Of Blood and Roses

Chapter 43

Though I had been to my mother's quarters very few times in all my life, I remembered the route easily. More bodies greeted me at every turn, but I let my eyes skim over them, not really taking them in.

I focused on my task. A small voice cut through the Angels in my head. This is bad. It's exactly what he wants. I quickly quieted it. I didn't have time for doubts.

I had no other option.

Pierre might have wanted me to release this power, but that had been when I was under his control or dead. He was a fool to let me go.

The next time I saw Pierre, his death would shortly follow. This attack might have been commanded by his father, but Pierre was no better than him. He was the king of Garnette now.

And now I knew Rosialles and Garnette would never find peace. I would not rest until they burned just as my people had.

When I reached my mother's old quarters, I walked right past it. The scent of smoke and ash filled the air. When I reached Blanche's room, the door was open, the smoke thick. My pace slowed a fraction as I neared the doorway. I could smell it, the scent of burned flesh and hair.

I would never forget the smell for as long as I lived.

My heart clenched. Instead of coming to a stop and going in, I picked up my pace and kept walking. Everything inside me screamed to stop. To go in and see for myself. But I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to keep going.

Smoke rushed into my lungs. I choked on a sob as I passed Elliotte's rooms next. His guards sat outside his door, heads tilted at impossible angles. A scream build in my lungs. I felt like at any minute, I might explode.

I kept going.

The end of the hallway was empty. It was a dead end with nothing but two small Angel statues and a portrait of Queen Giselle that had been pulled from the main hall. The wallpaper was red, and dust lingered over the statues, a cobweb connecting one of them to the wall. Their eyes were carved, unmoving stone, but as I stood there,  I felt them watching.

Waiting.

I pulled the portrait aside. Behind it, barely discernible in the seam of wallpaper, was a door. I pried my fingers into it, pulling it open. My nails ripped from their beds as I dug them in, eventually prying the ancient door open.

Beyond was a dark and dusty set of stairs that led into darkness. I glanced behind me into the hall. It was empty. A single sconce was lit, and even it was nearly burned out. I unlatched the torch and took it with me.

The passage was dark and full of whispers. Stickiness caught on my arms and my hair, sending a shiver over my skin. My nose pricked from the scent of dust and decay. As I shone my light below, the dim flicker only revealed a few paces in front of me, carved stone steps leading down into the dark. A skitter resonated through the dank stairwell. In all these years, this was likely the first time someone had set foot down here.

I pulled the door shut behind me. I had ordered my soldiers to leave me, but that didn't mean there weren't still a few Garnetti guards wandering that we hadn't seen. In the wreckage of the palace, I doubted an out-of-place portrait would catch anyone's eye.

I descended into the stairs. The passage was narrow, mostly unfinished beams and old stone that was never chiseled and molded like their counterparts are visible throughout the palace. It was like another world existed within the walls, one that showed the palace's true age, and the numerous smaller, less beautiful residents that feasted on our scraps.