I barely remember that girl anymore.
If I could bottle this feeling and constantly sip from it, all my problems wouldn’t feel so heavy.
Glancing down the wall, I realize how close I am to the little round window ...
How convenient.
I tiptoe toward it, hiding from the moon in a pocket of shadow pooled at the wall’s base. Though I can’t see any creatures crawling around the forest at night, I know they’re watching. Can feel their eyes on me, leering from behind my Safety Line.
Incorporeal fingers walk up my spine while I hunt through scrub for the rock I discarded yesterday, a smile curling my lips when I locate it.
Hauling my arm back, I picture Rhordyn’s face and toss the stone, causing an explosion of glass ...
Shit, that’s loud.
I pause to see if Baze is going to leap from the shadows. When I’m certain the coast is clear, I use a spare jar from my bag to chip off any remaining glass before I turn and edge my feet through the hole, then my body, hanging there by strained fingers for a few tense moments.
Bracing myself for the fall.
Landing with a dense thud that rattles my tender brain, I delve through my knapsack for a candle and match. I spark the wick, casting the ghostly objects scattered about the room in a fiery glow—a stark contrast to the stretched shadows that creep up the walls and dance to life.
Nothing shrinks back. Nothing moves or makes a scuttling sound.
It’s just me.
The air feels almost syrupy, like it’s been trapped down here so long it’s become lazy with its movement.
Clearing my throat, I tiptoe between broken bits of glass and edge toward a large shape, its veil of white weighed down by pockets of dust. I lift the corner of the sheet and peer underneath. Frowning, I pull the whole thing off and swat the air while I study the freestanding wardrobe.
It’s the softest shade of pink, embossed to look like a sketched garden.
Gripping the delicate handle, I tug, releasing a puff of dust that threatens to blow out my candle. The door creaks open, and I peek inside the cupboard’s hollow interior ...
“Perhaps thisisjust a dusty old storage room.”
I move to the next sheet and fold it back, unveiling a set of side tables to match the wardrobe. Next is a headboard, then a pretty bassinet that cradles a stack of crochet blankets yellowed with age. They’re soft like butter, and I dig my nose into one, noting the faint, unfamiliar scent of vanilla beans and a hint of damp soil.
Did these belong to one of Rhordyn’s ancestors?
Frowning, I refold the blanket and reveal the next item: a chest adorned with the same intricate design as everything else. Sitting on the ground beside it is a stoppered urn and a littering of jars no bigger than a finger.
I lift the lid—heavy and curved and groaning in protest. My eyes widen, and I gasp at the hoard of fat gems glinting in the flickering light.
Rhordyn isn’t one to flaunt his wealth. Aside from my diamond tools, the only jewels I’ve ever seen around the castle have been dripping from other people’s lobes at the Tribunal.
My eyes narrow on a clear one partially hidden beneath a large, black gem, and I pick it up, holding it close to my flame so I can assess its clarity. Warm light ricochets off the many flat edges, scattering a confetti of color and light all around the room.
Something inside me twinges at the sight, like a lute string plucked too hard.
I return the gem to the pile, sweeping my hand through the treasure to reveal the front of an old book with gold writing pressed into its leather-bound face. I pry it from its grave and set my foot on the edge of the chest, resting the book on my thigh while I trace the scripted title.
Te Bruk o’ Avalanste
I repeat the phrase three times over, working my tongue around the new sounds, testing their feel. My gaze darts to the chest, back to the book, and I shrug, deciding it’s of no use in a dusty, old storage room. I slide it into my bag and close the chest, sealing all those pretty gems in a tomb that’ll probably never see the sun again.
The birds begin to chatter, alerting me of the cresting sun, and I turn, looking for something to wedge against the wall so I can climb out the window easier.
The galvanized corner of a picture frame otherwise covered in cloth catches my eye. No dust has settled on the sheet, suggesting whatever’s hiding beneath it has been recently viewed.
