Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
SERAFINA
“Flark my life,” I cursed, glaring at the thick door and its sturdy iron lock. On the floor sat the twisted bit of gold filigree I’d jimmied into the lock with zero success.
The windows, unlike the door, opened easily. Unfortunately, they were useless since they rested atop a steep wall with no footholds and a bone-shattering drop.
The moment Thorne locked me inside, I’d ransacked every drawer and chest. While I’d discovered nothing that would aid in my escape, I had found an extensive supply of men’s clothing.
The fabric, though aged, was finely made—sturdy enough to have endured the passage of time.
Although there wasn’t enough to make a rope, at least I was no longer half-naked.
I hitched the waistband of my stolen pants higher and tightened the knotted shirt at my waist. One way or another, I was getting out of here.
As I surveyed the room, the silence pressed in, giving my thoughts too much space.
I was a fake princess locked in a crumbling castle guarded by a cranky dragon and his ill-tempered companion. On top of that, horrifying creatures thought to be extinct had attacked my village. While the monsters seemed to have retreated, everyone I knew was either dead or captured.
The fist squeezing my heart attempted to drag me down, but I shoved it aside. I couldn’t afford tears. Not with Speck’s life hanging in the balance.
Think, Serafina. Think.
The lock was hopeless. The window a death drop. No weapons to be found. There had to be something here to aid my escape.
A sharp knock rattled the door, and I jolted at the sound. If it were Thorne, he could go to Hades. I was in no mood to deal with the blue-eyed devil’s snide remarks.
I froze as the lock’s tumblers clanged and the door swung wide, revealing a stout figure. One look and shock zapped my brain. I barely kept myself from thrusting out my index finger, blurting—green! Instead, I mashed my lips together, the word emerging as a vulgar grunt.
One eye—only one—glared from the center of the woman’s forehead. Silver streaks threaded through her braids, her weathered green skin lined with age.
A trogg. An actual trogg. All my life, I’d heard stories of their kind in whispers and folktales. Meeting one in the flesh was…unsettling. And from the look she gave me, the feeling was mutual. The way she stared, you’d think I was a ghost risen from the dead.
Her dark purple lips cinched into a grimace. “You going to stand there and gawk or let us in?”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” It was then I noted the tray she carried along with the second female trogg who waited behind her, bucket and broom in hand. I stepped back, opening the door to its fullest.
Despite my fatigue, the temptation of freedom called. The open passage invited me to bolt, which would undoubtedly cause the trogg to attack and call for backup. Whereupon I’d be captured and tossed into the dungeon. With a heavy sigh, I closed the door behind the pair.
“I’m Myrna. That’s Azuk,” the elder said without preamble, plunking the tray onto a small side table. “Thought you might be hungry.”
“That’s…kind. Thank you.”
Azuk was taller and younger, with wide-eyed energy and a mane of black braids twisted into two buns. She gawked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head. “Praise the stones. They said you were alive, but I didn’t actually believe them. How did the dragon accomplish such a feat?”
“Hush, Azuk.” Myrna swatted in the direction of the other trogg woman. “Best you keep out of things that are none of your business.”
I sank into the chair at the table and tore off a chunk of bread, playing the role of polite captive while cataloging everything—two trogg, one armed with a broom, one with supper. Bet they knew all kinds of things about this place and my captors. Best not to scare them off.
“I’m Serafina,” I said. “You must be the ones who treated me when Alaric brought me to the mountain.”
Myrna sniffed. “For all the good that did.”
Azuk giggled at the comment, rocking the bucket she held side-to-side. I frowned at their strange response, tucking a piece of unidentifiable meat into my mouth. Hmm, gamey.
Myrna gestured to my newly clothed body. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.” Before I could make an excuse for pilfering the king’s wardrobe, she huffed a nod of approval. “Better than traipsing around half-naked. We’ve nothing in your size anyway, what with those long limbs.”
Azuk stepped closer, squinted her one eye, and thrust a stubby finger at me as if to give me a poke. “I’ve never seen skin so pale. You sure you ain’t dead?”
Myrna flipped a dismissive gesture at the girl. “Of course she ain’t dead, beetle brain. She’s breathing, ain’t she? Get to work.”
“Yes, Myrna.” At the sharp command, the girl was quick to drop her pail, extracting a cloth.
I swallowed the last of the meat and set my hands in my lap, weighing my next move. “I apologize for staring earlier. We don’t see trogg in Nefarr.”
