black uniform rumpled, his short hair sticking out in all directions, and a shovel gripped in his hands.
It wasn’t the man who’d served the family when Rylana had been growing up, and she wouldn’t have been sure who he was if he weren’t wearing a uniform with the Avandar silver crest on the shoulder.
“Who are you?” he blurted, glancing around the library.
Thanks to the brightening daylight coming through the windows and the lantern on the floor, he spotted the broken tiles and sledgehammer right away. His knuckles tightened on the haft of the shovel.
“Rylana.” She held up a hand, afraid he would think her responsible. “Rylana Avandar. This is my friend, Sylin. We came looking for Vormalt. We think he did that.” She pointed at the mess and the trapdoor.
“Vormalt. He drugged me. At least… I think that’s what happened.
” The butler touched the side of his head.
“I was out in the kennel feeding the hounds. I heard something and turned around, and there he was. He threw a bunch of powder at my face, then shut the door and locked me in. He put something against the latch so I couldn’t get it open.
I went to the windows, but by the time I got one open and was ready to climb out, I was too exhausted to lift my legs.
Then I passed out altogether.” Eyes widening, he looked at the trapdoor again.
“I don’t know what happened here, but it’s not my fault.
You’ll tell your father, won’t you? He doesn’t usually get angry with me, but I’ve never allowed someone to take a sledgehammer to the floor before either. ”
“I… I can tell him, yes.” Rylana lowered her hand, surprised the butler accepted who she was when they hadn’t met before, but maybe Father had mentioned that she was back in town. “I don’t suppose Vormalt told you what he was up to before hurling powders around.”
“A trendy thing to do of late,” Sylin murmured, reminding Rylana of the goblin substance that Jildarin's rivals had been trying to hit him with to force him to change into his native form—a violation of Tranquility’s rules. “At least you know your father’s butler isn’t a kitsune or lycanthrope.”
“I’m sure they weren’t the same substances. Though, if they were, I would also know you weren’t a lycanthrope either.” Rylana waved around the library, though there wasn’t any lingering trace of whatever powder Vormalt had thrown.
“I would have guessed you knew that after all the years we’ve worked together.”
“Your childhood among wolves and predilection for pointed ears did make me wonder.”
“Ha ha.”
Rylana had to stifle another yawn. Worried the substance lingered in the air, she waved for the others to follow her out of the library.
The butler hesitated, his gaze drawn toward the trapdoor. “What’s down there?”
“Nothing we wanted to be unearthed. Since you were knocked out, you probably didn’t see the blue glow emanating from the castle.”
“I… no.” Blinking, the butler followed her. “I’m Zames, by the way. Your father said you might be by eventually.”
“Hopefully, he doesn’t still think I came back to Tranquility because I want to mooch money.” Rylana couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice. Even though her father had only suggested that once, when they’d first run into each other on the street, it had rankled.
“No… he didn’t mention that,” Zames said as they headed for the kitchen, stepping aside for a gnomish cleaning device that was rolling down the hallway, dragging linens and a comforter toward the laundry room in the back of the castle.
“He said you might eventually realize that a diner has limited opportunities for advancement and come to take your rightful position in the family business.”
“The diner is wonderful. You should come by when you get a day off.”
“I’ve, ah, heard of it. And the dragon.”
“He’s wonderful too.”
Sylin arched her eyebrows.
“I’ve heard he’s surly,” Zames said.
“Maybe it would be more correct to say his food is wonderful,” Rylana said, “though he… grows on you.”
“Did you pine last night, not being able to sleep adjacent to him in his lair?” Sylin asked her.
“Of course not,” Rylana said, though she had woken up thinking of Jildarin. As they stepped into the kitchen, she added, “Sleeping on a bed was luxurious and delightful. I’d forgotten how good one’s muscles could feel after—”
“What is that?” Zames pointed to a book on one of the butcher-block islands.
“One-hundred-and-one Recipes to Awaken a Troll God?” Sylin suggested.
“Nobody awakened any gods.” Rylana gave her an exasperated look.
“That intense blue glow and magic suggested something was woken up.”
“Well, the glow is gone now, thankfully.”
“I’m the only one who’s been in the castle for the last few days,” Zames said, walking toward the island, “and I don’t recognize it.
It wasn’t there when I chopped up raw meat for the dogs last night.
” He picked up the book and read the title off the cover.
“The Rise of the New God, Gnomish Hegemony, and the Founding of Tranquility.”
“That sounds like a book that could put you to sleep faster than drugs,” Rylana said.
“By reading it or being struck by it?” Zames made a face as he hefted it to indicate its weight. “I can promise you by its size that it’s never been a bestseller.”
“Not in this century anyway.” Rylana took it from him. The pages were yellowed and the text written by hand. “The printing press has been around for three-hundred-odd years.”
“Maybe that was penned in your castle’s scriptorium.” Sylin’s eyebrows twitched.
“That’s possible. It could have been on a shelf in the library for ages, and I wouldn’t have known.
It’s also possible that Vormalt brought it with him and accidentally left it.
” Rylana turned a few pages, wondering if there was anything in it about Avandar Castle.
And the chamber—the temple—with the idols underneath it…
But she had a feeling that predated all the topics mentioned in the book title.
“He asked me if I was here to reveal the secrets of the city,” Sylin said.
“To those who’ve been duped all this time,” Rylana said.
“I remember. I wish we’d succeeded in questioning him.
” Belatedly, she wondered if Vormalt had truly passed out after Sylin had shown him her knife, or if he’d feigned that.
“We should have submerged his head in a bucket of water to check,” she muttered.
“Do you know where he lives?”
“I know where his family estate is, yes, and I know where the estate of the woman he married is.”
“Oh, Pennigrew Timberport?” Zames asked. “She’s a delight. Quirky but a delight.”
“Do you want to check those locations?” Sylin arched her eyebrows. “The way you answered the question makes me believe you don’t think he’ll be in either place.”
“He could be,” Rylana said, “but if I’d vandalized the library floor in someone’s house and been identified by the staff, I wouldn’t go home.”
“House?” Sylin looked at the kitchen with its three hearths and multiple stoves, then waved in the direction of the study, the office, and the scriptorium.
“Castle,” Rylana corrected. “I’d especially go into hiding after vandalizing a castle.”
“And waking troll gods.”
“Nobody has woken any gods. But he was after something.” Rylana closed the book and tucked it under her arm. “We’ll check those estates in case he’s more foolish than I believe. We’ve probably got an hour until the first ferry leaves. I do plan to be on that ferry. I’m craving bacon.”
“And the company of your lair mate.” Sylin nodded and smiled.
“Have I mentioned what a joy traveling with you is?”
“Not as often as you should.”