“Money doesn’t make men any less cruel,” she said coldly, her heart raging in her chest from true, authentic fear. “It only buys the silence of those who witness it.”
At her words, Armand recoiled as if she had struck him in the face. He ambled back to the chair and slumped there, face not showing a hint of the laughing, taunting boy she’d thought him to be. “There’s a door behind that tapestry,” he waved a hand at the part of the wall with the strongest accumulation of gold threads. “It will take you to your chambers.”
The corridor didn’t take her to her chambers. She had no idea where else it could lead for it hadn’t been on any of Nehelon’s maps.
Gandrett followed the narrow passage to the first door she could find, hidden under layers of dust and spider webs so heavily that she had almost missed it, then had cracked it open and checked whether the air was clear.
It was. But instead of taking her to her own chambers, she found herself in a side corridor that bore little to no light. She followed it long enough to know she couldn’t be anywhere near her chambers. Too long had she been groping along the rough stone walls not to know she must have long passed it.
Lucky. She had been so lucky that Armand hadn’t pushed for more information. That he hadn’t insisted on that entertainment.
She could only imagine what his situation with his father was if he found such delight in upsetting him.
And she... Gandrett found absolutely no delight in being a tool in someone’s games. For that, she figured, was the only thing she was.
The tunnel turned right and descended in shallow stairs, into the gloom of complete darkness.
Turn around. That’s what she should be doing. But she was already in motion, away from Armand, no sound other than her footsteps accompanying her into the blackness. She wanted to know where the tunnel ended. Armand had already told her one end went to her chambers, so she must have chosen the wrong door. And this one arm of the tunnel might be her ticket to snooping around the castle. And one day, maybe also her escape route.
So she continued into the darkness while Armand was convinced she was tucked under the blankets. The dance would probably continue into the morning hours, and no one would come looking for her. Still, if they did, they wouldn’t find it suspicious if she wasn’t in her own chambers, for Armand had made it so very clear what he intended for their night together.
It was only when a soft whisper disturbed the echo of her slow footsteps that she halted, one hand braced on the wall, the other lifting her skirts to reach for her dagger.
The whispering stopped.
Gandrett held her breath. She could hardly see her hand before her face, but far ahead, there was a spot of light.
“Who’s there?” Gandrett asked in a low but steady voice. She had spent enough days in the dark tunnels of the citadel to keep her calm.
No answer.
Something moved near the light, as if she had disturbed it, and skittered away too fast for her to make out anything.
With cautious steps, she followed the light, pulling her dagger as she moved along the doorless wall. The temperature had dropped, making her shiver in her sleeveless gown, and the stone under her fingers became slippery.
Cold. So cold. She was sure her breath had turned into puffs of haze before her face could she see it.
She could bear it no longer. What was this place?
The light she had seen didn’t seem to come any closer even when she continued walking for a minute until her breath hurt in her lungs.
She had to turn around—get out before she would freeze alive down here.
With heavy legs, she made the turn, hilt of her dagger threatening to stick to her hand from the glacial cold. Her steps were slow. Slower even now that her path was uphill. And no matter how much she pushed herself, her legs were growing heavier with each step. As if they were made of lead.
Her breathing was shallow when the temperature rose slightly as she made it to a sharp left turn she couldn’t remember taking before. But she didn’t stop. Anything but going back into the freezing cold.
One step after the other. Up and up. Until her knees buckled and it was all she could do to creep forward, away from the ice behind her.
She made a mental note to tell Nehelon what a bastard he was to send her into this hell. If she ever got out of there. Vala help her, she was on her hands and knees, dragging her skirts through the dust as she forced herself to keep going.
And then, the darkness lifted like a veil, and a breeze of warmth touched her shoulders and back. Her eyes adjusted, and she noticed footsteps nearby. Right behind the wall beside her. The door beside her.
She lifted one weak hand to the rusty knob above her head and turned.
Addie Blackwood’s heart almost stopped when the wall beside her opened and a dirty, female shape slumped into the corridor, right where she had been about to set her next steps, with a groan.
She wasn’t one to be startled easily. Vala knew, she was used to surprises—bad ones mostly. Her time in the mountain prison in the north had most certainly taught her that no matter how bad things got, it could always get worse.
“Are you all right, Miss?” She set down her bucket and knelt by the young woman whose eyes were blinking as if she was struggling to keep her focus. In her hand, she was clutching a dagger.
Addie tried not to shy away from the blade and touched a hand to the woman’s forehead. Cold. That woman needed help.
And her lips were an unhealthy shade of blue, as if someone had pushed her out into the snow the way the guards had done to her in the north. The most northern point of Neredyn, even beyond Lands End, where a solid blanket of ice and snow-covered the mountain ranges.
The woman didn’t speak but instead rolled to the side and braced herself on her hands and knees, crawling forward until her feet had made it out of the doorway.
Addie peeked through the door, catching a glimpse of dim light and gray rock.
“Don’t,” the girl said through gritted teeth and kicked—with what seemed like her last strength—the door shut.
Addie watched it melt into the polished stone wall of the corridor she had been following, leaving nothing but smooth surface and no hint of the door the girl had just crept through.
She was tempted to run her hand over the stone to ascertain herself she hadn’t dreamt, but the girl had cowered over her knees beside her and was shivering uncontrollably, her shoulders and arms left bare by the elegant gown she was wearing.
“Come,” Addie took the girl by the arm and pulled her up with a force that made her muscles scream and picked up her bucket. “We need to get you somewhere warm.” The girl let Addie tug her along, stumbling beside her as she led her toward the servants’ kitchen where a flame was always kept alive in the oven in case any of the courtiers fancied a late meal. “How ever did you get there?” She asked as she dragged the quiet girl down the stairs and into the familiar space that smelled of herbs and bread and stale bothenia ale.
While the nobles had been dancing, every servant who could spare a minute had cheered to Demea’s blessing that the young lord had ensured by killing the wolf. Her heart picked up pace at the thought of him. Even if he had never noticed her in the shadows of Lady Linniue’s chambers, she had been there when he visited. It happened rarely but often enough for Addie to notice how handsome his face was from up close, how his hair looked like molten honey when it trickled out of his ponytail.