“Because Puritans are uptight, closed-minded fools,” Myrna said, sweeping steadily. “That’s why we trade elsewhere.”
Azuk plucked a spider from a web and tossed it into her mouth, chewing. While my stomach rolled, she said, “Don’t know why the beast would put you in here, given the state of the place. Myrna and I will tidy it up for you, though.”
“I’ll help,” I said quickly. No sense in letting them think I was above scrubbing. And cleaning kept me near them, asking questions.
“Suit yourself,” Myrna muttered, then dug into her basket and set something by my feet.
“My boots!” Relief punched through me as I snatched them up.
“Salvaged them from the night the beast brought you to the mountain.”
“Thank you.” Appetite gone, I abandoned my meal. With the elderly trogg’s help, I managed to find a pair of socks to go with my resurrected footwear.
Once I’d secured the laces, Myrna helped me cuff the hem of my pants. I gazed down at her dark, braid-covered head. “Have you and the other trogg known the dragon for long?”
“Long enough to know better than to cross him.” She cast a pointed glare at the door and the jagged piece of metal I’d left on the floor. “Before you go and try something foolish, you should know they have an incredible sense of smell. You’re not leaving this place until he allows it.”
I winced in mock remorse. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Doubt he’ll see it that way,” Azuk sniggered.
Regardless, I’d not let their discouraging comments sway me. “And…” I hesitated. “Those who lived here before?”
Myrna’s broom stilled. Her eye narrowed. “We do not speak of the dark times.”
“But—”
“No,” she barked, cutting off my protest. “Trogg do not speak of the past. He hears everything.” Both women spun in a circle, stomped their sandaled feet twice and spat on the floor.
I furrowed my brow, puzzling at their odd behavior. “He who? The dragon?”
“Darn it, girl. What did I say?” Her voice rose. Again, they spun, stomped, and spat.
And here I believed the Puritans were superstitious. Whoever this He was, they clearly didn’t wish to discuss him. Perhaps a less direct approach was needed.
“Fine, then.” I sighed, turning to Azuk. “Do you have another rag?”
Her single eye widened, then she grinned. “Several, actually.”
While we dusted, Myrna swept with stiff strokes, muttering under her breath about goddesses, curses, and things that should remain buried.
I flicked a spider out of its web, then proceeded to polish the intricately carved mantle. As we cleaned, the tension I’d created with my questions eased. “I’ve never seen a room this dirty. How long has it been since anyone set foot in this place?”
Apparently, I’d hit on a safe subject since Myrna answered, “Quite a while, I’m afraid.” Her stout arms swept at a steady pace.
When she didn’t elaborate, I prodded, “So, the dragon doesn’t capture helpless women and hold them captive often?”
“You’re the first.” Azuk beamed. “Most exciting thing to happen in this dusty old place for a long time.”
“Oh, it’s exciting, alright.” My hand paused on a carved rose, its stone petals shifting under my rag. The rest of the mantle was solid. Why would this piece move—unless…
My mind raced with possibilities, but I forced my cloth to keep moving, dusting elsewhere before either woman noticed. “I can’t imagine the trogg would want to live in any of these rooms.”
“Oh, we don’t,” Azuk said. “It’s far nicer in the caves and tunnels beneath the surface. Down where it’s cool and cozy. It was the surface dwellers who once lived up here. In happier times, we existed in harmony with them, mining rich pockets of crystals from deep within the mountain.”
“I’m surprised you can even get in without wings.”
“Silly, there are plenty of ways,” Azuk said. “Through our stables, the hidden trails, the corridor be—”
“Azuk, enough,” Myrna snapped, setting her broom aside. “Come, girl, before you say something to get us both set on fire. I’ll come back later with clean linens.”
“Can’t wait.” I offered a tight smile to hide my frustration.
Once the trogg were gone, I hastened back to the fireplace, whispering, “What kind of secrets are you hiding, little rose?”
I waited for ages for Myrna to return, pacing while the sun set and the shadows lengthened.
By the time she brought fresh linens, I was in such a state that I jerked them from her hands.
After thrusting my empty tray into her arms, I all but pushed her into the hallway.
She raised one arched brow but, mercifully, didn’t question my haste.
With my ear pressed to the door, I listened to her fading footsteps before racing to the mantel.
Could this be it? The key to getting me out of here?
I shoved the center of the carved flower, gasping when it sank a bit.
A secret lever! All the best castles had them.
At least they did in Gingus’ stories. I set my fingertips in the same place and pushed harder.