At the base of the stairs, he stopped and took my arm, forcing me to look at him. "I'm your friend, or, at least, I'm trying to be." His brows were pressed low and he was studying my face as if deeply concerned.
Was he sincere? Because I desperately needed someone to talk to, someone to trust. I needed him to stay with me even after he knew everything, and to take my hand and promise that it would be all right.
But he wouldn't say that, not if he knew. We could never be friends. And now ... anything more ... was impossible.
I pushed away from him and continued walking. "Stand watch outside the library. If anyone tries to come in, make a noise to warn me and slow them down."
"Why? What are you doing in there?"
I entered the library without answering him and quietly shut the door. I pulled the diary out from the apron pocket, then crossed the room to the desk, where it had been hidden. My father's tablet was on top, with an image of the oropods in motion, and a description of them beneath the picture. I knelt beside the desk to peek underneath it. Gerald had not given any details as to where the diary had been hidden, so I'd assumed the placement would be obvious, but now that I was here, it was anything but.
The underbelly of the desk was a series of boards fitted tightly together. Nothing could be hidden here, certainly not a book! Was this Gerald's way of trapping me? No, I had to believe that he meant well by giving me the diary, though at the moment, it seemed just the opposite.
I pressed on the boards, hoping to find one that was loose or that might be a false bottom, furious with myself for not asking how to hide this again.
"Sir Henry, good morning." That was Simon's voice!
"What are you doing here, boy?"
"Looking for your daughter, sir." He was speaking loud enough to warn me, but risked giving away that this was a signal. "She hoped to have breakfast with you this morning, to update you on last night's meeting with Sir Basil."
"Oh? You were there too, I assume. How did it go?"
"Very well," Simon said. "I think your daughter will soon find herself in love."
Was he talking about Basil? I'd sooner learn to love boiled intestines. Or was he just stalling, hoping to keep my father in the hallway as long as possible?
There was no time to continue searching for the diary's proper hiding place. All I could do was slip it between some books on a nearby shelf and hope it went unnoticed. I'd come back later this afternoon, or tonight, and try again.
For now, I needed a way out of the library--through a window perhaps? Did I have time?
"Lord Endrick." Simon's voice had changed. He wasn't talking about the Lord of the Dominion. He was speaking to him.
My heart crashed against my chest. This was the worst possible situation.
I'd known that I would have to face my father today, and that had worried me. But if Lord Endrick was here, all that remained within me was pure fear. I couldn't do this.
I had to do this.
I was terrified.
And I was going to do it anyway.
No one is sure when the Endrean people came into being, or how. All that is known is they were first discovered in the Blue Caves of the Watchman Mountains, and that somewhere deep inside those caves was the source of their magic.
Because of the mystery surrounding their origins, and the mysteries of magic itself, most Antorans believed Endreans were naturally evil.
Darrow didn't believe that. He said we were a product of our choices, not our bloodlines. I agreed. Except Lord Endrick--he was never anything but evil.
When he spoke, his voice was a razor, each word a cut that would burn for hours. To Simon, he said, "Move aside, boy. We have business. Private business."
The door handle turned and I stood tall to see Lord Endrick enter the library first. An icy wind seemed to accompany him, and I'm sure he was pleased to see me shudder beneath his dark shadow.
It was said that Lord Endrick had once been exceptionally handsome, as all Endreans were supposed to be. Yet with every murder he committed against his own people, his skin had grayed and become etched with deep, creviced lines, particularly on the cheeks and around his eyes. His pupils had faded to a frosty blue and often darted around like he expected an attack. He wore a leather cap over his hairless head at all times, and when in public, he wore a golden mask to hide his grotesque appearance. Few Antorans had ever seen his true face. Unfortunately for me, a visit to Sir Henry Dallisor's home was not considered going out in public. Nor was it necessary to look at him to understand this man's dark nature. Even the most callous person could feel his emanating cruelty. I'd never been so close to him, though I wondered how I had not noticed all of this three years ago when I had seen him from a distance.
