I knocked a second time. Louder. If he came to the door, I’d make up some excuse but…
He didn’t.
Aw, he wasn’t here. “Damn.” My snort rang out.
Stooping in front of the lock, I slid the slender blade that Trew had given me into my palm. Rather ironic that I’d use his blade to break into his study. Although, it was my blade now. He’d given it to me.
It wasn’t the best tool for locks, but I’d made do with worse. My father kept all his private rooms locked. I’d only snuck in a few times, determined to find out what he might be hiding, if anything, but I’d soon realized my father was boring. No evidence of crimes. Noexciting paperwork that would reveal anything important. I hadn’t tried to get inside one of his private rooms in years.
With my heart in my throat, I wedged the tip into the lock, fumbling with it for what felt like too long. My pulse beat loud in my ears, every tiny click inside the mechanism echoing through me. I thought of Addie. Of the cut jewel in my chambers. Of what Trew might be hiding behind this door.
A soft snick rang out as the lock gave way.
I stood, my breath catching in my throat, and tucked the blade into the sheath strapped to my waist. After sucking in a few gulps of air, I slowly turned the door handle.
The cinderhawk didn’t blink. Neither did the great cat.
The door creaked open at my touch.
35
ISI
Islipped inside Trew’s office and eased the door shut behind me.
The scent hit me first. Warm and entirely him. Like cedar and storms and something wild. I inhaled before I could stop myself. And instantly regretted it. Because now I couldfeelhim, even though the room was empty. I had no business missing his presence.
The room was dim, private, and quietly humming with something I didn’t quite understand, and it was warmer here. If there were wards, I’d probably just triggered them, so I’d have to be fast.
Shadows clung to the corners, deepened by the amber glow spilling from a trio of low-burning torches on my left.
The scent of books clung to the air along with that vague, spicy taste of magic I’d discovered during our afternoon training sessions. The area felt dormant. Waiting. Like the room might come alive if touched in the wrong way.
Which meant I’d also have to be careful.
Beyond the desk, a broad bookcase stretched to the vaulted ceiling, each shelf full of leather-bound volumes in a riot of faded colors, gold leaf on the spines catching the light like the wink of coins. Notall the spines had titles; some had been etched with strange symbols. Between the shelves, niches displayed relics, from blade hilts worn smooth from countless hands, to dragon scales no larger than my palm but shimmering with an inner fire. I even spied a tarnished gold crown lying on an angle.
Several narrow tables stood here and there, each littered with unusual objects. A cracked map drawn on hide. A polished horn worked into a drinking vessel. A dagger with a hilt wrapped in black leather, its blade nicked and blackened as though it had been pulled from a fire.
The rug underfoot muffled my quick steps, a heavy weave in shades of crimson and gold, patterned with curling designs that might be flowers or flames. My boots sank into it, soundless as I crossed the room. Every surface whispered of power, of a man who kept history close at hand.
The desk dominated the space, carved from dark wood, the surface nicked with a few scrapes from use. It appeared old. Maybe his father or grandfather had used it before him.
The skull of a horned creature I didn’t recognize hung on the wall beyond it, its hollow sockets staring down at the room like a silent sentinel.
Papers and tomes littered the desk in organized chaos. Some stacked into neat piles, others scattered as if he’d dropped them and strode away.
I moved around the room as fast as I could, scanning the surfaces, taking care not to touch anything, stopping at the desk only to study the papers. Notes and sketches. None of it mentioning Addie. I had no idea what I was hoping to find. A note scrawled with “yes I murdered your sister” in dramatic villain handwriting?
My fingers still itched to rifle through everything, but this appeared to just be a man’s workspace.
I hurried to the bookshelf and began tugging books free at random. My fingers traced the spines of thick military volumes, heavy spell theory texts, atlases, and battle maps. I found a slimvolume of poetry tucked between two tomes on magical creature behavior. My brows rose. I pulled it free and flipped it open. The pages were worn. Well-read.
I squinted at the cover:Songs for Lovers Lost and Found.
I stared at it. Closed it. Shelved it again.
One section held titles on beast-bonding rituals and symbiotic casting. Another section delved into old, likely-forgotten magical theories that made me want to sit and read. Another held records of trade negotiations, court correspondence, and border conflicts.
