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
Impressed murmurs, and a nod from his father to Roland made Leonard ’s jaw clench. Three matching rings; three black rings to signify—what? That they were bound in some way to each other? How had Roland gotten past his father’s and Perrington’s defenses so quickly? Because of his support of a place like Calaculla?Jeremy ’s words from the night before kept ringing in his head. He’d seen the scars on Matilda ’s back up close—a brutal mess of flesh that made him sick with rage to look at. How many like her were rotting away in these labor camps?“And where will the slaves sleep?” Leonard suddenly asked. “Will you build shelter for them, too?”Everyone, including his father, turned to look at him. But Roland just shrugged. “They’re slaves. Why shelter them, when they can sleep in the mines? Then we wouldn’t waste time bringing them in and out every day.”More murmurs and nods. Leonard stared at Roland. “If we have a surplus of slaves, then why not let some of them go? Surely they’re no
When he returned, and after they’d both eaten half of the cake he’d swiped from the kitchens, Matilda lay back on the couch, a hand on her full belly. Benjamin was already sprawled across the cushions, sleeping soundly. Staying up until the middle of the night at the ball, then awakening for their sunrise run this morning had been exhausting. Why hadn’t he just canceled the run?You know, the courts weren’t always like this, Jeremy had said. There was a time when people valued honor and loyalty—when serving a ruler wasn’t about obedience and fear…. Do you think another court like that could ever rise again?Matilda hadn’t given Jeremy an answer. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it. But looking at Benjamin now, at the man he was, and the man he was still becoming …Yes, she thought. Yes, Jeremy . It could rise again, if we could find more men like him.But not in a world with this king, she realized. He’d crush a court like that before Jeremy could muster one. If the king were go