Chapter 17
I slip into a new routine. Each morning after breakfast, I check the traps in the storerooms and outside the exterior doors. I have to turn my head and hold my breath every time I pull a rat free, but my need outweighs my disgust.
As soon as I recover a body, I make my way to the aviary.
The hawks quickly come to expect my offerings.
They rustle on their perches, gleaming eyes tracking me as soon as I enter.
At first, they flap and squawk, hopping nearer cautiously.
But it’s only a matter of days until each one with a message swoops down wanting a prize, extending a leg without complaint.
Until finally, even when I have no rats, they come to me at all hours. Some even lean into my hands, seeking pets in exchange for their deliveries.
“You prefer me to your lecherous lord, don’t you?” I murmur, running my fingers over glossy feathers. If only taming their lord were this easy, I would have the stone already.
With every message, I’m granted a new pass to explore the castle.
I wander the halls, pretending I’m simply seeking Alaris as I peek through cracked doors and test handles.
No one questions me as I go down this corridor and that.
When I pass Karns, I simply hold up my scroll, keeping my expression blank and dutiful.
He doesn’t need to know I take the long way to wherever I believe Alaris to be.
With every new room, I throw myself into the search, blood thrumming with the hope that today might be the day I open the right box or peek behind the right picture and find what I’m looking for.
I press panels, tap walls, check inside vases, and dive under desks. I find dust, cobwebs, and a dead mouse.
The castle gradually reveals its secrets—a loose brick in the den hides a silver key. A window seat in the gallery lifts on a hinge, the boxes beneath it full of old letters. The back of a closet slides aside on a track, exposing a crawlspace.
None of them hold the stone, but a thrill goes through me with every discovery. Each secret I uncover hints at another waiting to be found.
Alaris tries to engage me when I find him, but I keep our interactions as short as possible.
I put on my best mask of deference, hand him his message, and curtsy my goodbye in the same breath.
I don’t need distractions. I don’t need buzzing feelings or magnetic pulls or expensive gifts. I need to find the stone and leave.
But the quicker I am with the handoff, the more he seems to try to keep me.
“What do you think of this piece?” he asks when I find him in the gallery. It portrays a dark landscape, with bright stars over endless treetops. “Too on the nose for the land of night?”
“I don’t have much of an eye for art, my lord.” I curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Would you like to have some dinner, Ly?” he asks, as I pass him a scroll in the dining room.
I note the glass beside him with a lipstick print. I passed its wearer in the hallway, her flushed cheeks and mussed hair a clear sign of their pre-dinner activities.
“Not hungry, my lord.” I spin on my heel before he can get another word out.
“The woman he got the wine for can’t be that special if he receives this many visitors,” I mutter to a hawk perched beside me on the bench.
It hasn’t brought a message, only company, which I find I’m coming to rely on.
“He’d better slow down on the lovers, or he’s bound to catch something unpleasant, don’t you think? ”
I imagine the hawk agrees, but its half-closed eyes probably have more to do with the finger I have working under its chin.
“I don’t need the company of the likes of him, not when I have you,” I croon.
The bird squawks at me, pulling away for a second, but then shoves its head into my palm, closing its eyes. From its soft whistle, I can tell we both feel soothed by the scratches.
Having something I can do is a powerful antidote to the fear.
By daylight, I’m able to comfort myself that it will take time for anyone to find me here.
Even the most skilled hunter on the continent would have trouble following the impossible trail the voidstone created for me.
It’s enough to make me believe I might be safe staying put for weeks, or even months.
But every night, rational thoughts about how the masked man would ever know I’m here melt into the shadows. I’m confronted with nothing but silence and the absolute certainty that he will find me.
At least the violent dreams have stopped. Whatever proximity to delvarian power caused them seems to have dissolved with distance. It’s a blessing that matters little because I don’t sleep much anyway.
I lie awake replaying the shape of him: the featureless mask, the gloves, the hood hiding his brow.
I try to picture his eyes, but the dreams were too dark to make out the shape or color.
The phantom sensations of his attacks jolt through my body.
I clutch my knife and watch the door for hours, sometimes only falling asleep when the light grays.
The purple smudges beneath my eyes grow. I use the coiling tension to throw myself into every search, turning fear into fuel. I dash around each room with quick fingers, diving under desks and beds and lifting urns.
