Chapter 47 #2
The air thickened with the scent of mildew and damp earth as we descended a rickety staircase cloaked in shadows. I considered ripping off his tungsten choker so he could summon a flame, but dismissed the thought.
Our eyes adjusted to the gloom as we reached the bottom level of the castle. A narrow hallway stretched before us, thick with cobwebs and chilled air that whispered past our skin. I winced at the echo of my heels, each step a sharp note in the silence.
We found what remained of an old, abandoned kitchen. Rusted pots still hung on broken hooks, and soot stained the crumbling hearth. Shayde moved through the space with unnerving familiarity. Past what used to be a wood-fired oven, we stopped in front of a solid brick wall.
He glanced over his shoulder to ensure we were alone and then stepped forward—vanishing clean through the bricks without a sound.
I took a breath, set my jaw, and followed.
The illusion gave way to a narrow room, musty and forgotten. Shelves lined the walls, and at the far end sat a dumbwaiter door, partially rotted but intact. Shayde’s boots scraped against the stone as he approached and reached for the handle. With deliberate care, he pulled the warped door open.
My heart surged with the thrill of uncovering another piece of the Mareki’s Key—only to plummet when Shayde stepped aside, his expression unreadable. I could feel his eyes on me, but mine stayed locked on the empty dumbwaiter. I couldn’t bear to meet the disappointment I feared in his gaze.
Soft, frantic words slipped out. “No, no, no…”
I reached the edge. Stale air brushed my face like a warning. And then—something caught my eye.
A rectangular piece of parchment lay flat on the dumbwaiter floor. I reached with trembling fingers and knew the markings at once—the missing map of Tyria’s castle.
I turned slowly, holding it up for Shayde to see, skepticism rising with every breath.
He was going to mock me. I could already picture the smug tilt of his mouth, the arrogant drawl that would push me over the edge. I’d storm out of this cursed masquerade, leave him to fend for himself, and make the trek home alone.
But none of that came. His expression didn’t hold mockery. Or pity. It held something else entirely.
His brows furrowed as he stepped forward and gently took the parchment from my hand. His eyes swept over it, scanning every inch as if solving a puzzle. And for once, I saw it—we were equally confused. This drop wasn’t what either of us expected.
It was almost as if he believed in my theory completely—and didn’t want to admit it might be a failure.
“This floor looks almost like a replica of Mageia’s fourth level,” he said, voice low as his gaze lifted to mine. “Does anything on Mageia’s fourth floor mean anything to you?”
The way he looked at me—like he trusted my intuition enough to believe this wasn’t a complete failure—tightened my throat. I racked my memory, running through every hallway, every room I’d crept through at Mageia.
Then my sister read my mind.
“The Eternal Tomb.”
Shayde frowned as he repeated it under his breath. “The Eternal Tomb…”
I nodded, heart thudding. “The bookshelf you scrutinized the night I slipped into Mageia and broke your nose—that’s the hidden entrance to the Eternal Tomb. That’s where the Mareki rests.”
Recognition flared in his eyes. He looked back down at the map, tracing a spot with his finger. “Right here. If this were Mageia, the bookshelf would be here.”
“For some reason, these two castles were built almost identically,” I said, the realization forming faster than I could speak it. “If Tyria knows the Eternal Tomb is a magically veiled corridor inside the castle, they must be searching for their own version.”
I hesitated, the thought clicking into place.
“Where maybe…” I started.
“Where maybe the last piece of the Mareki’s Key is hiding,” Shayde finished, voice low.
My thoughts spun. One part of the Key was found within Mageia’s walls, where the Mareki Gem rests. Another was gifted to Scarlet in the Shadow Glade—who we now know has a shard of the Gem. And the last known shard rests in the hands of Tyria, which means the final tome must be here somewhere.
Where else but a magically hidden corridor only Scarlet and I can access?
Shayde gently rolled the map and tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. We slipped out of the sublevel and back through the butler’s closet. The swell of strings assured us the party was still in full swing.
As we stepped into the hallway, a group of tipsy men passed, laughing. One clapped Shayde on the back while another lifted a hand for a sloppy high five. Shayde returned it without hesitation, blending in seamlessly. They whooped and stumbled toward the ballroom.
“Brutes,” I snorted.
We kept a casual pace, angling toward the nearest turret, careful not to draw attention. Adrenaline thrummed in my veins, but I couldn’t stop the grin tugging at my lips. One final step, and this mission would be a success.
One final step until I could prove myself to my father.
We picked up speed at the turret stairs and ascended to the fourth floor. A quick scan confirmed what we suspected—Tyria only maintained the parts of the stronghold meant for public eyes. This level was forgotten, lifeless. Sconces barely flickered, throwing long shadows across the walls.
