13. Stone that Listens #2
There’s an opening there for normality, and it’s like watching him try to throw a tarp over a corpse.
I tilt my head as he makes another flat joke, anything to get out of emotional territory, yet he’ll find it useless because I’m about to resurrect that corpse anyway.
He thinks the worst is over, but I haven’t even brought up the statue that I’m fairly certain stared back at me.
It didn’t look like it wanted to be there, and I know it sounds absurd, considering the thing is inanimate. But everything here in Redford is placed to belong, to never buckle under the weight of history, but that woman was withdrawn, recoiling into her base.
Things that don’t want to be seen draw more attention than any light show ever could. Patterns don’t lie; that was enough to have turned my steps towards it.
“Here in the garden, there’s a statue of a woman and a key.
It’s not from here; the style is wrong for Sheffolk, doesn’t match the rest of the garden drivel.
” He blinks slowly at me. “That stone only comes from Herradam’s border quarries; you can tell by the veining, tighter patterning and the fact that it barely takes on moss.
The Crown used to commission that exact cut for war dead and coded deliveries.
You could tuck a directive into the hem of a sculpture and wait for the right hands to find it. ”
He lets out a low whistle. “You absolute lunatic. Who raised you, a war general?”
I chuckle. “Bold question coming from the man who once spent a summer learning Morse with me, just so we could insult palace officials without saying a word.” He gives a deep bark of laughter at that.
“But to answer that, I read some old journals, and those notes tell me that this Keybearer isn’t a statue; it’s a delivery system.
Or at least the ghost of one. Sheffolk evidently isn’t in short supply of those. ”
“How are you saying all of this with a straight face?” He certainly doesn’t expect a response, and gratitude surges through me once more. His voice pierces my brain and takes on the form of a zebra crossing, reminding me to slow down a little.
I run a hand over my jaw as I reprocess the notes I’ve mentally made. The bristly stubble is rough against my palm, and I’ve half a mind to let it grow out. There’s no king here to comment on less than civil appearance.
“From what I could see, there’s a curve beneath the key’s bow that shouldn’t be there, a cavity seam, most likely,” I throw the suggestion out there, ears attuned to the sound my socks make against the rug.
I watch as Kai processes that, and his eyes narrow in delighted amusement. “You’re telling me there’s a centuries-old war message hidden in that stone key?”
“Possibly. Or somebody could’ve already taken it.”
“So… do the ladies of the haunted estate know about this?”
I recall how far back Francesca stood from the statue. Most people never realise how they position themselves around things they distrust. She didn’t move closer until she was certain (whether she knew it or not) that it was safe, until nothing happened to me the longer I stood there.
She tugged at the hem of her sleeves thrice, fingers brushing over wrists, protecting the pulse points like the ghost of a betrayed ancestor screamed for her to shield herself.
I called her afraid because it was clear her body remembered something older than her.
Yes, she didn’t know much about the statue, but she knew it was wrong.
Why?
Because when I circled it and passed through its shadow, she didn’t follow.
“No,” I answer after a beat, “I doubt duchesses are taught wartime infiltration through sculptures.”
“Neither are fucking princes ,” he splutters through a laugh, and I allow myself a snort, rolling my eyes when he cheers at the victory. “So, metaphorical shovels are out, then? Gonna interrogate a bunch of statues?” His voice is pitched between horror and reluctant fascination.
“No need,” I mutter, already mapping out my plan. “One’s already trying to speak.”
Kai presses the heel of his hand to his forehead and flops back onto the sofa. “That’s not creepy at all. Love that for us and all, but on another note—the rumour. Did she do it?”
“Kairos, I’m begging you, let that Reddit rumour die.”
“Oh, like how my account died, I see. Injustice wins again.”
“Fuck’s sake,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose and turning away from him.
He reclines there, a child testing whether a tantrum would be worth it. There’s a hush for the briefest moment, and I swear I can hear Francesca’s laugh from an entire floor away.
It echoes from the stone, the castle bending over itself to hand it to me. The headline of that subreddit is small here in comparison to everything else.
“Murder wouldn’t be the most frightening thing here,” I say at last.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kai pulls a face.
I consider the rope in the archives, how she specifically chose to show me that artefact. “She could be a murderer, but it would be secondary to the real predator.” I glance at Lady Athena’s portrait. “This fucking estate. The walls breathe, and the ground holds onto your steps.”
His response is slow to arrive, perhaps he clocks the traces of fear in my voice. I don’t know what it is, but he’s serious now. “That’s morbid as hell. If you’re still planning on digging, I suggest you sleep with one eye open.”
“That’s if this place lets me sleep.”
Somewhere beyond my room, we hear a door shut.
Just opposite mine where Kai’s room is. We both turn towards the sound, yet no footsteps follow.
No breath, no shadow pooling under the gap.
Kai’s knuckles whiten as he grips the remote.
Stone lungs expel a quiet breath. Neither of us says anything as the castle finishes the conversation for us.