Lord Endrick had declared the heavens dead and himself the highest giver of mercy. Considering what I had to do now, I hoped he was wrong. I sent a silent prayer to the heavens for protection. It couldn't hurt to try.
"Who are you, girl?" Endrick said to me. "What is a servant girl doing here, Sir Henry?"
"My Lord, you remember Kestra, my daughter." He was clearly surprised to see me here, but not as angry as I would've expected. Probably because Simon had warned that I was looking for him.
"Dressed in a servant's clothes?"
I gave a low curtsy and kept my face down so he would not see the redness of my eyes, or the fear in them. "I've not had time to prepare a proper wardrobe yet."
As far as Lord Endrick was concerned, I was Dallisor property, so he felt no need to address me directly when he said, "Your daughter must fix that. She is an embarrassment to you."
"She is, my Lord."
"That won't be a problem much longer. Has a date been set for her wedding to Sir Basil?"
"We arranged it last night. They will marry in two weeks."
I looked up, despite myself. Two weeks? Then I reminded myself that it wouldn't matter. I would not be here in two weeks. I would not be here in two more days.
"Two weeks is too long," Endrick said. "Sir Basil is in Highwyn now. Why can he not marry the girl tomorrow?"
"What?" I spoke loudly, ignoring every instinct within me to stop. "No!"
"Kestra, remember yourself!"
I lowered my head again. "Lord Endrick, if I do not have a proper dress to greet you, how can you expect me to have a proper dress for marriage?"
He crossed toward me, his face pinched with anger. "You will, because I demand it. This is a marriage of one noble to another. You will marry when I say it is your duty to do so."
"Only if I agree to it. Tomorrow is too soon."
"Are you refusing your master?"
Fear flooded into me, drowning everything I needed to survive this. I had no more courage, no more determination, and certainly no idea what had gotten me here in the first place. Beyond my trembling hands and weak knees, all that remained was knowing I couldn't go back now anyway, even if I tried.
So I stared directly at the Lord of the Dominion, something I'd never before done, and summoned the last of my strength to straighten my shoulders and say, "I will not marry Sir Basil tomorrow."
"Go to your knees, girl!"
The instant he commanded it, my legs collapsed into a kneeling position, responding to his magic. I briefly wondered who he'd killed to have that power and whether it was possible to fight it. Then I folded my skirts behind me. The last thing I needed was to explain why I had trousers on. Or worse, why I was practically begging the Lord of the Dominion to punish me.
The weight of Endrick's attention fell upon me like a boulder. "Lower your head."
For the first time, I noticed a grip glove on the back of his right hand with attached rings on his fingers. It was similar in design to the one Simon had taken from me, but with a key difference: Endrick's was made of small bones that mimicked the bones of his own hand. This I had not seen before, which worried me even more.
I lowered my head, and he brushed my hair over one shoulder. I could barely breathe, and it hadn't
even started. Whatever it was. I knew that when he used to require this of Dominion soldiers, my mother always whisked me from the courtyard before I had to see anything. I heard it though, no matter how far from the courtyard we ever hid. If Lord Endrick intended to cause a person pain, he could do it through mere touch. I hoped he would spare some mercy for me though. I was the daughter of his top counselor.
But maybe that was the very reason this would not go well.
Endrick brushed his leathery fingers along the back of my neck and a shiver rushed through my veins. He was finding the precise area of his target.
I wasn't strong enough for this. Or brave enough. I wasn't enough of anything to survive this.
But I was too late to stop it.
Using the power of his grip glove, he pressed directly on my spine with his thumb, like a knife drilling into my core. Every muscle of my body became rigid with pain and breathing was impossible. Then his thumb rotated on my neck and with it, my insides twisted. I screamed, the pain erupting like cannon fire exploding within me. If I were capable of collapsing, I would have, but I could only remain kneeling, acutely aware that whatever grace kept me alive was fading fast.
