22. Secrets…
Chapter twenty-two
Secrets…
A floor-length gown wasn’t ideal attire to go skulking around the castle in, but it was midmorning and there were too many people around. She would have been out of place in all black, more obviously up to something. At least in the gown, if she were caught, she could claim herself an innocent, ditzy princess.
Solveig’s footsteps echoed through the cold stone hallways, travelling the stairways, and sneaking beneath doors. The bleak day beyond the windows gave little light, and she watched as servants hurried by, checking that each blue flamed sconce remained to light the passageways. High Tower Castle was built as a fortress, the mountain stronghold, resulting in too few windows. This had been fixed on the lower levels where hundreds of years prior there had been none, to ensure no easy access for would be invaders. Earth Breakers had shattered rocks to allow light into the entry of the castle, but they left the higher levels, where the public did not venture, as they were. Easier to hide secrets and misdeeds in the shadows than the blinding light of day.
Up and up, Solveig climbed, her thighs burning with every step as she fisted the skirt of her gown to avoid tripping on it in the low light. The higher she climbed, the closer the air became. Every breath felt like she was inhaling water as the rising heat mingled with the damp. Finally, six stories above her own chambers, she pushed through the burning ache in her thighs to reach the door to her father’s chambers. Where she came face-to-face with not one, but two heavily armed guards.
She’d been prepared for this. As soon as their gazes locked on her, before they could even reach for their swords, Solveig’s hand flew to her chest, eyes growing wide as she gasped.
“Oh, thank The Oracle!”
The guards’ eyes flicked to each other before focusing back on the princess.
“The king needs you!” she cried through sharp, shallow breaths. “Anti-magicists have descended on The Hallows. You must go assist them!”
Neither guard tried to move.
“For Oracle’s sake, I will guard the door. Go help your king!” She gestured frantically toward the staircase she had ascended moments ago.
“Perhaps one of us should stay,” the guard to the right said, his words trailing off as he took in the princesses reddening face, fists shaking at her sides.
“You refuse to assist your king in his hour of need?” she spat. “I should have you in the gallows for dereliction of duty.” She watched as the guards’ faces paled. “Or better yet—” A wicked smile spread across her face as she lifted a hand, blue gems in her cuffs glowing. “Why don’t I sentence you now? What use is a guard that’s reluctant to do what’s necessary?”
A solitary step forward was enough to send both guards running. Their armour clattered as they raced down the spiral staircase. All to aid a king who didn’t require it and would have their jobs for abandoning their posts. But sacrifices had to be made in times like these, and Solveig needed the information behind that door to keep herself safe.
Her footsteps echoed throughout the landing as she walked, checking that no one lingered before returning to the once guarded door to pick the lock she’d sworn to keep safe. She bent low, ear pressed close, listening for each catch and snick as she worked. Her movements were steady, sure that she would have more than enough time to get in and out before the guards returned. If they did at all.
The Hallows lay beyond the city’s eastern gates. Giving her a minimum of an hour or two before anyone came looking.
Beyond the door lay the king’s grand office, walls lined with leather-bound books, their titles etched in priceless gold. The sturdy desk sat before a large arched window. The glass in the centre was clear, allowing a vast view across the city below. But the edges were a border of stained glass, a mosaic of blues and reds, the powers of the royal house. Intricate metal work of lead and copper held the pieces together, but also drew shapes. Vines and flowers that appeared to shift into snakes that weren’t seen in these lands, creatures that called the Jewelled jungle of Farrenhold home. Their depiction caused Solveig to pause, stepping closer to study them. Why were they here? For what purpose? The glass was said to change with every ruler. The reds and blues made sense, the vines, and flowers too, for the king’s mother had been an Earth Breaker. But the snakes they didn’t belong. Wolves, horses, birds of prey and cattle called Torrelin home, their climate was much too cold for snakes.
It was a mystery that would have to be saved for another day. She turned to face her father’s sprawling desk, noting scorched patches across the surface that had yet to be sanded out. A pot of ink and a quill sat to the side next to blank sheets of pulped paper. Beside that lay a jar of wax pellets, envelopes, and finally king’s royal seal stamp lay atop a pedestal. The king, though quick to temper, was still meticulous. Unlike Commander Sellen, no documents had been left out on the desk, leaving Solveig no option but to tangle with the locked drawers, one by one. All six of them. She only hoped whatever she was searching for was hidden within the first.
