Chapter 5 #2
A faint sound moved through the walls.
Not from above.
Below.
A low pulse, like a deep drum struck under the stone.
Ma?lle tried to sit up. “We leave now.”
“What is below us?” Isolde asked.
“No.”
“What is below us?”
Ma?lle gripped her wrist. “The Ash Vault.”
The pendant on Isolde’s chest flared.
Lucian’s mark answered so strongly that gold light showed through his shirt.
Perrin backed into the wall. “I would like to return to normal fear, please.”
Ma?lle looked between Isolde and Lucian. Her mouth tightened.
“Too late,” she whispered.
A crack opened in the floor beside the basin, thin as a thread, glowing from within.
From above came the sharp clang of fighting.
Thierry’s voice echoed faintly down the passage. “Lucian!”
Then steel rang against steel.
Lucian moved toward the stairs.
Ma?lle caught his sleeve with surprising strength. “If you go up, they take her below.”
Isolde looked at the crack in the floor.
Something warm breathed through it.
Lucian’s face went still in the worst way.
Perrin whispered, “My lord?”
Lucian drew his blade.
Then the passage behind them filled with smoke.
They carried Ma?lle between them.
Lucian led, blade in one hand, lantern in the other. Isolde supported her grandmother’s weight as best she could, and Perrin stayed behind them, coughing into his sleeve, chair leg raised like he meant to challenge the whole underworld with it.
At the top of the stairs, the western wing had changed.
Smoke crawled along the ceiling. Not thick enough to blind, but enough to sting the eyes. Somewhere beyond the broken chamber door, men shouted. A body lay near the corridor wall in plain brown clothes, not a guard uniform.
Paid hands.
Thierry appeared through the smoke with blood on his sleeve and impatience on his face.
“About time.”
Lucian’s gaze went to the blood. “Yours?”
“Insulting question.”
“That means no.”
“That means mostly no.” Thierry looked at Ma?lle. “Madam.”
Ma?lle coughed. “Pretty manners. Poor timing.”
“I get that often.”
Isolde almost laughed, but another figure moved at the end of the passage.
Aveline.
She stood half-hidden behind the archway, one hand pressed to her mouth, eyes fixed on Isolde, Lucian, and the old woman between them.
Isolde’s stomach dropped. “Aveline.”
Her stepsister turned to run.
Lucian moved faster.
He caught her before she reached the stair, not roughly, but with no chance of escape. “What are you doing here?”
Aveline’s face twisted between fear and resentment. “Lady Valcour sent me.”
“Why?”
“She said Isolde stole from her. She said there would be a reward if I found proof.”
Isolde closed her eyes for one second.
Of course.
Morgaine had not only trapped her. She had made sure family hands pointed the way.
Aveline looked at Isolde’s torn collar, then at Ma?lle, then at Lucian’s coat around Isolde’s shoulders. Jealousy, fear, and confusion crossed her face too quickly for her to hide.
“What are you?” she whispered.
Isolde had no answer that would not destroy them both.
A crash came from below.
The floor shook.
Ma?lle cried out and nearly fell. Lucian released Aveline to catch the old woman’s other side.
Aveline saw her chance.
She ran.
“Perrin,” Thierry said.
“I’m small, not fast!”
“Go.”
Perrin went.
Lucian turned to Isolde. “We need to get you out of this wing.”
“No. We need the black book.”
“I have it.”
That stopped her.
“In my study,” he said. “With my father’s ledgers.”
“You took it and said nothing?”
“I chose a poor time for honesty.”
“There is never a good one in this house.”
The words cut deeper than she intended. She saw it land.
Lucian did not answer.
Another shout rose from the main hall below. Not panic now. Command.
Renaud Blackthorne.
“Seal the western passage!”
Lucian’s face darkened.
Thierry glanced toward the stairs. “Your father moves quickly when guilt is threatened.”
Ma?lle gripped Isolde’s sleeve. “If Renaud seals this wing, he seals the way to the vault. And the girl will never learn where Yvaine was taken.”