Sweat rose from every pore. I couldn't think, or remember my own name, if I even had one. Something like molten lava rushed through my veins, burning and hardening as it flowed. I cried out and tried to pull away, but couldn't do that either.
"My Lord, please--"
"I am dealing with your daughter, Sir Henry, if you won't." Endrick's full hand gripped my neck, and when he pressed down, my entire spine flooded with ice. I gasped as tears streamed down my cheeks.
I tried to speak, but my words were drowned out by my cries. He was killing me, and I felt from him his joy of doing it.
"Who are you to refuse my orders?" Endrick said.
Who was I? He could not have asked any more impossible a question.
"Look at me, girl."
Now I did. With a face marked by tears, any redness from earlier that morning would go unnoticed. It was a small consolation, but it was all I had.
"I beg you to stop this." My voice trembled as I spoke, and if he heard me, he ignored my pleas for mercy.
Endrick leaned down, though the awful pressure on my neck remained. "You will marry Sir Basil, because I want his father's kingdom. It is guarded by thick walls that I cannot penetrate without a substantial loss to my armies, and thanks to the trouble with the Coracks, I do not have any men to spare. After you are married, conquering Reddengrad will be a simple thing."
Despite my pain, through gritted teeth I said, "How?"
"The how is up to me," Endrick said. "Your role is to do as you are told. If you refuse, I will order your father to show you what happens to those who defy me."
Would my father carry out such a command? It was one thing to order the hangman's noose for those who stood in defiance of Lord Endrick, but--
Wasn't that exactly my crime?
"Well?" Endrick's patience had run out. "Will you obey my command or spend time in your father's dungeons?"
I lowered my head again and said nothing. I didn't trust myself with words.
"Have her guard escort her belowground," Endrick said, finally releasing me. "She can think about her answer from there."
Once his hand lifted, I fell to the floor, unable to draw a full breath and soaked with sweat. That was nothing compared to what he could have done; I had felt how much he was holding back. But still, that was far worse than I'd expected.
When he was called, Simon entered, though I only saw his boots through my blurred vision.
"Sir Henry's daughter will spend time in the dungeons," Endrick scowled. "She knows the one way to get herself out again."
"Yes, my Lord." I felt Simon's arms around me, lifting me, and almost entirely carrying me from the library. He had his satchel, and I tried to remember if there'd been anything in it before that could dull the kind of pain I was still experiencing. No, there wasn't, but at least the worst was over. It didn't matter where I was going next. Anywhere was better than here.
I didn't hear the smallest sigh from Kestra the entire time we walked down to the dungeons. Silence from her was almost always a bad thing--I'd certainly come to understand that. But this time, it was an entirely different kind of bad.
We had to walk through the servants' workstations to access the interior entrance, a place I remembered far too well. Those servants who saw Kestra stared and whispered about what she might have done, but she didn't seem to notice.
The dungeons were connected to Woodcourt by a thick wooden door with an even thicker lock. I knocked on the door, and it was opened by a guard who looked and sounded annoyed until I explained the lady of the house was to be their prisoner. The guard's eyes drifted to Kestra like a vulture's might, and I pulled her closer to my side. With a hungry smile, the guard said, "Down the stairs."
"Thank you," she whispered.
At first, I thought her words were directed to the guard, but she was looking at me, her face full of gratitude. Was she being genuine? Thanking anyone at all seemed unlike the Kestra I knew.
Maybe I still didn't know her. Maybe that was the point.
When the door widened, the stench hit me like a cannonball; a combination of decaying flesh, human waste, and mildewed walls all vomited from the bowels of the dungeons. I'd seen these soot-covered rock walls before, and the steepness of the stone steps that descended into near blackness. I'd been pushed down them after the whipping.
At the bottom of the stairs, Kestra's feet braced against a rock, as if she could not make them go any farther. I stopped with her, tightening my hold on her waist, a reminder that she was not alone. After a deep breath, she nodded, forcing herself onward.
