Chapter 12
The doorman at the Salamar Manor looked like he had faithfully served the family for a hundred years, died, and then forgotten to retire to the grave. His lifeless eyes stared down at Tyrell from his skeletal face.
“My father Lord Durando of Allys, wishes to congratulate Lord Salamar on the engagement of his son,” Tyrell beamed, as if he was sincerely overcome with joy.
Lia handed Tyrell the bottle of wine they had purchased on the docks before boarding the ship so the former could present it.
The doorman took the bottle without moving a muscle of his face and said, “This way.”
He had them sit in the parlor and wait while he went to consult Lord Salamar about the surprise guests.
“If anything at all makes you uncomfortable . . .” Tyrell whispered to Lia.
Lia rolled her eyes. “I promise I’ll come straight back.”
The plan thus far was very simple—get in and look around to locate this mysterious forbidden wing so they could bring Tavia there later. For the “Getting in” part Tyrell intended to use his lordly charms and hoped to distract the Salamars long enough for Lia to slip away and explore.
The doorman had hardly stepped out of the parlor when a bouncy round nobleman flew in, arms open smiling.
“LITTLE TYR!” he boomed.
Lia and Tyrell both jumped in alarm. Was this . . . could it possibly be . . . HOW WAS THIS ROSEY CHEEKED BUNDLE OF JOY JULIAN’S FATHER?
“Why the last time I saw you, you were,” the old Lord leaned down and held his hand knee-high. “How kind of your father to send you! Is he doing well?”
Tyrell plastered on a grin that did not blind Lia to the terror in his eyes. At least the doorman matched Julian’s aesthetic somewhat.
Just when Lia was recovering from the shock of the kindness tidalwave, another voice rang from the hallway.
“Did I hear right?”came a sweet, grandmotherly voice. “Little Tyr-tyr is here?”
A beaming round woman who was clearly the other half of the set of nobles charged in and took Tyrell by the shoulders.
“Oh, let me look at you! Let me see you!” she fussed. “You’ve certainly gotten handsome!”
Before Tyrell had time to say anything, Lady Salamar was waving down a maid in the hall.
“Bring us some tea, cakes too please,” she cried. “And—”
Her gaze suddenly fell on Lia.
“Why Tyr!” she gasped. “I didn’t realize you were married!”
“Oh . . . she’s not—” Tyrell started but Lady Salamar was already clasping Lia’s hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear! I must hear all about it! All about it!”
“Delighted, my lady,” Lia said with a deep curtsey. “I would love to tell you anything, but first, is there someplace I can freshen up?”
“Oh, how rude of me!” the lady rebuked herself. “Of course, Martha will show you. MARTHA!”
A plump bubbly maid practically skipped into the room, and at Lady Salamar’s direction, took Lia away down the hall.
Lia did not freshen up. The moment the maid left her, she slipped back out into the halls with a few simple objectives in her mind.
First, was to scope out the property and see if she could find Julian’s forbidden wing.
Then, she needed to figure out where Tavia was staying, and finally, she wanted to locate entrances and exits in case they needed to sneak back in to confront her later.
Passing through the lower rooms made this manor look like that of any other noble in Allys.
Suddenly, Lia became aware of voices somewhere off to her right.
She did what anyone might do while trying to avoid detection in a house of nobility—slipped behind a tapestry and hoped the speakers wouldn’t notice her feet sticking out.
Even from behind, Lia could make out the beautiful sea-themed art stitched onto the hanging fabric.
The Salamar’s definitely had a passion for the sea.
“Yes, the ebony set.”
Lia’s heart raced as she recognized Tavia’s voice.
She scootched toward the sound, careful to avoid disturbing the tapestry and craned her neck to peer out from behind it.
Just barely, she could make out the princess’s hands, holding a ring of golden keys.
“And did you want the crimson or the maroon curtains, Highness?” came another female voice, likely a maid.
Now admittedly, Lia wasn’t aware of the context. Still, both crimson and maroon seemed too somber for the Tavia she used to know. Then again, given her choice of fiance, Lia realized she should be grateful they weren’t decorating their future living quarters in black and grey.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Tavia sighed. “You pick.”
The tone of melancholy in her voice was not lost on Lia. What had Julian done to her?
“Yes, Highness,” the servant answered.
A succession of clinking sounds followed as Tavia lingered where she was flipping through the keys on her ring. Lia crept closer to the edge of the tapestry—moving past the depiction of a stormy wave crashing over a ship—for a better look.
The princess’s fingers had come to rest on a weatherworn key of silver set with a deep blue saphyre on the handle. She seemed to be looking at it from the way she was turning it slowly in her hand. (Lia wished she could see the princess’s face.)
Then, she gave the little key a thoughtful three taps on her palm and started down the hallway away from Lia’s position. Lia let her put a bit of distance between the two of them and, darting from one hiding spot to the next, followed the princess into the depths of her new home.