Lucian looked at Isolde.
Smoke moved between them. His coat hung over her shoulders. Her mark burned under it. She should have feared him most.
She did not.
That frightened her more than the fire.
“Your choice,” he said.
Not command.
Choice.
Isolde held Ma?lle tighter. “The study.”
Lucian nodded once.
They ran.
Lucian’s study had been searched.
The desk drawers hung open. Papers covered the floor. One map had been torn down and left in the hearth, half-burned. The scent of cold ash curled through the room.
Thierry swore under his breath.
Lucian went straight to the locked cabinet behind the tall shelves.
The lock had been melted.
Not broken.
Melted.
He opened the door.
Empty.
“The black book?” Isolde asked.
Lucian’s face answered before his voice did.
“Gone.”
Ma?lle sank into the nearest chair, one hand pressed to her side. “Then Morgaine has enough to bargain.”
“With whom?” Perrin asked from the doorway, breathless and soot-streaked. “Because Aveline ran straight into Lady Valcour’s guest corridor, and I enjoy terrible news in order.”
Isolde turned toward him. “Did she see you?”
“I am offended. Of course she saw me. She threw a vase.”
Thierry shut the study door behind Perrin. “That means Morgaine knows the girl’s sister saw enough to be useful.”
Lucian crossed to the hearth and lifted the half-burned map. A section had survived near the bottom: the western wing, the lower tunnels, and beneath them, a circle marked with a hand inside wings.
The Ash Vault.
A smear of gray powder streaked the edge of the parchment.
Thierry leaned closer. “Firebane.”
Lucian’s eyes hardened. “Morgaine had the poison before the forest.”
“You suspected,” Isolde said.
“I needed proof.”
“And now?”
He held up the map. “Now she has taken the proof with her.”
The door opened without warning.
Lord Renaud Blackthorne entered.
Two guards stood behind him.
His gaze moved over the room, over Ma?lle, over Isolde wrapped in Lucian’s coat, then settled on his son.
“What have you done?” Renaud asked.
Lucian’s voice was flat. “Cleaned your locked rooms badly.”
Renaud’s eyes flashed. “You risk this house for a servant.”
“No,” Isolde said.
Every man in the room looked at her.
She stepped forward before fear could pull her back. Lucian’s coat slipped slightly from one shoulder, and she caught it with one hand.
“I am not a spilled cup for your son to apologize over.”
Renaud’s gaze sharpened. For the first time, he looked at her properly.
Then his face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“You have Yvaine’s eyes,” he said.
Ma?lle made a broken sound.
Isolde’s throat tightened. “You knew my mother.”
Renaud said nothing.
She moved closer. “You knew her.”
Lucian turned toward his father. “Answer her.”
Renaud looked older then, but not kinder. “Yvaine Fenwick was brought to this keep under council authority. I was young enough to believe law meant justice.”
“And when you learned otherwise?” Isolde asked.
He had no answer for that.
A knock struck the open doorframe.
A council rider stood beyond the guards, silver clasp shining at his throat. In his hand was a folded notice sealed in red-black wax.
“Lord Blackthorne,” he said, “by emergency order of the council, tonight’s formal dinner will proceed under observation. All household staff will attend service. No exceptions.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. “Tonight?”
“The council wishes to see the keep as it stands before the Tribunal.”
Renaud reached for the notice, but the rider handed it to Lucian.
A second paper slipped from beneath the seal and fell to the floor.
Perrin picked it up before anyone stopped him.
His face went pale.
“What?” Isolde asked.
He looked at Lucian, then at Isolde.
“It’s a servant roster.”
Thierry stepped close and read over his shoulder.
His voice lost its humor.
“Isolde Fenwick has been assigned to serve the high table beside Lady Morgaine Valcour.”
The mark under Lucian’s shirt flared.
Ma?lle whispered, “Trap.”
Outside the study windows, the first horn sounded for evening court.