She sniffs, wiping her cheeks with the back of puffed sleeves that cinch her wrists. “From the big shiny doors.”
The Keep.
Doors I’ve never been allowed through. One of the dark zones I’ve yet to explore.
I think of the skeleton I once found resting against a wall not too far from here ...
Fair to say, I’m obliged to return this child to her rightful place.
“Lucky for you, I knowexactlywhere that is.”
I bridge the space between us with an outstretched hand.
She studies it, gaze dropping to my bag. “Do you have any treats in there? Or just the mouse?”
I lift a brow.
She gives me a shy smile. “I heard it squeak.”
“Clever girl,” I say, digging around for my jar of toffees. I unscrew the lid and offer the sweets. “One for each hand. For guessing the contents of my bag.”
Her eyes light up, and she pops two straight in her mouth, then lets me pull her up.
We walk in silence, hand in hand, her grip tightening as we journey down crooked stairwells and silent stretches of tunnel. By the time I help her through a trapdoor that spits us out in a lofty, fourth-floor corridor, my fingers feel bruised.
I roll the rug back into place and brush the cobwebs off her dress, then turn to The Keep looming over us like an entrance to the underworld.
There are no windows in this corridor that seems unnaturally long. Certainly no other entrances nearly half as interesting asthis.
Large sconces light the twin, handleless doors from either side, casting them in a golden sheen, the polished stone offering perfect reflections of ourselves. I ignore mine, stepping forward to knock four times, each echoing back at me.
A taunting heartbeat.
The child shuffles behind me as the mechanics grind into gear, and the door cracks open like the mouth of a monster, though just enough to spit out a burly beast of a man I recognize all too well.
Jasken. The keeper of The Keep. Or at least that’s what I call him.
He’s dressed in the classic garb of a Western guard—black pants, knee-high boots, and a swarthy coat that kicks out at the shoulders. Armor reminiscent of flowing ink protects the left side of his chest and spills down one arm, but leaves the other bare.
If I were to crawl inside the man, it would require three of me to fill him up. Even then, there would be space for each of us to shift around and get more comfortable.
He looks down at me with small, wary eyes, and I offer him a dazzling smile.
“Orlaith,” he rumbles, voice surprisingly warm. From that sound alone, you’d think the man’s a pushover.
Wrong.
“Jasken,” I say, tipping my head in greeting. “Lovely day for a stroll.”
One bushy brow reaches for his ruddy hairline. “I’m sure. Back so soon?”
Rude.
“I don’t appreciate your judgemental tone. It’s been two whole days since I was last here.” I shrug. “Anyway, I have”—a ticket—”someone. I found her in The Tangle.”
I swear the corner of his mouth kicks up. Difficult to tell with all that rust-colored scruff covering half his face. “The what?”
I roll my eyes, reach behind, and nudge the child forward. She’s staring at the ground, twining her fingers together.
