It was one of the longest nights of Benjamin ’s life.Every second had passed by with horrific clarity—every agonizing second as Matilda lay there on the floor of his office, her bodice covered in so much blood that he couldn’t tell where she was bleeding. And with all the stupid layers of frills and pleats, he couldn’t see the entry wounds.So he’d lost it. Utterly lost it. There was no thought in his head beyond a roaring panic as he shut the door, took out his hunting knife, and ripped open her dress right there.But there were no wounds, only a sheathed stiletto that clattered to the floor and a scratch on her forearm. With the dress ripped away, there was hardly any blood on her. And that’s when the panic cleared enough for him to remember what she’d whispered: gloriella.A poison used to temporarily paralyze victims.Everything from then on became a series of steps: quietly summoning Ress; telling the young, talented guard to keep his mouth shut and to find whatever healers wer
Not feeling at all inclined to go into California after last night, she’d opted to spend the day digesting what she’d learned in Davis’s office and searching for any connection between that book of Dark Knight s and the king’s plans. And since she’d only seen one hint of something being amiss in the castle … Well, she’d steeled her nerve to try to learn what that thing had been looking for in the library. Or if there was any hint of where it had gone.The library looked as it had always had: dim, cavernous, achingly beautiful in its ancient stone architecture and endless corridors lined with books. And totally silent.She knew there were a few scholars and librarians about, but they mostly kept to their private studies. The size of the place was overwhelming; it was a castle in itself.What had that thing been doing here?She craned her head back to take in the two upper levels, both bordered with ornate railings. Iron chandeliers cast light and shadow throughout the main chamber in
She saw it only because it was the sole bit of decoration she’d encountered along the wall. Considering how the last six months of her life had gone, part of her just knew that it had to mean something.There was no depiction of Eleanor , or a stag, or anything lovely and green.No; this tapestry, woven from red thread so dark it looked black, depicted … nothing.She touched the ancient strands, marveling at the hue, so deep that it seemed to swallow her fingers in its darkness. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and Matilda put a hand on her dagger as she pulled the tapestry aside. She swore. And swore again.Another secret door greeted her.Glancing around the stacks, listening for any footsteps or rustle of clothing, Matilda pushed it open.A breeze, musty and thick, floated past her from the depths of the spiral stairwell revealed by the open door. The light of her torch reached only a few feet inside, illuminating ornately carved walls depicting a battle.There was a thin g
Matilda touched the Ruffle Pistol , scanning the door again. It yielded no answers about what might be behind it, so she clamped a hand around the handle and pulled.It was locked. There was no keyhole in sight. She ran a hand along the grooves. Perhaps it had rusted shut?She frowned. No sign of rust, either.Matilda stepped back, studying the door. Why put a handle on it if there was no way of opening it? And why use a lock unless there was something worthwhile hidden behind it?She turned away, but the amulet warmed against her skin, and a flicker of light shone through her tunic. Matilda paused.It could have been the flicker of the torch, but … Matilda studied the slender gap between the door and the stone. A shadow—darker than the blackness beyond—lingered on the other side.Slowly, drawing out her thinnest and flattest dagger with her free hand, she set the torch down and lay on her stomach, as close to the door as she dared. Just shadows—it was just shadows. Or rats.Eithe
“I think he values his life more than he values anything else.” “He’s a courtesan; how can you be sure you can trust him?”Matilda slipped back into her chair, Fleetfoot curling between her feet. “Well, you trust me, and I’m an assassin.”“It’s not the same.”Matilda looked to the tapestry along the wall to her left, and the chest of drawers in front of it. “While I’m telling you all the things that could get me executed, there’s something else that I should bring up.”Jeremy followed her line of sight to the tapestry. After a moment, she let outa gasp. “Is that—that’s Eleanor in the tapestry, isn’t it?”Matilda smiled crookedly and crossed her arms. “That’s not even the worst of it.”As they walked down to the tomb, Matilda told Jeremy about everything that had occurred between her and Eleanor since Samhuinn—and all the adventures that had befallen her. She showed her the room where Cain had summoned the ridderak, and as they approached the tomb, Matilda winced as she remem
Matilda ignored him. She hadn’t told Jeremy about Eleanor ’s latest demand to uncover the king’s source of power, because she knew what Jeremy ’s response would be: listen to the dead queen. But the Dark Knight s seemed so connected to everything, somehow—even to that eye riddle and this stupid trick wall. And perhaps if she learned how to use them, then she could unlock the iron door in the library and find some answers beyond it. “Maybe … maybe just the basics?”Jeremy smiled. “The basics are the hardest part.”Usefulness aside, it was a forgotten secret language, a system for accessing a strange power. Who wouldn’t want to learn about it? “Morning lessons instead of our walk, then?”Jeremy beamed, and Matilda felt a twinge of guilt for not telling her about the catacombs as the princess said, “Of course.”When they left, Jeremy spent a few minutes studying Mort—mostly asking him questions about his creation spell, which he claimed to have forgotten, then claimed was too priva
The ballroom had been decorated in hues of white and glacier blue, with swaths of silk floating from the ceiling and ornate glass baubles hanging between. It was something out of a winter dream, and it was in honor of Hollin, of all people. A few hours of entertainment and a small fortune spent for a boy who was currently sulking on his little glass throne, shoveling sweets down his throat as his mother smiled at him.He’d never tell Leonard , but Benjamin dreaded the day when Hollin would grow into a man. A spoiled child was easy enough to deal with, but a spoiled, cruel leader would be another matter entirely. He hoped that between him and Leonard , they could check whatever corruption was already rotting away in Hollin’s heart —once Leonard ascended to the throne.The heir was on the dance floor, fulfilling his obligation to court and crown by dancing with whatever ladies demanded his attention. Which, not surprisingly, was almost all of them. Leonard played his role well and sm
Matilda sat in the parlor of Archer’s townhouse, frowning at the crackling fireplace. She hadn’t touched the tea the butler had laid out for her on the low-lying marble table, though she’d certainly indulged in two creampuffs and one chocolate torte while waiting for Archer to return. She could have come back later, but it was freezing outside, and after standing on guard duty last night, she was exhausted. And in need of anything to distract her from reliving that dance with Benjamin .After the waltz had finished, he’d merely told her that if she abandoned her post again, he’d break a hole through the ice in the trout pond and toss her in. And then, as though he hadn’t just danced with her in a way that made her knees tremble, he stalked back inside and left her to suffer in the cold. He hadn’t even mentioned the dance this morning during their run. Maybe she’d just imagined the whole thing. Maybe the frigid night air had made her stupid.She’d been distracted during her first Dark