Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 30.2 - Leavi

The silence reigns long enough that eventually, I pull myself out from under the bed. Hopefully no one's still after me, and I'll be able to sneak back to my room. My skin tingles at the thought of going back out there, and I can't decide if it's adrenaline wearing off or Vihnzeirre getting ready to do something. I don't trust you, little trickster.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, focusing on home like Aster taught me. It helps some, but the idea of sneaking out still sets my stomach aflutter. A pack of wolves in pretty dresses might be waiting for me.

Steeling my nerve, I cross his living room to open the front door. The doorknob only rattles when I twist it, though, and a quiet groan escapes my lips. Of course. The Captain locked it when he left. I'm stuck here until Aster—or someone else—comes back.

Afraid of betraying my presence by lighting a candle and not wanting to sit in the open in case someone returns, I go back to Aster's room. I open the curtains, letting the moonlight brighten the area. There's an armchair in the corner, and I settle in it, studying the rug. I can get under the bed quickly enough from here.

In the center of the rug, a woman wearing a dress of white feathers tips her head back, balls of light floating above her palms. Behind her, figures rise from a crevassed sphere of silver metal. Shock floods me; I've seen her all over the castle and never realized before. She's the carving I prick myself on to make water run, the statues on the castle grounds, the tiny figure in tapestry after tapestry—their Lady Jacqueline, replicated over and over again. The way they picture her, glowing, beautiful, and serene, reminds me of the gods my people used to worship back when we were ignorant and had barely moved underground. We learned better, though.

Then again, we also learned that magic wasn't real. I continue studying her face—I swear she holds some secret in that peaceful, self-assured pose. "Just how much of your story is fiction?" I murmur.

This far in the future, there is no way to know.

The fire is out, and sitting still with no blanket, I'm even colder in Aster's room than in mine. Emboldened by the silence and the cold, I slip off the chair and wander through his room. There's something strange about thinking this might have been where he grew up—this might have been the desk he did his homework on, that might have been the bed his parents tucked him into. All of his life could have happened here. The idea warms me.

After a few minutes of surveying, careful not to touch anything, I curl back up in the chair and wait. Skies know how long later, a soft click startles me out of my meandering thoughts. I grip the arm of the chair, ready to dive under the bed, but it's silent. I strain my ears for footfalls and hear nothing at all. That couldn't have been the lock I heard, then, unless ghosts unlock—

The bedroom door swings open, and too late, I shoot to my feet.

Aster calls, "Et væ!" A small knife flies through the air, tip hovering in front of my throat. I freeze, shocked.