CHAPTER 13 #2
They spidered across the floorboards near the center of the room, circular and violent, as though something had flared in desperation and vanished. The scorch patterns were not ritualistic. They were chaotic. Terrified.
Lady Vaelcourt had not gone quietly.
Cian crouched beside the desk. The drawers were mostly empty—cleared by the investigators before they condemned the place. But one drawer sat slightly ajar. Not even forced open.
Cian crouched beside the desk. The drawers were mostly empty—cleared by the investigators before they condemned the place. But one drawer sat slightly ajar. Not even forced.
He slid it open.
Still empty.
But the light scrape marks along the inner wall told him things were not as they appeared. Something had rested here. Something with weight.
Of course she would have a hidden compartment. Vaelcourt had been a scholar, a keeper of secrets. She would have hidden anything truly valuable.
He drew his dagger. With the tip, he pressed gently along the front panel. The wood gave a faint click beneath the pressure. He pressed again, harder this time.
A thin seam shifted.
Cian hooked the blade beneath it and pried.
The false panel lifted.
Underneath it lay a small leather-bound journal, its cover scorched at the edges but intact. The clasp was broken, likely from the heat of the fire, but the pages inside looked untouched. He thumbed through the first couple of pages. Vaelcourt’s handwriting filled the first page, tight and hurried.
He did not open it further.
There was no time; the city would be fully awake soon, and it was best if they were not caught here.
Cian slipped the journal into his coat, Answers would come later. For now, he needed to see if Vaelcourt had truly hidden the amulet.
He rose slowly, observing the room once more before crossing to Faelith.
She was kneeling next to a bookshelf, her fingers skimming the charred book spines as she searched for anything the investigators might have missed.
Cian stepped beside her and watched what she was doing.
She glanced up at him; her eyes twinkled in the dim light. “Anything?”
He nodded once. “A journal hidden inside her desk; it could give us more details.”
“Now we just need to find where she would hide an ancient artifact.” Faelith dusted off her hands as she rose.
She didn’t do a good job of it. Ash still clung to her hands, and before she realized it, she wiped with her fingers across her forehead, pushing away a stray piece of hair.
A dark smear of soot marked her skin.
Cian saw it happen. He saw the streak, the way it cut across her brow, the way she did not notice. And before he could stop himself, he reached out.
His thumb brushed her forehead, gentle, steady, wiping the soot away in a single slow motion.
Faelith froze.
She looked at him, eyes wide, a bit dumbfounded, as if she could not quite understand why he had done it. Her breath caught, just slightly, the faintest shift in her posture.
Cian withdrew his hand, grounding himself again. “You had soot,” he said quietly.
She blinked once, still staring at him, as if the explanation did not fully settle.
Then she looked away, clearing her throat, returning her attention to the room at hand. Her eyes landed on a cracked door and moved towards it. “We should probably check this one out.”
Cian nodded, though his attention had shifted. The moment between them still lingered, quiet and fragile, but something else pulled at him now. A prickle along his skin. A faint hum beneath the floor. Magic. Old and dying out, but still present enough for him to sense it as he drew closer.
The wood was cracked, the frame warped from heat. She grabbed the wooden slab and tried to pull.
It did not budge.
The fire had melted the hinges, fusing the metal into the frame. The door was stuck, warped and half-sealed by heat.
Cian stepped beside her. “It won’t open alone.”
Faelith nodded. Together, they braced themselves as they gripped the door.
“On three,” Cian said.
She nodded again.
They pulled.
The door groaned, the melted hinges resisting with a sharp metallic creak. Ash rained down from the frame. The wood shifted only a fraction.
They pulled again.
This time the hinge cracked, snapping free with a brittle sound. The door lurched inward, scraping across the floor before finally giving way.
Cold air spilled out, carrying old, weak, but very real magic.
Cian felt it immediately.
Faelith stepped inside first.
The chamber beyond was circular, carved from stone. Protection glyphs lined the walls, faint and worn but still recognizable. They glowed softly in the dim light, their power nearly extinguished.
Cian followed, the air colder here, heavy with the residue of a spell cast long ago.
In the center of the chamber stood an altar.
Empty.
The stone surface bore the outline of dust of something once placed there. A circular indentation. Sigils etched around it. The faint shimmer of magic clung to the air above it like the last breath of a dying flame.
The amulet had been here.
And someone had taken it.
Faelith stood beside him, her eyes fixed on the empty altar, her breath slow and steady.
“This is where she kept it,” she said.
Cian nodded. “And someone already reached it before we did."
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