Chapter 18
Krohl followed Beatryce into her quarters as she went through the doors from the garden.
As he went to take up his position at the main door, she studied the adjoining wall of her apartment, trying to imagine that there might be a room somewhere beyond.
A room in what was supposed to be nothing but stone.
It made no sense.
She left the apartment to walk the corridor that paralleled the stone. Krohl started to follow her. She shook her head. “I’m not going far.”
With a grunt, he returned to his position.
She started forward, running her hand along the wall, trying to feel if there might be some inconsistency that would hint at a secret passage or hidden door.
There was nothing.
At the end of that section of wall, there was a storage room. She went inside. It was good Krohl wasn’t with her. It would have been cramped if he’d come in.
Wooden shelves housed supplies for colder weather. Heavier linens, thick window draperies, woolen bed curtains, along with rugs and a few cleaning items. One shelf held candles and soap.
What was she missing?
She lit one of the candles and held it at the back of the shelves, using the light to check the wall for any signs of a passageway. She went shelf by shelf, examining all she could reach. She doubted her grandmother would have hidden a latch any higher.
Beatryce sighed as she blew the candle out and returned it to its spot. Was it possible that those diamond-shaped windows didn’t lead to anything? That they’d simply been placed for decorative purposes?
She might very well be trying to find something that didn’t exist. She headed back to her apartment. Trog was at her mother’s door. He hadn’t been there before. Maybe he’d been inside.
Bea paused. “Trog, this is Krohl. He’s my new bodyguard.”
Trog grunted. Krohl replied with one of his own.
She opened her door and went inside.
The room that was closest to the stone buttress was the office, but she’d already spent time in there. Nothing in that room made it seem like there might be another one beyond it.
Although that would be a key ingredient in a secret room. If it were easy to find, it wouldn’t stay secret long. She walked into the office. “Lights.”
As the room lit up, she inspected the first wall top to bottom. Where the shelves were, she ran her fingers over the seams of wood, trying to see if there was a latch hidden somewhere. She didn’t expect to find anything and her expectations were met.
Didn’t stop her from feeling discouraged and a little annoyed.
Was there any point in examining the walls that held the windows? A hidden door there would only lead outside. She passed those by.
The walls opposite were ignored as well. Those adjoined the sitting room, didn’t they? That left the wall behind the desk. It was paneled with wainscoting and decorative moldings above and below.
She felt every inch of the wainscoting and molding, hoping to find something that would indicate there was more than met the eye. The joins were smooth and the craftmanship exceptional. There wasn’t even a place where she could slip a fingernail in.
Her frustration grew into a low growl. How on earth was she supposed to find her grandmother’s vault without some kind of clue? Leda should have given Bea everything she needed in that first box.
Utterly irritated, Bea smacked her palms against the panel in front of her, the heels of her hands striking the top edge of the wainscoting.
The impulsive reaction sent a shockwave of pain through her injured hand that sucked the air from her lungs.
She bent double, clutching her hand to her chest as she tried to breathe.
She squeezed her eyes tight, a tear leaking from one. What a stupid, stupid thing to do. She straightened, her hand throbbing, and looked to see if the wound was bleeding again.
But something caught her eye. The wainscoting she’d hit was no longer flush with the wall. It was now more pronounced, just by a hair but enough to be noticeable.
She stared at it. She put her good hand on it and pushed. The strip of molding returned to its original position, as smooth and perfect as it had been a moment ago.
She pushed on it again. With a soft click, it popped it out. She hesitated, then pushed on the wall above it.
The entire wall panel swung inward a few inches. She gasped. “Please let this be it.”
She was about to open the panel further when Dren’s voice rang out.
“Beatryce? Are you here?”
She froze, then grabbed the wainscoting and pulled the panel shut. She left the office, closing the door firmly behind her before hurrying toward the foyer. “I’m here, Dren.”
He bowed. “I just wanted to let you know that I spoke to Thruma and she is meeting with your healer as we speak. She just needed assurance that the request had been approved by me.”
Bea had mixed feelings about that. Dren’s court was in her kingdom. Her word as queen should be enough. Would they still place his authority above hers after they were married? “I see. Well, I’m glad you took care of that.”
He smiled. “And I’m glad to see you’ve got Krohl at the door.”
“Yes, I think he’ll do nicely.” She itched to get back to the office.
“Would you care to join me for lunch in the dining room? I believe the kitchen is making up cold plates of meat and cheese.”
She was a little hungry, but she was far more interested in seeing what lay beyond that hidden door.
Still, she didn’t want to flat out refuse him.
