“I never asked to be sheltered,” I snap at the empty stairwell. “I couldhave handled the truth. In fact, I would have been far more prepared to navigate all of this if you hadn’t kept me in the dark.”
If I hadn’t kept you in the dark, you wouldn’t have come at all.
It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut, because she’s right. I would have been too terrified to come here and avenge her if I had known what I would be up against. I would have counted myself out before I even tried. I would have done nothing—like Father.
The realization makes me lurch to my feet, and I storm back to my bedchamber, unsure who I’m more frustrated with: my sister, for always being right, or myself, for being so pathetic and incompetent. The opposite of what Tashir needs.
The moment the door slams behind me, I begin rooting around my chamber like a wild boar. Yesterday, when I first combed the space, I did so slowly and methodically, fearful of potential traps and dangers. This time,Iam on the attack. I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, but I dart around the room, overturning tables and pulling out drawers, searching for something,anything, that proves therealRowenna was here. Some sort of confirmation that I’m on the right path, despite how useless and inadequate I feel.
But I don’t find a trace of my sister or the truth.
It’s like Rowenna was a ghost before she even died.
With a growl of frustration, I pluck one of the gold-lidded pots off the dressing table and hurl it at the nearest wall. It shatters against a protrusion of blue topaz, and I scream even louder as the glass tinkles into the carpet. “Why am I here? What do you expect me to do?”
When Rowenna doesn’t answer, I throw another pot against a fiery-hearted opal. Followed by a jar of perfume that explodes against a cluster of purple amethyst. I hurl every trinket within reach while tears stream down my cheeks, making the room swirl like a watercolor painting.
I attack my haversack next. My fist closes around one of the unripe bagrava fruit I harvested during the fire, and I let it fly. It smashes againsta vein of white quartz and turns into a satisfying spray of pulp—all except a small clump of purple flesh that appears to be hovering in midair.
Frowning, I pad over to the gemstone wall and poke around.
Everything inside me goes cold when I find the chunk of bagrava resting on a small doorknob, nestled seamlessly in the quartz. It’s so well camouflaged, I could have easily missed it for months.Years.
I try the knob, and a hairline fracture appears, forming the shape of a small door. Ahiddendoor with direct access to my rooms.
Rooms that also belonged to Rowenna.
I tell myself it’s most likely a cupboard. Or another linen closet. But that’s of little comfort, because apersonwas living in my washroom closet. And if this door leads somewhere as innocuous as maid’s quarters, why bother concealing it so thoroughly?
Everything about this knob feels sinister. Orchestrated
A shudder grips me as I imagine Ro lying fast asleep on the feather bed, serenely floating through dreams of Tashir. Completely unaware of the click and scrape of the door. Oblivious to the shadowy presence creeping across the room. Waking to the cold bite of steel against her throat as an intruder forced her out of bed and marched her to the cliffs.
Thatscenario is far more believable than Rowenna holding anyone at knifepoint. It would have been easy for the serving girl to swap roles with my sister and paint herself as the victim when she relayed the tale. I have no doubt she knows about this hidden door; she cleans this room every day. And she clearly hated my sister. The only trouble is, it’s equally difficult to imagine someone so timid and flighty threatening someone as strong and clever as Ro.
Soren and Alaric, on the other hand…
They must know about this hidden door too. They could have conveniently “forgotten” to secure it. Perhaps they evenencouragedan assassin to slip in and murder my sister. It would have been the perfectway to keep their royal hands clean and facilitate the exchange. Me for Rowenna.
Do Mother and Father realize they condemned both their daughters when they revealed my abilities as a master gardener? Soren would have never wanted me otherwise. And Ro would have never been killed.
Devastation and fury slosh around my stomach like ice water. I want to scream and cry. Fight and flee. All of it at once.
If I were back in Tashir, I’d sprint to the fields and channel these feelings into my work. Earth Mother and the plants have always been my solace. But that isn’t an option here. I won’t grow so much as a blade of grass for Soren. Unfortunately, burying my head in the dirt and hoping Tashir will magically be freed isn’t an option either.
I tighten my grip on the doorknob and take a breath for courage. I must keep moving, keep pressing, until I discover the truth.
Fifteen
I shoulder through the door and stagger not into the darkness of a secrettunnel but into a room even brighter than my chambers. It’s like emerging from the hillock palace after spending a week belowground. I shield my eyes and steady myself against the door, but I can’t stop blinking, even as the details come into focus.
The room is made entirely of glass. So open and exposed. The last place anyone would come to plot or spy.
Cautiously, I move to the nearest wall and raise my fingers to the glass, marveling at the endless blue sky and intense mountain sunshine. Ancient pine trees fill each window, and birds with red-tipped wings nest in the crags of the tallest cliffs. Far down below, a meandering stone wall encloses the bustling fortress city, full of shops and houses no bigger than seed packets, with scores of tiny people who march along like ants.
I don’t want to admire anything about Vanzador, but like my glittering bedchamber and the breathtaking courtyards, I’m left without a choice. Everything about the kingdom is stunning. Mesmerizing. The opposite of the cold gray dungeon Rowenna described in her letters.
Technically, I suppose there are walls separating me from theoutside world, but they’re so clear, I feel like I could step through the glass and bound into the clouds. It’s like flying but without the punishing wind and biting cold.
