Left, left, left, right. Backward, backward, forward. Side to side.
An eternity later, I hit the final step. With a series of interior clicks, the sliding doors reeled apart like curtains, the panels disappearing into wall slots. Relief washed over me as I swept inside, then halted as a dark figure filled the entrance.
12
Aspen
Caught like a burglar, I froze as if someone had tightened my joints with a wrench. The figure blocked the vault, their frame built like a fortress. Large, tall, and solid.
It could only be one person. Someone who hadn’t been truthful when they said they couldn’t read me.
Dread iced my blood. I opened my mouth, a dozen entreaties squatting on the ledge of my tongue. “I can explain,” I blurted out, my plea ricocheting across the cavernous space.
Beneath a helmet, the figure kept quiet. So much that it seemed unnatural.
Fully outfitted from the breastplate to the vambraces and greaves, this soldier appeared overdressed to apprehend a lone intruder. In a more convenient world, I’d be flattered.
Instead, I narrowed my gaze. This figure’s armor glinted, their posture stock still.
A gust of air whooshed from my lungs. I stepped into the vault and tapped the placard lining one shoulder. A fucking suit of armor. In this light, the display stood farther away than I’d guessed, the optical illusion making it appear closer to the door.
Feathered shingles ornamented the body, the bronze plates in pristine condition, developing a rich patina with age. I marveled at the fine attention to detail, down to the polished helmet visor. Impressive, to be sure.
With reluctance, I turned away. Cobwebs laced the rafters, and pearlescent light radiated from a glass globe encasing Winter stardust, which lent visibility to the archives.
Years ago, Briar and Poet gave our clan a tour of this place. Although I missed the armor that first time, I never forgot the experience, which felt like exploring a treasure trove. It reminded me of the ruins in The Phantom Wild, where Flare and Jeryn lived during their shipwreck era.
Back then, I stowed away on Poet and Briar’s ship while they made an expedition to locate Flare. At the time, I wondered if the mythical forest contained an ingredient to aid Mama’s condition or ease the pain in my markings. Except I hadn’t known what to look for, much less how to ask the clan without inciting an interrogation. I only came close once in that rainforest, when I asked Flare how to find things that might not want to be found.
To this day, Jeryn and Flare preserved The Phantom Wild’s ruins without revealing its existence. Until the right time came, Winter’s king developed treatments sourced from the rainforest, though not one for his ailing parents or my mother. He tried repeatedly, to no avail so far.
I weaved through cubicles housing Autumn’s first illuminated manuscript, tiaras and coronation robes, and mythical mirrors. Also, a ring of tapestries depicting the four Seasons, which surrounded a chaise lounge.
The site of Poet and Briar’s historic sex fest. Legend had it, the jester had bent the princess into a position that required inhuman flexibility while fucking. I believed it. Each night, Briar shared a bed with that kinetic man, the afterglow sitting plain on her face over communal breakfasts.
I sped to the back recess where weapons rested in open cases. There, my footfalls stalled before a long compartment lined in green velvet. Cradled inside, an axe harness rested,its diagonal shoulder sling intricately accessorized with filigrees and silk binding that adjusted to any part of the body, enabling the wielder to affix their axe wherever they wished.
I coasted one finger down the harness. The day Briar brought us all here, I committed this ancient specimen to memory, unaware how vital it would become. Although I’d fashioned my own walnut leather strap, I needed something older for where I was headed.
Fishing a replica of the harness from my cloak pocket, I compared the two. Not bad since I’d made this counterfeit in a hurry. Anyone auditing the vault would have to look through a microscope to notice the difference.
After replacing the real thing with a phony, I modified the harness, strapping it around one thigh beneath my skirt. Then I transferred the axe from my hip to its new location like a garter. Next, I encased the blade in a protective leather flap, which would split open the instant I yanked on the handle.
Testing the arrangement, I twisted, ducked, and pivoted. The straps held, barely noticeable. Damn, but the ancient ones knew their shit.
Retracing my steps, I slipped out of the vault and hopped in the same pattern back to the staircase. At the ground level, a pair of boots thudded against the floor. I hotfooted into another alley where a second impediment awaited, a sentinel patrolling in my direction. Biting back a curse, I plummeted to the ground, rolling out of sight as the man scanned the area and bled into the shadows.
Popping upright, I deserted the hall and turned a corner. On silent feet, a third sentinel pounded toward me with a corseque locked in his hand. Unlike the last two, this bloke hadn’t been duped.
Courtiers moseyed around this castle all the time. But in Autumn, they rarely did so past midnight, much less while cloaked like a vigilante.
I skidded in place, my eyes soaring heavenward. “Shit.”
“You, there,” he squawked. “State your busin—”
Spinning around him, I rammed my elbow into his side. On a grunt, the male keeled over but recuperated fast, the corseque swinging in his tattooed hand.
I’d already forsaken Briar, Poet, and Avalea’s trust more than they knew. And after Merit, I drew the line at beheading another loyal Autumn soldier. A defender trained to protect the Royal family, including Nicu.
