Silence swept in again.
Loren was fiddling with her amulet when she remembered the engravings on the back of it—and how Darien seemed to know how to speak some Ancient Reunerian.
“Darien,” Loren began, and he looked to her in question. She held up the amulet, the cold chain tugging against the back of her neck. “Can you try reading what this says?”
He stepped up to her and took the amulet into his hands. Loren found herself holding her breath from how close he was standing to her. He studied the engravings for a while, and as he studied it, Loren caught herself looking at him a little too closely. Worried the same thing as what happened that night in the dining room would happen again, especially as she found her focus drifting to his sculpted mouth, she forced herself to look away from him.
But her attention zeroed in on him again as he read his translation aloud.
“To the sweetest lily in all the valley…
Hold me close when the hour is dire
And wish upon the Liar.”
Loren glanced between Dallas and Darien. No one seemed to have anything to say.
“What does that mean?” Loren said at last.
Darien shook his head. “No clue.” He let go of the amulet, and it jingled softly as it swung against Loren’s chest.
After several minutes, Loren said, “What do we do?”
Darien swiped up the manuscript and rerolled it tightly. “We take the scroll and bide our time until Benjamin and his robbers can get us some answers regarding who your ancestors are. If we can find out who your parents were—or find a connection to any living relatives you might have—we might be able to get some answers.”
They didn’t exactly have any more knowledge of the situation than they did before. If anything, they had more questions. But as they made their way out of the Old Hall, Loren felt something inside her she hadn’t felt since before Sabrine went missing.
She dared to call it hope.
25
Darien was crouching before a massive cage in a back corner of Mordred and Penelope’s Mortar and Pestle, his hands braced on his knees. The hexagonal mesh of the cage was designed to keep the carnivorous plant inside it from snaking its deadly branches through. But this didn’t stop it from snapping tirelessly at the mesh, its razor-sharp teeth closing around the wire.
“Feisty little thing,” Darien said with a smile, “aren’t you?” Flytrapper plants hunted a wide assortment of insects; among their favorites were arachnids and myriapods, though they’d eat any type of flesh if they could sink their teeth into it.
Feeling morbidly curious, Darien lifted a hand to the wire…
But he froze mid-reach when Loren cleared her throat from where she stood at the top of the staircase that led up to the second floor. Her dog was at her side, ears standing vertical with curiosity.
Darien dropped his hand and straightened from his crouch.
Loren quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms, a smile playing on her mouth. “I certainly hope you’re not stressing out my plants, Darien Cassel.”
“Of course not,” he lied. But she wasn’t buying it, and the longer she glared at him—with a look on her face that he had to admit was quite adorable—the faster the smile he was suppressing turned into a full-on grin.
She tucked a strand of straightened hair behind an ear, her face reddening like a little tomato. “I’m almost ready,” she said without looking at him. “Five more minutes.” She paused briefly before adding, “And you might want to give Prickles some attention.”
She clomped back up the stairs and disappeared into the office, her dog following on her heels. The Mortar and Pestle was closed for the evening, so Loren was completing end-of-day paperwork.
Darien was about to ask her who Prickles was when he felt something brush against the sleeve of his jacket. He looked down at the table he was standing beside to see that a small potted plant had made its way over to the very edge of the table, leaving a trail of soil in its wake. It seemed ordinary at first glance, but when he looked closer, there were designs on its vibrant green leaves.
“Aren’t you worried it’ll fall off the table?” he called to Loren.
“She,”Loren shouted back. “It’sMissPrickles, and she’s female.” Darien gave a snort of amusement.
Another few seconds passed before Loren came back down the stairs, the strap of her crossbody bag slung over a shoulder, the handle of a suitcase clutched in her hands. Loren added about the plant, “She gets jealous easily, as I’m sure you’ve already noticed. Sometimes she purposely tips herself over if I spend too much time doing paperwork. The Star forbid she be ignored for two seconds.”
Darien chuckled.