He had provided her with Krohl. And if his stonecaller could assist in Anyka’s healing, all of Malveaux would be in his debt. “I will, but I need to rest for a bit.”
She frowned and touched her head. “I’m still adjusting to the sun. Being in the gardens with you was wonderful, but it gave me a slight headache. Shall I send for you when I’m ready?”
“I am sorry you’re suffering, my lady. Please, take all the time you need. I’ll wait.”
He really was so understanding. She gave him a smile while still maintaining her pained expression. “You are so kind. As soon as it passes, I’ll be with you.”
He took her hand, brushing his mouth across her knuckles. “Be well, my darling Bea.”
“Thank you.”
He left. She raced back to the office, this time closing and locking the door to be sure no one could come in.
She went to the wall and pressed on the wainscoting. It moved just as it had before. She pushed on the wall panel. It swung inward a few inches. Carefully, she opened it further.
There was a stone alcove beyond with another door, this one of heavy, dark wood. Her heart raced. She tried the handle, but the door was locked.
“Please let this work,” she muttered as she fished out the key her grandmother had left for her. She slipped the key into the lock and turned, the gentle clank of the tumblers the most beautiful music she’d ever heard.
This was it. She’d found her grandmother’s vault.
She could barely contain herself as she put the key back into the pouch at her waist. She opened the door. The space beyond was nearly pitch black, the air stale and tainted with the scents of dust, leather, and age.
The faintest hint of light showed through five diamond-shaped windows high up on the outside wall.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, wondering if she should go back for a lamp. First, she tried something. “Lights.”
Candles came alive with flames and light filled the space. Her mouth fell open as she took a few steps forward. It wasn’t the most spacious of rooms, but it was full.
A glittering crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling with more than enough candles to provide illumination. In one corner sat a well-used leather armchair backed by shelves of books on both sides. Some were clearly grimoires. In another corner, there was a large wardrobe.
In the opposite corner, an enormous gilt-edged mirror reflected light back. The frame was intricately carved with sigils Bea had never seen before. Each side bore one, as well as the four corners of the mirror.
In the final corner of the room were more shelves and a narrow worktable.
The shelves were filled with glass bottles, ceramic jars, small wooden boxes, and a few metal flasks.
On the table sat a variety of instruments.
Bowls, mixing utensils, some curious measuring spoons, an array of knives and daggers, more candles, and different sizes of glass tumblers.
In the center of the room, directly below the chandelier, was a dark wood table. Despite a thin layer of dust, the wood still gleamed from its last polish. Under the table lay a round silk rug, the border of which bore an inscription in silver thread that glittered even after all this time.
She walked around the rug and read it out loud. “Here the veil grows thin between what is seen and what is known. Speak truly or not at all.”
Bea’s breath caught. The words shimmered faintly as the candlelight touched them, as if the rug itself were alive. This wasn’t just a decoration. It felt like an instruction.
Should she just say what she wanted? How much magic had her grandmother imbued into this space? How much power had Leda truly possessed?
Bea stood before the table and thought about what to say. “I want the words of Lady Cynzia.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then something creaked softly. Books on the shelves behind the chair shifted. A small, bound tome slipped from the middle shelf and floated toward her. The book stopped before her, hovering.
Almost trembling, Bea snatched the book from the air.
She opened the book, quickly studying the pages.
She had no way of knowing if these really were the writings Lady Cynzia had given to Leda at Tenebrae.
She looked through them. Each page seemed to hold a recipe for a potion, a spell, or an incantation.
She flipped to the front of the book to see if there was a table of contents. She found something better. A note in her grandmother’s hand.
A collection of charms from Lady Cynzia given to me, Leda Blackbryar, upon my visit to her at Tenebrae. Page nine is especially potent.
Curious, Bea went to page nine. The page numbers had been added in a different hand than what the main contents were written in. Her grandmother’s, undoubtedly.
Page nine contained the instructions for preparing the poison made from blood ivy.
Bea exhaled. The very thing Leda had used to hide this vault.
Was that a sign? Was she meant to follow in her grandmother’s footsteps? She had no sense one way or the other. If it was meant to be, she felt as if she would know.
More importantly, she needed to find a way to help her mother. There was no telling if Mistress Barlow and Stonecaller Thruma would be successful. If Bea could find a way to give her mother a better chance, she would take it.
She would have to meet Dren soon for lunch or he might come to check on her.
Still, a few minutes remained before she ought to leave. This vault was obviously filled with things she would have to explore. It was a treasure-trove of possibilities.
Investigating it would come in due time. Right now, she had a more pressing task. She took the book to the chair, sat down, and began to read.