Chapter 33
As soon as I’m back in my room, I scramble to the bed and slide my hands under the mattress. My fingers find the warm gold chain, and I waste no time gliding it up my thigh.
Lucan! Are you there?
He told me he’s here for me, that he’s just on the other side of the Wall. And I believed him. I believe him. So I wait for the spurt of electricity patiently, confident that he’ll sense me knocking on the door of our connection. Any second now…
The clock ticks.
And ticks.
And ticks.
I glance out the painted panes of my window, realizing how low the sun has dropped since I was out on the balcony. Any minute now, he should be morphing back into the Monster so that I can tell him what I learned.
But my pulse doesn’t skip. No dark, rich presence reaches out to latch onto my heartbeat.
Lucan, I whisper into the void. I have news. If you can sense me, come back.
Silence.
Nothing but a horrible, haunting silence.
The clock ticks some more, and soon I can’t stand the sound without doing something to fill the static void Lucan usually fills. I yank the necklace off just as quickly as I slid it on, stuff it back under the mattress, and begin to scour my bedroom with new eyes.
Fine, then. If Lucan doesn’t want to be here for me, I’ll have to do this without him.
But first, I need to form a plan before Eleni arrives to bring me my dinner.
By the time the servant door pops open and Eleni emerges from the dark corridor, I’m sitting on the edge of my bed with a placid expression.
To anyone else, it probably looks like I’m drunk on vampire venom, but truthfully, that feeling of wanting to float away already dissolved hours ago.
And I doubt anyone would notice that I ripped a tiny strip of fabric off the hem of my dress.
“Hello, Eleni,” I say pleasantly when she looks up. She doesn’t answer, of course, but I use the half-second it takes her to give me a quick bow to peer over her shoulder for a quick glimpse of what could lie beyond the paneled door. It looks dark and…
All too soon, Eleni lifts her head again and shuts the door with a swift kick of her foot.
Oh, well. I’ll get a better glimpse soon.
Shuffling over to me with my dinner, she places the tray in my outstretched hands and begins to unwrap the utensils from their napkins.
“Thank you.” I paste a smile onto my face. “It must be exhausting for you to climb all those stairs just to bring me a meal. I’d be happy to help you next time.”
Eleni glares at me and shakes her head, setting my fork and spoon down on the tray with distinct clinks. I wonder why they don’t give us anything sharper. It’s not like I’d be able to stab through the Third Guardian’s marble skin with a dainty little butter knife.
I could fantasize about that, of course, but now’s not the time to lose focus. This whole thing will be a lot easier if I can convince Eleni to just let me into the servant corridors.
Pretending to gaze absentmindedly toward my window, I take another stab.
“It really is such a bore here. Nothing to do. I’ve already explored the entire palace from top to bottom.” Literally. All those stairs have now joined the horrors in my nightmares. “I’d really be happy to help you out, Eleni. I miss working.”
It’s the truth, but whether she can pick out the vulnerability in my tone or not, my servant just clamps her lips together.
Without looking up, she removes the silver cloche covering my plate to reveal a plate of roasted lamb, sizzling vegetables, and golden potatoes sprinkled with what looks like parsley.
My stomach clenches as my eyes stay glued to the silver cloche.
The glass cloche in the drawing room.
That’s where I’m going to go first. If I can’t find my mom, I’ll find the key, open the Wall, and let Lucan in. And when the Guardians are no longer breathing, I’ll be able to tear the palace apart to find her.
I take a deep breath and place my tray on the bed, standing up and pretending to stretch.
“Well, anytime you need my help, you just let me know, okay?”
I walk toward the servant door as if I’m escorting her out. Narrowing her eyes, Eleni follows, and I watch her whip out a tiny skeleton key and insert it into the lock embedded in a panel of the wall. The door swings open, and I catch hold of it.…
Eleni whips toward me, eyes full of warning.
A sudden urge to shove past her and sprint into the darkness races through my limbs. But I can’t do that to her—force her to choose between her life and mine. Because I’m sure she’d be expected to alert the Guardians if I ran into a place I am obviously not allowed to be.
“One more thing, Eleni.” I lean in close and lower my voice. “I just wanted to tell you that what the Guardians did to you, it isn’t right. Fuck honor and duty. None of this is honorable.”