"Careful." Despite my warning, she slipped on the damp soil. Her hand found mine and she gave it a quick squeeze. Was that more gratitude? Or confidence in me to help her through this? I wasn't sure, but it'd be a lie to suggest that her touch wasn't working its way inside me. Tenger had ordered me to pretend to be her protector, as part of the plan. But now it was different.
Now I was her protector.
We came to an open area where another two guards stood. Their faces were pale, and light from the torches on the walls cast their appearance in harsh, unfriendly angles. The stone floor was moist, where the groundwater beneath Woodcourt made its way inside. It would be worse below, down the slope where the dungeons themselves were.
"What is that smell?" Kestra dug her nails into my arm and her breathing became harsh again.
Kestra had obviously never been to the dungeons before, probably never even opened the door to them. The Corack in me was glad she was seeing them. Maybe she would finally ask herself about the hundreds of people who had come through here on their way to execution.
But every other part of me wished she had never seen this place. It would change her, create a memory in her that she could never erase.
"This is Sir Henry Dallisor's daughter," I said to the guards. "She won't be here for long, and you will give her the finest place to stay."
The taller one wrinkled his nose and laughed. "The finest place? Do you prefer the cell with the woven tapestries, or the one with the thickest rugs?"
Above the guards' mockery, Kestra mumbled, "Put me in cell number four."
My brows knitted as I looked at her. Lord Endrick had done something terrible to her in that library, something that was still causing her pain, but maybe more was happening than I had realized. Could she have wanted to be sent here?
I repeated her words. "Cell number four." When the guards hesitated, I added, "She's still a Dallisor. Give her what she wants."
"That's a horrible place," the shorter guard said. "I wouldn't put my worst enemy in there." But he led us there anyway, down the steep and muddy slope, where Kestra nearly slipped more than once.
The cells were randomly spaced apart on either side of the slope, built wherever a natural cavity existed in the rock. Any expos
ed sides were closed in with thick brick walls and a locked wooden door with a small carved hole to let in the tiniest amount of air and light.
Kestra seemed stronger now, not by much, but she could walk on her own, holding my arm for balance. Still, I sensed hesitation in her every step. The lower we went, the more toxic the stench became, the darker our surroundings. Torches were set into the walls, but their dim light only added to the gloom of these cells. No, not cells. These were tombs.
Soon we came to a door with four scratches on the front, like a claw had swiped down it. Cell number four.
Kestra stopped at the open door and dug her nails into my arm again. The room was large enough to fit three or four people, if everyone stood, but they wouldn't be able to stand to their full height, and the reeking air had no circulation.
"Don't make me go in there," she whispered. "Please, Simon."
I'd never expected any situation to come up in a thousand years where I'd have volunteered to stay in these dungeons. But now, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else. "I'll stay. I'll go in with you."
Tightening her grip on my arm, she closed her eyes to enter. It didn't matter if she did or not. The darkness was about the same either way.
Her shoulders began shaking as soon as she crossed the cell threshold. "She needs a blanket," I said to the guard behind us.
"This is a dungeon, not an inn."
My voice got louder. "If she becomes ill from this cold and dies, will Sir Henry take the blame, or assign it to you? Call for her handmaiden to bring a blanket and something warm to eat, and do it at once!"
"You don't have to stay." Kestra waited until the door had been shut and locked before slumping onto the hard ground. "I'd rather be alone anyway."
"No, you wouldn't." I sat beside her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders, and feeling surprised at how easily she allowed me to pull her close. I'd held her this way before, the night the Coracks stopped her carriage, though that had been anything but friendly. This was ... different.
She shivered again and I brushed a hand down her arm, hoping to warm her. I'd never noticed before the softness of her skin, like a down feather that you'd protect against the wind or rain, just because you might never touch anything so delicate again.
Protect her. Those were my orders.