I scour the ballroom, the dining room, the parlor. The den, the library, and the receiving room. I don’t try the servants’ quarters, but I know he’s unlikely to keep something precious where others sleep. He’s more likely to keep it close to him. And that leaves his bedroom and his office.
He’s in and out of his office throughout the day, so while I’ve been inside many times, I’ve never had the privacy to search it.
After a failed examination of a linen closet and a statue of Arastor in a hidden alcove, a maid points me to the office to deliver today’s message.
I climb to the third floor and knock on the ornately carved door.
I let myself in. Late afternoon sun slants across the room, painting streaks on the patterned rug. Alaris is seated behind the desk, his fingers tangled in front of his mouth. He lifts his head when I enter, and his lips curve into a smile.
My stomach flips.
I should have looked away sooner.
“My lord,” I say, voice clipped. I walk forward and place the message in his waiting palm. I curtsy and turn to go.
“Wait. Stay a moment.”
I arrange my face into a mask of calm as I swivel back toward him. “Yes, my lord?”
He drums his rings on the desk, the dark metal clicking against the wood. “I’m noticing a pattern.”
“A pattern?”
“I see you almost every day. Yet, I think you’ve stayed in my presence for less than five minutes total in the past week.”
I shift. “Is there a question?”
“I think you’re avoiding me.”
I am. “That’s not a question either. But I’m not, my lord.”
“Alaris. You left the dining room before I even finished my sentence.”
I scowl. “You had company. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Yet, you look like you want to flee at this very moment.”
“Just because you’re used to women clamoring for your attention doesn’t mean—” I cut myself off. “I’m just busy.”
He smiles. “Something you’d like to get off your chest, Ly?”
I don’t know why he’s smiling like that when every other lord I’ve ever known wouldn’t tolerate back talk. I’m tired, and I’m letting myself slip. I school my expression. “No, my lord.”
“Alaris.”
“No, Alaris.”
“Such a liar. But even if it’s not me, I still think there is something wrong.”
I blink. “Wrong?”
“You’ve been here for weeks now. I would expect you to become more comfortable, not less. Yet, you look like you are going to jump out of your skin. Something is bothering you.”
I grit my teeth. “Everything is fine.”
He shakes his head slowly, his earring swinging. He skates a finger along his jaw. “Lies, Ly. Lying to me about whether you like a piece of fruit is one thing.” The teasing goes out of his tone. “Hiding something serious is another matter entirely.”
His eyes rove over me, like my body will answer his questions even if my mouth won’t. And I don’t feel totally in control of what it will show him. I have never felt so unable to hide my thoughts. My stomach slants sideways, my heart pounding with something like fear.
I pull myself up straighter, trying to bury whatever it is he thinks he’s rooting out. “I appreciate your concern, but there is no need for it,” I say in as polite a tone as I can manage. “Aren’t you going to open your message?”
“Hmm.” I think he’s going to object further, but his long fingers unroll the tiny paper. He glances at whatever is written there, then touches the side of his desk. A panel pops open. He drops the note inside and closes it, the seam invisible, perfectly matching the wood grain.
A secret compartment. “Was the message something important?”
“No. Just territorial updates.”
Now his face looks suspiciously blank. Perhaps I’m not the only one who is hiding things.
I dig. “Where do you put your important messages?”
His brow arches.
I keep my tone light. “If I need to deliver something urgent, and I can’t find you, where should I put it?”
He hums, rubbing his mouth. “If it seems important? Don’t leave it anywhere. Keep it with you.”
It’s not a useful answer, but I nod. “Alright.”
He tilts his head, watching me for another moment. “Ly, I’m going to ask you one more time. Is there something bothering you?”
A frown cracks through my mask.
“See? That.” He points at the corner of my lip. “Just tell me. I’ll help if I can.”
I hesitate. If I start babbling about my dreams in Delvos, I’ll only lose that focused look in his eyes.
But…could I ask him for help? Could I come up with a better story, fill in the gaps that don’t make sense, and convince him someone is coming to kill me?
He helped me escape Norville. Maybe he would help me again…
A knock rings out. “My lord?” a feminine voice calls. “I’m here for our appointment.”