Eleni’s eyes widen before briefly closing, and I use the mere second to case the doorframe. There, just below my right hand, is a hole that looks exactly where a door would catch.
“You’re my friend, Eleni,” I whisper, at the same time I stuff the ripped piece of cloth from the hem of my dress into the hole.
All or nothing.
Eleni’s eyes drift down to the movement for the briefest of seconds. If she saw me, she doesn’t acknowledge it.
Then she nods and closes the door.
Just as Sylvia did in her memory, I count to one hundred and one as I pace the perimeter of my room.
Then I stop in front of the hidden doorway.
I trace my fingers up and down the outline, trying to find a groove.
Nothing catches. With flat hands, I push my weight into the door multiple times, hoping it joggles something, but it doesn’t swing inward either.
Again, I trace the outer edge until I feel the tiniest lip—two pieces of wood that aren’t flush. Yes. I dig my nails into it like claws, getting as deep as I possibly can with all eight fingers, before I finally tug it open.
A cloud of stale air hits me, making me cough. I suppose the corridor doesn’t have any working air supply since it’s sandwiched in between the walls.
Flashbacks of the catacombs shuffle through my memories, but this time I have to travel alone, without Lucan’s voice to drive me crazy and keep me company.
Glancing over my shoulder one more time to glare in the direction of the necklace I’m leaving behind, I step into the stale darkness, drag in a deep breath, and pull the door shut behind me.
Flimsy light flickers from a hanging bulb up ahead, casting a faint yellow glow that hardly illuminates anything outside of its immediate vicinity. But I can see the outline of other hatches up ahead, as well as splits in the walkway where I’ll have to make a choice between left or right.
The catacombs 2.0, indeed.
I cough and start forward, passing the other hatches without stopping to investigate. North. I need to go north—which, judging from where I know my room is positioned in the palace, means I need to take a right at the next branch.
I do, and now I’m met with a staircase that spirals downward. Right. To get to the north wing, I probably have to be on the main level.
Clutching the edges of the wall, I descend what feels like several stories until I’m back in a corridor, this time with actual doors lining either side.
Muffled voices rumble on the other side of them, and my heart begins a steady beating against my ribcage at the realization that any of them could open at any moment and catch me sneaking past.
North. Which way is north?
Shit. The spiral staircase erased all sense of my direction.
I don’t have time to figure it out. At that moment, one of the nearest doors flies open, and I flatten myself against the wall with my heart plummeting straight to my toes.
The door swings shut again as my ears ring, nerves alight, but I let out an inaudible breath when I lay eyes on the back of two servants.
They’re each pushing a large cart of what looks like dirty, blood-splattered laundry and linens—away from me, thank the Guardians.
Or… no. Maybe I shouldn’t thank the Guardians anymore. They’ve obviously cut out the tongues of these servants, too, because rather than whisper and gossip to each other as they push their carts farther and farther away from me, the hallway only echoes with the squeak of their wheels.
Hoping the sound will cover my not-so-stealthy footsteps, I follow like a shadow, holding my breath and tiptoeing in time with their steps.
Maybe they’ll lead me to where I’m hoping to go.
The servants make turn after turn, never looking back, and I try to memorize the directions as best as I can until their wheels cut to an abrupt stop.
Sinking into the shadows around the corner, I close my eyes and focus on the sounds.
A click. Hinges. More squeaking.
As soon as the carts seem to roll out of the narrow passageway, I muster every ounce of courage I can and sprint to the door as it begins to swing shut.
Just before it does, I jam my fingers into the sliver of space still remaining.
The door squeezes my fingers, but I bite my lip to avoid letting out a yelp.
With my fingers stinging and my throat so tight it’s hard to breathe, I peek through the tiny opening.
Across a grand hallway, through a wide glass doorway, large, ornate chairs with spiked backs sit in a line at the far end of the elaborate red and gold room.
Thrones.
I count them: thirteen.
One for each of the living Guardians, and one for the Guardian who met his demise.
The north wing. It has to be.
The sight makes me sick, so I glance to the next doorway over. Stacks and stacks of books rise to the ceiling.
Up, up, up, my eyes follow columns of shelves. The books rise so high, they hit windows that are actually a part of the ceiling. The rays of a bloody sunset bounce around, hitting glass and mirrors, refracting off surfaces that give the books an unearthly but beautiful quality.