“I doubt they’d want to see me.” He says it so flatly that I know better than to ask further.Imight have come to personal terms with who Kaelis is, but I know better than to think everyone else would, especially with the Worldkeepers’ and Gregor’s skepticism to remind me.
“What will you be doing? Won’t your father question it if you suddenly show up?”
“Ifhe sees me. I know this castle almost as well as the academy.” “Almost” seems an odd thing to say, considering this is where he grew up. “If I don’t want to be seen, I won’t be, and I know how to guide people without them even realizing my influence. I can buy you time while he’s none the wiser. You’ll have at least an hour before my father even thinks of leaving his quarters.”
Kaelis opens the door, and we emerge into a familiar passage. He heads right for the main hall that we came to less than a year ago to celebrate the new year and the Season of Swords. I say nothing as he pulls open the door, mostly because my heart is in my throat. All my trust is in him now.
I trust him.The thought is as warm as slipping into his bath. As soft as his grip on my fingers as he guides us through the empty room.
The long table stretches unadorned. The chandeliers are unlit.
We enter another passage that looks almost identical to the first. This time, Kaelis goes for a nondescript door with a knob so tiny I don’t realize it’s there until he’s turning it. Behind is a crampedstaircase, completely different from the plastered and trimmed walls we’ve been crossing between.
“Servants’ passage,” he explains, leading me inside. I close the door behind us and follow him up the narrow stairs. A single lantern flickers at the top step, powered by the same magic as those in the academy. “Some are used more than others. There’s no reason anyone would take this route—it’s usually just for staff during events.”
“No reason” is not impossible,I think. I’m on alert. But Kaelis seems at ease in these claustrophobic spaces of unfinished wood panels.
“When I was a boy, I would sometimes retreat into the mazes between the walls. Harder for people to find me here.” His voice is soft, and I can’t determine if it’s to avoid someone else hearing in one of the intersections we pass through, or if it’s from the weight of the memories of the past.
“Why were you hiding?”
Kaelis pauses underneath a small lantern. The light is harsh, even diffused. Haunting shadows cling to his eyes and under the swell of his cheeks.
“To survive.” Two words and he turns, walking faster, as if running.
The urge to ask more is insatiable. Yet I don’t. The rigid line of his back and the tension in his shoulders keep me silent. I know what it looks like when you’re not ready to talk about something.
Once, his secrets scared me. They were monsters to be hunted down and slain. Now I let him have them. Nothing about him is as terrifying as it once was.
Finally, he stops at another junction. I’ve noticed that carved into the corners and walls are tiny notches. Rough brushstrokes appear in different segments of the passage. Some kind of directional system, I assume. I try to make sense of it, but the code eludes me.
“That way, first stair on the right, and it’ll take you inside the laundry area. There, you can swipe a servant’s uniform. There’s only one other way out. Go through the door and down the hall, up the first stair…” Kaelis details a route that makes me wish Twino with his memory was here to collect it. But it’s just me now. As most thingswill be from here on out. I smother the instant sorrow that rises at the thought and stay focused. “…then keep your head down, and the Stellis that guard the Majors’ apartments shouldn’t stop you.”
“Shouldn’t?”
Kaelis shrugs as though worry isn’t burning in the voids of his eyes. “Nothing is guaranteed from here on. But I have every faith you’ll manage.”
He lifts his hand, and it hovers, retreats, then returns to find its place along my jaw. Kaelis holds me for a heartbeat with the barest of touches that rattles my whole chest. I suck in a breath as the urge to kiss him is suddenly overwhelming.
“Go; meet me back at this spot within the hour.” No sooner has he said it than I hear the chime of distant clocks. His hand falls, and he turns, retreating.
I watch him disappear, something like regret souring the back of my throat, and then go in the direction he said, opposite of where he headed. The laundry is right where he’d indicated. There’s an old woman, hunched over and slowly stirring giant cauldrons of laundry. She doesn’t hear me over the rolling boil or hissing steam and is none the wiser as I quickly change. I burn my old clothes away with an Ace of Wands, scattering the smoke and ash with an Ace of Swords. Not even a glance my way from her. The scent of fire is quickly overwhelmed by the heavy perfume of royal soaps. Before I leave, I grab a stack of linens and stride out.
Fortunately, servants wear a hooded robe. I’ve little doubt King Naethor doesn’t want to look upon the faces of the help. Despite this, I summon the Seven of Cups. An invisible splash of water strikes my face. My hair is slightly darker. Eyes duller. It’s an imperfect illusion that’s possible to see through when looked at too closely, and it only lasts seven minutes. But that should be all I need.
Just as Kaelis said, two Stellis stand guard on either side of large doors that are emblazoned with the sword of Oricalis—a crowned blade twined in rose vines. But this one has a sun on one side and a moon on the other, emerging from gilded clouds, a globe hovering above it all at the apex.
Heart pounding, I approach. Just one too-close examination and this will all come crashing down.
But before I even draw near enough for them to see my shadowed face, they swing open the door, hardly glancing my way. I’m just another servant. Another unnoteworthy helper in Naethor’s employ.
The apartments of the Majors remind me somewhat of the academy. The first floor is a common area that is empty at this early hour. No one sits at the tables or lounges on the sofa by the fireplace. A wide staircase stretches up the back and splits underneath a massive window, leading to a second-floor mezzanine that circles around the room. Individual doors branch off from here. There are twenty, each numbered in gold.
Naethor accounted for the possibility of keeping us all here.The thought has me clutching the linens tighter. The Hierophant is number five. I assume each Major is kept in their respective room.
Operating under that theory, I stride for five.
Right as I’m passing it, the second door opens. I nearly walk right into it, hastily catching my balance at the last second, hood shifting. I grab it, yanking it back over my head as a sharp gasp stops my heart.
