Chapter 16
Istretch out in bed, unable to sleep. My body still aches from weeks of training day and night. Thirteen hours a day of strengthening, of hacking the shit out of the pell, and of scouring the castle for unnamed clues.
I need sleep. Auberon never understood that even the Fey need rest.
I roll over to stare out the window. The vast sky spreads out beyond the glass, and the two moons hang in the dark sky like crown jewels, shimmering over dark waves.
My pulse won’t stop racing because I can’t stop thinking about Vero. She’s growing sicker by the day, and I’m not around to help her.
So, what am I doing wasting my time in bed? Sleep can wait.
Rising from my sheets, I cross to the window and stare out at the glittering sea.
Then I pull open the glass door and step out onto the balcony.
A bottle of mead still stands on the table from earlier, and I pour myself a glass.
I take a sip, trying to figure out my next move. I need to search in a more focused way.
I breathe in the salty air and let the sweet mead linger over my tongue. It’s balmy out here for April, and it’s so peaceful and calm, I almost hate it.
I take another sip. The mead slides warmly down into my chest.
I’m going out to look for the grail one more time.
Cador said, Here, secrets are hidden behind locked doors.
But if that’s literal, which locked door?
When I cross back into my room, I open the wardrobe and grab a soft blue cloak and one of the daggers. The misericorde might be thin enough for picking a lock, and I take a hairpin too. I slide the dagger into a thigh holster.
I stay barefoot. I want to walk as quietly as possible tonight and skulk around unnoticed.
Carefully, I open the door and slip into the stairwell. The hallway is empty, just guttering torches and shifting shadows. The only sound is the pounding of the waves floating through open arched windows.
Cador said that unlocking doors would be treason. And treason, as it happens, is my favorite hobby.
I begin the climb, spiraling to the tower’s summit. At each landing, warm light dances over the sigils, painted with ladybirds, magpies, jackdaws, honeybees, pegasuses, and bats.
At last, I reach the crown of the tower.
A cool breeze slips over my skin as I step into the open space.
Up here, there’s no ceiling, just arched openings framing the sky itself.
Silver-red moonlight bathes the floor, and wisps of clouds drift slowly overhead.
From this height, the kingdom stretches out beneath me, an endless landscape of velvet-dark night and a star-dappled sea.
There’s nothing in here, no adornment or decorations except the silent beauty of the night sky.
But from here, I have a perfect view of the entire fortress. My gaze lingers on a large stone building with a rounded red door with climbing ivy. Above the door is a carving of a chained book, painted bright colors. A library, I think. That will be worth exploring at some point.
There are new additions around Aether Tower now—our banner flags snap in the wind, one for each of us. Above the banners is a golden number: 180. The number of contenders remaining after Blythe burned to death.
The wind toys with the fabric of my raven banner where it stands among the others from the Gloaming Tower. Elizabeth’s owl flaps in the breeze near mine.
I survey the grounds again, and this time, it’s Lyria that catches my eye. At the top, a still pool of water reflects the moons like a mirror. From the chambers below, waterfalls cascade into a misty basin at the bottom.
But something snags my attention at its summit.
Everything in the Veiled Court gleams with magical perfection except the top floor of Lyria.
There, above the falling water, one of the mullioned windows hangs open, half shattered.
A torn and tattered curtain flutters in the window, buffeted by the wind.
It’s dyed woad blue, an old style no one has used in centuries.
So, what’s going on in there?
A locked room, perhaps? Completely off-limits—like some of the old derelict buildings in East London. I grip the side of the parapet, and the wind whips over me.
That’s where I should start.
Halfway down the stairs, I hear the sound of footfalls, and voices echo off the stairwell stones. Guards, I think.
I don’t want anyone catching me out of my room tonight, so I slip onto the balconies outside one of the open windows. There’s only about a one-foot ledge out here. I press myself all the way to the side, staying out of view while trying not to fall off.
The guards round the stairwell and pass my hiding location.
I catch my breath and wait until the guards’ voices fade to silence, then step back into the quiet stairwell.
The cool stones feel smooth against my bare soles, and I take a few steps down to the round door painted with the rolling cart.
At last, I have a reason to use this, but I need to be somewhat discreet.
When I push through the door, I find myself standing on a stone balcony, where one of the wooden carts sits waiting on the tracks. The night air is cool, and I breathe in the scent of apples and honeysuckle. From this vantage point, I look out at the strange beauty of the towers and courtyards.
But my gaze is on Lyria, where the towering, blue-tinged standing stones glow behind streams of water.
The warm wind kisses my cheeks. I don’t belong in this rarefied, elitist fortress.
I’m not from one of Brocéliande’s noble families, and my ancestors’ nearest brush with royalty was digging the graves of those they executed.
But deep down, I don’t believe that people deserve things because of their ancestors.
Bloodlines alone should not grant or withhold the healing powers of the grail.
This place is mine as much as it is Rion’s and Igraine’s.
I climb into the cart, settling my arse on the hard oak seat. There are a few different track options, but one of them shoots over to Aether Tower, then curves around to Lyria.
I turn to inspect the mahogany lever to my left. There are six different settings marking the various destinations: a picture of Aether Tower, little animals for the menagerie, a sword for the arena, flowers for the garden, and so on.
Lyria Tower stands near an orchard, so I press the lever all the way down to a picture of an apple tree.
Then, I duck down into the cart. Immediately, I’m off, gripping the wooden bar and peering out the side. Even crouching like I am, I’m grinning ear to ear. A wild thrill rushes through me as I sweep around the courtyards, watching them barrel past me.
I zoom toward Aether, then curve sharply to whip past the spray of Lyria’s waterfalls. Pure joy lights me as I pick up speed, hurtling through the night, until at last, the cart comes to a hard stop against a wooden barrier. The impact knocks me forward a little, and I bump my head inside the cart.
Rubbing my skull, I step out.
Quietly, I creep from the orchard and head for Lyria’s door. I scan the courtyard for signs of movement and sneak across the grass and stone and shadows.
As I reach the base of the tower, the running water shoots mist into the air around me.
There’s no reason for me to be in the Lyria Tower, no plausible deniability. My best hope is simply to move as fast as possible.
But this is all for Vero. All it will take is one sip from that grail, and she’ll be healthy again forever.
Quietly, I push through the smooth ivory door and slink into the Lyria Tower.