Page 111 of Fallacies

Like I’m being watched.

I push off the column and turn, my borrowed cloak billowing out around me as I take the hall to my left instead.

Step one is to find the dungeons. Once I know where the entrance is, I can find somewhere safe nearby. This place is massive. I’m sure there’s an unoccupied room somewhere that I can set up my things and work out how I’m going to pull all of this off.

Honestly, it feels like an impossible feat right now, but it’s too early to give in to that kind of thinking. Way too early.

Captures, Greer had called them. Gods only know what they’re sick with, but I’m willing to bet that being locked in the dark for twenty years—as supernatural beings that require sunlight—is bound to come with fatal side effects.

I turn another corner, flinching when I’m met with my own reflection.

It takes a moment to kickstart my heart. Alesi’s reflection is so foreign to my own that I’m proud of myself for not screaming. Tearing my gaze away, I take in my new surroundings.

It appears to be a hall of mirrors, old and dirty, with tall marble statues placed sporadically down the corridor. Similar to what I’ve seen so far, there’s hardly any light. If it weren’t for the grey light shining through a few round windows high up in the ceiling, I wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

Turning back to the mirror beside me, I take advantage of the chance to check my illusion for any flaws. I might not have ever seen Alesi alive, but I think I’ve done a damn good job.

Moving closer to the mirror, I lift my hand to my face, brushing my fingers across the throbbing skin of my cheek. It’s hot beneath the illusion, and I’m certain there’s a handprint there.

A set of voices comes from the end of the corridor, seconds from rounding the corner into the hall.

I panic, darting away from my reflection and pressing myself up behind a column in the corner. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, piercing skin to keep any sound from escaping.

“Ready the suite in the west wing and tell the Umbra to add an extra setting at dinner,” a woman orders, her accent polished and refined.

Their footsteps near, and I force myself further behind the column, lungs burning with the breath I’m denying them.

“Yes, Your Highness.” A man replies, a raspy shake to his voice.

“And notify me at once when my father responds to my letter,” the woman demands as they pass right by me. “The King better have a good explanation for this.”

Certain that they’re headed in the other direction, I peer around the side of the column, catching their backs as they move down the hall.

The man is short and round, his footsteps fast as he tries to keep up with her, muttering another, “Yes, your Highness,” as they go.

And the woman… She’s tall. Taller than The Umbra. Limbs lithe, onyx hair cascading down the dark purple robes that fly out behind her.

When she turns her head to look at the man, revealing her profile, there’s a spindly black crown set across her forehead.

Your Highness. The Countess.

My father better have a good explanation for this.

Alaric’s daughter.

It took me all day to find the entrance to the dungeons.

I must have walked through nearly every hall, which is just as well—I needed a basic layout of the Estate. I got turned around more than once, but by the time night had fallen, it was starting to make sense.

A few servants came out earlier to open the curtains, allowing pale moonlight into the halls. It’s the only light I have to navigate through.

Most of the day, I spent eavesdropping on passing conversations, trying to blend in and not get caught. It just so happened that the last group of Rogue men I’d been spying on mentioned needing to switch guard posts with someone. There’s plenty of guards stationed around the Estate, so it could have been any post, but being that it was the only lead I had, I decided to pursue it.

I followed the Rogue down long and dark hallways, slipping into a broom closet when he came to an abrupt stop in front of a small black door. The polished floor around the entrance was dirty and cracked, singe marks burnt into the wooden frame.

The Rogue bumped fists with the guard on the right side of the entrance. They exchanged a few words that were too quiet to hear, and then the guard shrugged some kind of black armor off his shoulders and switched places with the man I had followed.

Given the many staircases he took to get down to this level, I’m confident I’ve found the entrance to the dungeons.