But luck, as was often the case, wasn’t on her side. As she flicked through files and stacks of paper. Missives between him and Guild Leaders. Decrees he had passed and some that still required further scrutiny. Yet through each drawer and every sheet, not one made any mention of Luxenal Mine, nor the ordered executions.
Solveig cursed, slamming the last drawer shut as she lowered to the floor. She leaned back to rest her head against the desk as she stared up at the stone ceiling held up by rotting wooden beams.
The information had to be here somewhere. There was no way the king didn’t track who he put to death and why. He was far too prideful to let any piece of his legacy be forgotten.
Slowly she rose to her feet, spinning on the spot, scanning for any hidden nooks or holes. None were to be seen, and she hadn’t the time to go through every book in the room to search for hidden files. But she would come back. Every day if she had to.
She headed for the door. Steps cushioned by the rug in the centre of the room until a squeak and groan echoed around her.
She froze. Gaze falling to her feet. Hesitantly, she pressed down again with her leading foot and watched as the floor depressed beneath her weight. A creaking groan sounded once again before she lifted her foot and ran to the edge of the rug. Shoving heavy chairs out of the way to roll it up, revealing a wooden door in the centre of the stone floor.
Solveig’s hand shook as reached for the handle set flush within it, twisting to find it unlocked. The hinges screeched as she wrenched it open. The scent of dust and damp greeted her as she stared into a small hole barely a meter wide, crammed full of files. She reached in as far as possible, grabbing the top three. She settled on the cold stone floor, not wanting to waste time re-laying the rug in case footsteps sounded on the staircase beyond the door.
Solveig stared down at the top file, emblazoned with ‘Project Luxenal: Subject 51’, and knew in her gut these were the files she needed. The answers she craved from the moment Killian had confessed their deeds to her. She flipped the cover and scanned the contents. Malik’s name and description listed at the top, followed by a history of his arrest and sentencing. There were detailed accounts of his time in the mine, every guard interaction, every infraction. Every test and punishment, and finally records from his well-being assessments.
Leader Ezekiel had been present at them all. How had she never known he had been at Luxenal? The notes on the assessment were in his hand. Each time, the question had been the same. Why did he steal the book? And his response never changed. Not once over countless sessions, as though perfectly rehearsed.
‘Subject continues to insist he worked alone and not at the behest of his sibling, Adira Etana, nor their father, Sovereign Warwick Etana.’
Each file was more of the same, lists of transgressions, notes on well-being sessions overseen by Leader Ezekiel. The second file belonging to Connall Kano. On and on it went. Every project number was a prisoner she had executed. Yet not one file contained an execution order nor death certificate. A missing piece of evidence that could only be within the confines of Luxenal. The last piece that tied the experiments and the executions together. The proof of what her family had been doing for the last two years, and what they would have continued doing if she hadn’t refused to kill Malik. How many Luxenal projects would there have been? Would they have ever stopped? Questions only her father could answer, and she was in no position to ask without the proof in her hands to stop him evading her.
As she was reaching to replace the files from where she found them, her ears picked up the sound of footsteps beyond the door. She rushed, haphazardly replacing the files. Reaching for the door, closing it is as quietly as possible to avoid the screeching hinges before hurriedly straightening the rug and chairs to hide her discovery. She raced for the door, closing it behind her, as the shining blonde head of her brother cleared the landing. His eyes zeroed in on where she leaned against the wall, ankles crossed in a nonchalant stance.
“Should I be insulted that you believed anti-magicists would pose a threat?” he paused. “Or impressed by how easily you manipulated those guards to abandon their posts?” He stopped before her.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she simpered, staring up at him with false innocence.
“You didn’t tell two of the king’s most trusted guards he needed their assistance?” He quirked a brow.
“I saw two guards running down the staircase and found the door to Father’s office unguarded. No more, no less.”
“So you decided to stand here and wait for them to come back?”
“I assumed someone would be along to check, eventually.”
“Lucky then that I arrived before you could get yourself into more trouble,” he stated, taking a step forward.
“Again, brother,” she said, taking a step back until she was flush with the icy wall at her back. She fought the shiver from the chill stone against her warm skin that she knew Killian would attribute to fear of him instead. “I was simply guarding an unlocked door. I had no nefarious intentions.”
“Then you’ll be happy to hear you’re relieved of your post. Mother is looking for you. You’re late for tea.” Solveig scowled at his sarcastic tone, and the laugh he barely held back. “Do enjoy your leisurely lunch, Solveig.” He smiled. “It is, after all, a woman’s place in court to be seen rather than heard.”