“When I found something worth reporting,” he replied. “Is your eyesight good enough to determine whether this wood is newer than what surrounds it?”
I bent down to examine the letters, which looked to me more like pictures drawn with harsh lines. Scanning the minuscule whorls in thewood, I caught the faint sheen of oil from recent fingerprints—and older, fainter fingerprints beneath that.
“It’s certainlydifferentfrom the rest,” I said slowly. “It’s a slight shade darker and less worn. And someone besides you has touched it many times. But the wood surrounding it is clean.”
“What are the chances someone would touch this one specific spot on the wall and ignore all the rest?”
I straightened. “It saysenter?”
“Yes, but if thereisa secret door hidden in the wall, it won’t budge.” He glanced at me sheepishly. “I was too curious to wait for you.”
“A curious librarian,” I muttered. “Now, that’s a shock.” I scanned the wall once more, then glanced at him. “Stand back. There is a door. I can see the seams. I’m going to kick it open as quietly as I can. Then we’ll wait to see if anyone comes to investigate the noise.”
He stared at me. “You can kick open a doorquietly?”
In answer, I spun around and struck the wall with my right foot. At the last second, I pulled back the slightest bit, and my foot made contact with only a slight thud. But the seething power coiled in my leg muscles did its job anyway. The door flew open, and we hurried into the stone passage behind it, which was dimly lit by a single flickering torch in an iron sconce.
I pulled the door mostly closed, leaving only a sliver of the hallway visible. For five excruciating minutes, I listened hard, stretching my senses down every corridor I could find. Nothing. Silence. Satisfied, I pulled the door all the way shut. It clicked into place with barely a sound.
“Have I ever mentioned,” Gareth murmured, his eyes merry in the torchlight, “how devastatingly beautiful you are when you’re kicking down doors and knocking out guards?”
I shot him a small smile and grabbed the torch. “Let’s see where this goes.”
“Ah, let me carry that,” he said, gesturing for it. “It matters much less if one of my hands is occupied.”
He had a point. I gave it to him, and we crept down the passage in silence, shadows flickering all around us, until suddenly a faint noise made me freeze. I grabbed Gareth’s arm, my heart pounding.
Music. I was hearing music.
Someone was playing a piano.
A piano, and it’s making such a racket.
A small chill skipped down my arms. Gareth was tense beside me, not daring to say a word. I pressed on along the passage, and I knew the moment Gareth started to hear the music too. He drew in a quick breath, and the faint murmur of his heartbeat grew faster, louder.
The passage ended at a wooden door set into the stone wall, lit by a second torch. I paused beside it, listening past the cheerful music for any sign that someone besides our mysterious pianist waited on the other side of the door. But gods, the pianowasmaking a racket; the music was frenetic and gratingly loud. Skillful, but inelegant. I immediately thought of Farrin, how much better this music would sound if played by her dexterous fingers. A little flare of worry sparked in my mind: Where was my sister at this moment? Was she safe? Was Gemma?
I shoved the thought aside and glanced at Gareth. “Stay here until I signal for you.”
He didn’t look happy about that, but he nodded and stepped back, and I opened the door as quietly and slowly as I’d ever done anything in my life. It opened into a small but grand ballroom, lit only by a few glimmers of candlelight. The parquet floor gleamed softly; flowering vines wound through the white rafters. A girl with white-blond hair sat at a piano in the center of the room, wearing a prim, lace-trimmed dress. Beyond her, a spiral of iron stairs climbed nearly all the way to the ceiling. At the top was a small landing and a door set into the wall.
My blood ran cold. I wished passionately that I could shove Gareth into a safe cupboard somewhere; the frantic music rattling around the room and the lone girl and the lone staircase told me something terrible was about to happen. The staircase was so odd, standing out harshly against the room’s pastel finery. And where did that door at the top lead?
I went to Gareth and said against his ear, very calmly, “Take off your coat and douse the torch with it, but keep it with you to use as a club if you have to. Head for the staircase, but keep to the edges of the room. The shadows might hide us.”
He nodded, his expression grim, and followed me into the ballroom. My mind raced through every possibility I could think of. The girl was clearly Griselda Lemaire, for Aralinda was the second of the three sisters, and this girl playing the piano was smaller than she was. The moment she saw us, she might use her elemental magic to send the ceiling vines whipping down toward us. Or she might call for help, or press a secret mechanism that would alert the house guard and bring them rushing in.
Or she might cower at the sight of us and run off to cry in a corner.The little brat has a weak stomach, Aralinda had said to her friends.
We crept along the left side of the room while Griselda hammered away at her piano. The music was deafening, and I started to think we might make it all the way to the staircase, and maybe even up it, without the girl noticing a thing.
But then came a break in the music, and without turning around on her bench, she said quietly, “Have you come to save her?”
Her voice was small, thin. A pause, her fingers hovering above the keyboard, and then she resumed playing.
I gestured sharply at Gareth to stay where he was, then went to the girl. My body thrummed with restrained force; my skin was scorching hot. I’d knock her straight through her piano if I had to.
But then came three quick, triumphant chords, and the music stopped. The piece was over. And Griselda Lemaire turned to me with tears streaming down her face. Her face was thin, her lips chapped and raw, as if she’d been biting them all through her little recital.
