A firebrand rests on the wall, but Victor doesn’t light it. “You can see in the dark. Lead the way.”
I stride past him, grab his hand on the way, and rest it on my shoulder, and so we proceed along the corridor to the external door.
There, we pause.
Outside this door is a narrow platform, not big enough for more than two guards. There’s no railing, and the small platform is situated at the top of a narrow staircase so tall that falling from it would be lethal. That is, for fae who can’t levitate like I can.
Sadly, this door opens inward, so we won’t knock any guards off the platform simply by opening it.
“One last thing,” Victor says. “Hadrian is irate about the missing page from the Chronicle.”
I straighten. “The torn-out page.”
“He thinks Emiliana’s father had something to do with its removal.”
My jaw clenches hard. Galla forced me to kill Emiliana’s father in a game for her entertainment.
“That page has been missing for as long as I can remember,” I say.
“Emiliana and I spoke about it several times. She doesn’t know what happened to it. She never saw it and neither did her father. It was ripped out long ago. But the story her father told her is that the False Queen herself wrote a message on that page.”
This is news to me. “No wonder Hadrian wants it.”
My thoughts are a storm. When Thyra touched the Chronicle, the pages came alive for her. Somehow, her power allowed her to see the events in the pages as if they had been happening right in front of her.
“Victor.” I grip his arm, speaking carefully. “One last question: has Emiliana ever mentioned the Chronicle’s pages coming alive for her?”
“Coming alive? What do you mean?”
Victor’s questions and the crinkle in his brow tell me the answer isno. That ability must be unique to Thyra.
The last thing I want is for Hadrian to find out whatThyra can do. Just as I can’t risk Hadrian finding out that my mother’s alive. Even if Victor didn’t want to impart this information, it’s best if he doesn’t know it.
“It’s nothing,” I say, quickly coming up with a plausible explanation for my question. “The last time Emiliana opened the book, it played tricks with the light.”
“Shimmering, yes.” Victor nods. “Emiliana describes it aslayering. The illustrations in the Chronicle were drawn multiple times, the first three times in white ink. The next layers were drawn in color. Also multiple times.”
Huh. It seems my quick lie was not such a falsehood after all.
“Luckily, Hadrian only requires simple copies,” Victor says. “Emiliana’s father wasn’t taught the white ink techniques, so he couldn’t teach her, either.” My brother’s shoulders are tense. “Hadrian made a point of mentioning this to insult Emiliana to my face. I swear, Antony, I fear what he can do, but if you find a way to end him, I won’t mourn. He isn’t the brother I thought he was.”
A death I never imagined I would want to bring about.
Clearing my throat, I try to focus on what’s more immediately important. “If you have the chance to steal back the Chronicle when you free Emiliana?—”
“Believe me, brother,” Victor says, “I will try. That book is all she has of her people.”
It’s the closest to a promise he can make me and now, we’re well and truly out of time.
“Be ready, brother,” I say.
I unlatch the door and it grinds against the floor as it opens.
I brace for an onslaught, a fight, but silence greets us.
The guards I saw earlier outside this door are gone.
In the distance, I can hear shouting.An alarm finally being raised.
