Chapter Twenty-Eight
The stacks of files and books surrounding Silas had steadily grown until they created a barrier between him and the rest of the Council Chambers. At one point, Felicity tentatively offered, “Would you like me to help you organize those, Your Majesty?”
To which he replied: “Thank you, but they’re already perfectly organized.
” If she’d asked him how they were organized, he would have found it difficult to explain how his ‘least important to most important’ system met up with his ‘most suspicious to least suspicious’ system.
Luckily, she’d simply accepted him as a lost cause and focused on her own work.
“Your Majesty?”
Silas held up a finger to silence the interruption, afraid he would lose his place in the book he was scanning.
Niall had hidden several spellbooks within the covers of popular romance novels, and Silas hoped to find a copy of the messenger spell inside.
Unfortunately, he’d had no luck so far as he sifted through recipes for hair growth potions and stain removers.
When he finished, he slipped the ribbon bookmark between two pages and looked up to find Quentin hovering just at the boundary of the paper fort. “Yes?”
Quentin’s eyes were locked on the cover of the book, carefully mouthing the words The Bride’s Revenge.
He probably thinks I’m hiding back here, indulging in romance rather than doing my work, Silas thought, unsure whether to be amused or irritated. “Quentin?”
The treasury aide jumped back, slamming his hip into the table. The walls of the paper fort around Silas wobbled precariously.
“I’m sorry!” Quentin tried to straighten one stack, only to bump another with his elbow, knocking a large stack of Alistair’s letters across the table.
Silas sighed and stood up, leaning around Quentin to clean up the mess. When Quentin tried to help him, Silas not-so-subtly warded off the other man’s twitchy, anxious hands. “What do you need?”
“I-I’m sorry, sir, I just wanted to tell you I’m finished.”
Even though Silas had given them permission to use the Council Chambers without him present, some of the members—Quentin and Mr. Tomlin specifically—insisted on reporting their comings and goings to Silas.
It was difficult to appreciate the sign of respect when it constantly interrupted his workflow.
“No need to report to me if you’re done for the day—”
“No, I mean, I’ve finished reviewing Jacoby’s ledgers,” Quentin interrupted.
He picked a leather ledger up from the table and passed it to Silas.
“Since the most recent one was in the library, when … well”—he skirted around the issue of the fire—“I had to recreate it based on the previous month, and then mine and Juniper’s files.
There may be a few items missing, but I think I have a rough approximation of the current accounts. ”
Silas accepted the ledger from him and flipped through the pages.
Until then, he’d somewhat doubted the treasury aide’s skills.
Quentin jumped at every loud noise or sudden movement, argued with Silas over the silliest things, and was more dramatic than an actor on the stage.
But once he’d settled into the task, he’d finished it quickly and efficiently. “Excellent job.”
A pleased flush colored Quentin’s pale cheeks. “Thank you, Your Majesty, but that’s just the first step. Along with the other records, this ledger tells us what should be in the Vault. However, we know that Jacoby removed gold from the Vault without recording it.”
To bribe Valerian, Silas thought, remembering how the traitors had tried to coax the mage to their side. He’d played along with them and named a price of five thousand gold, which Jacoby had likely taken from the Vault. Afterwards, Silas had allowed Valerian to keep it as payment for his services.
“That’s why it’s important to do a full review of the Vault’s contents before crowding it with other records. We need to know exactly where the kingdom’s funds stand now without relying on incomplete information,” Quentin continued.
“You’re right,” Silas agreed.
Quentin blinked at him. “I am?”
“Let me make a few arrangements and we’ll open it together.”
“Right now?” Quentin asked, eyes widening as he looked between Silas and the precariously stacked paper fort. “I don’t want to disturb your work, sir!” He scratched idly at his neck, his fingernails clawing red marks across his skin.
Except the marks were closer to purple than red, and they snaked up the side of his neck. As he scratched, he revealed a thick bandage below his collar.
Silas remembered previously seeing a red, irritated welt on Quentin’s neck. “Is your spider bite infected?”
“My what?” Quentin’s hand froze, then he suddenly slapped it over his neck, covering the bandage. “Oh, that! No, it’s fine, just itchy.”
“Are you sure you weren’t bitten by one of Alistair’s spiders?” Silas asked. He had no idea what the effects of a magical spider bite would be but doubted they would be healthy for anyone. “Perhaps you should visit one of the medics—”
“I’m fine!” Quentin insisted. “Someone’s already looked at it.
” Shaking his head, he returned to the subject.
