Scarlen couldn’t focus on the conversations around her because her head was throbbing so badly. She had to excuse herself and find a quiet room for respite. She knew where her father kept his medicine for his own pains, so headed for his study to use his balm.
It was quiet inside his personal space, with most guards outside or patrolling the perimeter, so she sat in his white leather chair and opened the drawer containing whisky and head balm. It was her first time in his study without being summoned, and it felt a little weird sitting there alone.
A pain ripped through her skull, causing her to shoot forward and clutch her forehead. Quickly, she grasped the small pot of buttery balm and reached beneath her mask to smear some on her temples, the slight burn tingling but not relieving.
Scarlen slithered to the cool floor, her teeth clenched, her heart thrumming, squeezing her eyes shut as she panted through the pain, the agony stealing each breath, leaving her cries silent. Sparks of white flashed at the back of her eyes, so she opened them to see the room spin before her, taking her stomach for a ride.
A screech only she could hear had her clamp her ears, then a vision appeared of a man in amber clothing, his handsome face so stern, a glare filled with silver, a touch so gentle.
‘Bear,’ she heard herself mutter, and the pain stopped as though it never existed at all.
Silence fell.
Shaking and confused, Scarlen straightened, peering over the marble-topped desk at the five swords hanging on the wall, the black crystal-embedded hilts as polished as the metal. The stolen bread, Horstal, Bear, the escape, Borough North, and Lancen all came back at once.
‘The book,’ she whispered.I’m supposed to get the book.With that, she went to the far wall where a tall potted plant sat next to a rectangular painting of her grandfather, tall and broad, a curl to his moustache, a glint in his eye.
Lancen had told of the secret passageway behind the portrait. The one she had discovered by accident when nosing around the study.
Looking over the thick gilded frame, Scarlen found a small metal latch that was easy enough to lift with a finger. The picture swung towards her a touch, revealing the dark opening behind.
Taking one last look at the study, she stepped into the tunnel and closed the frame behind her.
It was pitch black inside, but a cool breeze led the way and the scent of brine in the damp air.
Using her hands to help feel her way along the cool walls, Scarlen only stumbled twice. The veil covering wasn’t helpingmatters, so she tugged it free and lifted the eye mask to her head. At least she felt she could breathe a little better.
The passageway sloped upwards and turned many corners, leading her far across the palace, as Lancen had stated. Scarlen just wasn’t expecting to walk for so long. She knew the palace was huge and went off in different directions, but she felt if she walked any further she’d be away from the palace altogether.
A golden hue came into view up ahead, welcome and encouraging, and Scarlen upped her pace, pleased to be out of the darkness, even more delighted to see a book upon a dais in the large room she had entered.
All around were shelves filled with bottles, books and scrolls, and cauldrons and spoons of many sizes. The walls sparkled as though made of diamonds, and the ceiling seemed to enter the clouds. Another doorway led to the clifftop, Lancen had told. It was where Scarlen would take the House of Knight book, then find the rocky stairway that led down to the coves.
She took a moment to gather her bearings, as her head was still in a whirl from getting her memory back. She still wasn’t sure if Bear had sung to her in the courtyard or if that part had been imagined.
There wasn’t time to go back and look for him just in case, so she approached the book instead, expecting more to it than a dark leather-bound. Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the book to see the pages were the colour of uncooked pastry and smelled a tad dusty. All script was cursive and black, no ink smudges in sight, and as she carefully turned each page, she saw the story of the knights unfold.
The fifth knight was in there somewhere, and Scarlen was supposed to be running for the boat with the book firmly under her arm, but one quick peek wouldn’t hurt.
Flicking further to the back, she homed in when she saw the story of the last knight to be born. It was all true what Lancenhad said. The baby had been taken, her parents and Blyton murdered by the witches who worked for the king.
Fury bubbled at her father’s wickedness. How he could do such a thing? ‘Where are you?’ she muttered, perusing the pages for the whereabouts of the baby. ‘Taken to the palace. Presented to the queen. Pretended the baby was the king’s love child. Wait, what?’ Just for a moment, her pulse stopped, and the room became ever so smaller.
A waft of cold air blew into her tight bun as she read over the name. ‘Adoria.’
34
‘You shouldn’t be in here, my dear,’ said the king, standing behind Scarlen, one hand clamping down on her numb shoulder, his pudgy nose close to her cheek.
Scarlen shivered as she turned to see Lulu was with him, along with a younger witch she knew was Iriss.
‘We were going to do this tonight,’ he added as all colour drained from Scarlen’s face. ‘But we may as well get on with it now. You are of age, after all.’
Iriss smirked, her dark eyes shining from beneath a purple mask hiding her beauty. She tugged it up to sit on her spiky black hair as she went to pick up a small cauldron, her limp slowing her. ‘As practiced, Lulu?’
Lulu tutted as she nodded. ‘Would have preferred a full moon, but you can’t have everything.’
Scarlen was still frozen to the spot, her father’s hand firm, the fumes of his whisky breath roiling her gut. Nothing was making sense, and all words had left her.
