Page 37
Nyssa
From my hiding spot within the shadow of a hedge, I sweep my gaze over the rose garden.
Tucked along the northwestern edge of the palace, where the grounds fall quiet, the night air is soft and perfumed, but every bloom is closed to the dark, tight-fisted buds lining the paths like a hundred held breaths. The bushes along the palace wall are a living barricade that turns the gravel walk into a narrow corridor of thorn and shadow. Farther out, the garden beds are a mosaic of different varieties that have caught my attention on the odd occasion from the upper windows of the palace.
I feel as though I’m holding my breath with the roses.
Maxim proved true to his word faster than I dared to hope. I hadn’t expected Prince Kallias to be swayed at all, yet Maxim sought me out today to tell me the prince is willing to talk.
Something creaks behind me.
I quickly grab my dagger and pivot toward the sound, ready to strike.
Maxim eases through a gap in the hedges, holding the branches aside as he takes in the blade and then me.
“You’re here,” he says. “Good.”
I lower my dagger. “Was there a chance I wouldn’t be?”
Maxim grins. “You’re a walking wager.”
I tuck the blade back into its holster as my eyes drift past his shoulder. There, half swallowed by climbing roses, is a small wooden door set flush against the curved stone of the palace wall. The door is open, revealing the start of a narrow, curved stairwell winding up into blackness.
A hidden passage.
“Go on,” Maxim says, parting the hedge wider. “We’d best not keep him waiting.”
I roll my eyes as I slip past him, careful not to snag my dress on the thorns he holds at bay. It may be hideous, but I’ve spent too much time having less than nothing not to care for what little I do have in my possession.
The scent of roses and damp earth follows me through the doorway into the tight space. Maxim enters after me, and we’re plunged into absolute darkness as the heavy door clicks shut behind us.
Anxiety tightens my chest, and I hold my breath, straining to hear anything over the beat of my own heart.
Then, a soft clink sounds beside me, and a warm, contained glow blossoms in the dark. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust, and find Maxim holding a small, smooth orb in his palm. It’s almost like the auras that were so common in Eretria’s capital. Only, instead of the sunlight that Keres’s cousin, Lady Titaia, said powered those orbs, this one holds a tiny flame at its center. It casts just enough light to illuminate the tight curve of the stone steps ahead.
“What is that?” I whisper.
“I call it a firelight.”
Before I can ask where it came from, Maxim gestures upward with his chin. “This way.”
We ascend the spiraling stairwell. Around the seventh turn, a wave of nausea rises, and I press my hand against my stomach to quell it. Motion sickness is a deeply inconvenient trait for someone in my line of work, but the constant circling in the dim, flickering light makes the world tilt.
Zephyrus, take pity on me.
We finally reach a small landing with another wooden door. Maxim pushes it open, ducking his head to clear the low frame, and steps through.
The air that greets us is cooler, stained with citrus and smoke. A rich crimson rug spills like wine across the polished marble floor, tapestries and paintings line the walls, and tunics are slung across gilded chairs.
This must be Prince Kallias’s antechamber.
There’s a soft thud, and I turn as Maxim adjusts a large tapestry. It settles back against the wall, completely concealing the entrance.
“I trust you won’t tell anyone about this,” he says, stern and teasing all at once.
“My lips are sealed. Just don’t expect me not to take advantage of it.”
He chuckles under his breath, then steers me toward the door at the far end. The chamber beyond is a study, with two armchairs seated before a desk at the center and bookshelves lining the sides. Small puzzle toys and curious odds and ends are scattered among the books on the shelves: carved beasts no bigger than a thumb, a brass sphere that looks like it twists apart, a seashell dark as wet clay.