“Since I’ve finished reviewing Jacoby’s documents, I can begin reviewing the contents of the Vault.
By the time you’re ready to transfer the evidence over, I’ll have everything accounted for. ”
Silas glanced at his paper fortress. Sorting through the files had consumed most of his waking days.
Every time he allowed his mind to wander, he thought of Archer, Arnsveld, and all the regrets tied up in king and kingdom.
But no matter how much effort Silas put into the search, he couldn’t find the one thing he wanted most: answers.
Every file, every letter, just gave him more questions, another trail to follow.
“My work will be easier when I’m not trying to look at everything all at once. ”
“Really, sir. Give me a couple of days—a couple of hours!—and I’ll have the Vault ready for the transfer,” Quentin pleaded. “All I need is the key.” He held his hand out, palm up.
Silas eyed that pale palm before forcing a smile and ignoring the request. “Why don’t you find Juniper, and we’ll all meet at the Vault? I need to make a few arrangements first.”
Quentin’s hand remained raised for a moment longer before he slowly lowered it. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He ducked his head and clasped the ledger close to his chest as he hurried out of the room.
“Felicity, can you handle packing up all of—” Silas waved vaguely at the left wall of his paper fortress.
Her lips twitched slightly as she nodded. “I’ll see what all is ready to be put in storage, Your Majesty.”
Happy to leave the organization to her, Silas stepped out of the Council Chambers. Three guards stood outside, two assigned to the chambers while the third was one of Silas’ new personal guards. “I need someone to take a message to General Griselda and Captain Darian.”
Twenty minutes later, Silas was pacing in the corridor when Griselda came stomping down the hall, face scrunched in displeasure. “What are you dragging me out here for?”
“I want some extra muscle when we open the Vault,” Silas explained. “In case someone tries to tamper with evidence during the transfer.”
She arched both eyebrows in surprise. “Well, this should be interesting.” She exchanged a look with Darian, then turned to face the small squad of soldiers they’d brought with them.
“Listen up, everyone. We’re guarding over the transfer of evidence today.
Keep an eye on everyone entering and leaving the Vault, make sure no one removes anything without His Majesty’s permission, and make sure no one brings anything in that they shouldn’t. ”
Silas hadn’t even considered that possibility, so he was glad he’d asked Griselda to join him.
“Darian, I want you operating the Vault door. Shut it down if anyone gets rowdy.”
Silas startled at that order. “The Vault is completely sealed—there aren’t any airways.”
“Exactly,” Griselda replied, baring her teeth. “Keep ‘em locked up for ten minutes or so and they’ll calm down or pass out. Just enough to subdue a fight without killing anyone. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re out before we lock it down.”
As usual with Gris, her attempts at reassurance did exactly nothing to comfort Silas.
Once everyone understood their assignments, Silas led the way to the small office containing the Vault. Juniper and Quentin were already inside. The treasury aides watched the procession of soldiers with wide-eyed surprise.
“I thought we might need some assistance,” Silas explained, trying to give them a reassuring smile.
He felt as successful as Griselda. Without explaining further, he pulled his keyring out of his pocket and found the correct one.
Before he could insert it into the lock, a dark brown hand grabbed his.
“Wait,” Darian whispered. He nodded to the keyhole. “Someone’s tampered with it.”
Frowning, Silas examined it closer and noticed the faint scratch marks surrounding the lock. He never would have noticed them if Darian hadn’t pointed them out. “Lockpicks?” he guessed. At least they didn’t use explosives this time. The last thing he needed was a second fire in the palace.
“Or something else,” Darian said with a grimace. “We don’t know if they were successful or if they’ve rigged some kind of trap. Let me open it for you.”
“You don’t have to risk yourself,” Silas began but cut his words off at the hard look in Darian’s eyes.
“It’s my duty.”
Silas sighed but took several steps back. Juniper and Quentin scrambled backwards to remain behind him, almost backing all the way to the door.
Carefully, Darian inserted the key into the lock and twisted it, opening a compartment within the door to reveal a hand crank. When the action didn’t trigger any traps, Darian grabbed the wheel and slowly turned it. The airtight seal broke with a soft hiss.
Silas tensed, waiting for an explosion.
Instead, a foul order leaked through the gap. Behind him, he heard multiple people gagging, and he barely suppressed the urge himself.
“What kind of security measure is this?” Griselda snarled, her voice high-pitched and nasally, indicating she’d pinched her nose shut. “Some sort of stink bomb?”
Darian continued to roll the crank, stepping back as the mechanism pulled the door open.
A decaying hand thumped onto the floor.