We waited three beats. No footsteps. No voices. No one.
Then we ran.
It took only a few strides to realize the heels wouldn’t last. I kicked them off mid-run, catching them in one hand as my bare feet tapped over cold stone.
We rounded the corner toward the supposed corridor and found an ancient medicine cabinet, its glass clouded with grime, thick cobwebs strung across the frame.
I pressed my palm to the splintered wood—nothing. Just resistance.
I shoved with both hands. Still nothing.
A frustrated groan tore out of me as I yanked the cabinet from the wall to reveal a solid expanse of stone beneath a skin of dust. No hidden entrance. No magic. No way through.
“Fuck!” I shouted, clawing at my hair.
Shayde’s whispered plea for quiet barely cut through the roar in my head. I flung my arms out; a few thorns shot from my fingertips, clattering uselessly across the floor.
Then his hands gripped my shoulders and turned me to face him. “Calm. Down.”
My chest heaved. Panic twisted hot in my gut as my mind scrambled for any solution.
“Look at me, Fallon.”
The timbre of his voice sliced through the haze. I blinked, breath shuddering, and locked on the warm brown eyes that had haunted me since that night in Mageia—this same hallway, different castle—when he let me go and watched me leave.
“Breathe,” he said, nostrils flaring.
I obeyed. Inhale. Exhale.
“Now think.”
It was nearly impossible with his hands on me—his touch seared into my skin. He leaned dangerously close, and suddenly all I could register was him: the heat rolling off his body, the scent of citrus and bergamot coiling between us like a spell.
And just like that, the chaos stilled. My senses sharpened. The fog parted.
“Same hallway, different castle,” I murmured, freezing as it clicked. “You said it earlier. It’s mirrored. This isn’t the same hall it would be in Mageia—it’s the mirrored version.”
A smug grin spread across his face, dimples flashing, and a new one appeared just below his left eye. I committed it to memory.
His eyes lit with approval. “Good girl,” he said, maddeningly cocky.
I let out a breathless laugh, and those two words sent a shiver down my spine, a slow warmth blooming low in my belly.
Bells rang from the tower, marking the final hour. A sentry had mentioned the party would carry on until midnight—our time was running out.
We sprinted back the way we’d come, mirroring our route to the opposite end of the fourth floor—where an empty weapon rack sat tucked into a hall alcove.
I froze. Magic pulsed off it, thudding through the air like a heartbeat.
“Do you feel that?” I asked, eyes fixed on the rack.
Shayde shook his head.
For the first time, I let my guard down around Shayde Wylder—and smiled. A real, unguarded smile.
His gaze searched mine for a beat, then he gave a sharp nod. “Go. I’ll cover you.”
I didn’t waste a breath. Handing him my heels, I stepped through the rack as if through a veil and landed in a dark, eerie corridor—an uncanny mirror of Mageia’s.
I jogged down the narrow hall and slipped under an arch into a small abandoned library—or perhaps an office.
Shelves circled the room from floor to ceiling, most of them bare.
Whoever had worked here had taken nearly everything.
A wooden armchair sat pushed beneath a rickety desk littered with the stubs of burnt candles, a dried ink vial, and a few ancient quills with feathered ends I’d only seen in pre-war history books.
Turning to the shelves, I found bottles of all shapes and sizes—many coated in dust, their contents cloudy or curdled with age.
The labels were handwritten in curling ink, and unlike anything I’d ever studied: Blood of the Pure Fae, Essence of Pixie, and one that stopped me cold—Purple Dragon Scales.
I brushed my fingers over the glass container, clearing a circle in the dust. The scales inside shimmered with an otherworldly gleam, their violet hue glowing faintly in the dark. I couldn’t look away.
Praying to the elements that whoever once occupied this space wouldn’t mind, I twisted the lid off the container and carefully extracted the smallest scale I could find.
The purple scale fit perfectly in my palm.
I curled my fingers around it protectively and rose, pulse quickening as I resumed my search for the final piece of the Mareki’s Key.
Then pain shot up my leg.
“Shit,” I hissed, grabbing my foot and cradling my aching toe. In my rush, I’d stubbed it hard—completely forgetting that I’m barefoot.
I glanced down—and stilled.
Something was jutting out from beneath the lowest shelf, its sharp corner barely visible now that it had been nudged free.
Heart hammering, I knelt, gathering the hem of my formal gown to keep it from the dust. My fingers closed around worn leather and I pulled it out slowly.
The same textured cover. The same etched spine. The same blank pages.
Another tome—identical to the two Scarlet already has.
And now, I have the third.