Ravenous (10 page)

NOW THAT I'M SAFELY IN THE TUNNELS, I CAN BREATHE EASIER. AT LEAST
until it hits me that I'm that much closer to the castle. The darkness is almost soothing—I could pretend I'm anywhere else—but the smell is terrible. These tunnels must connect, the ocean rising through them to flood the streets.

My footsteps are as light as possible on the muck-filled stones. I don't want to risk slipping and sliding down an unseen passage. No one knows I'm here except Dalen, and he'd have little hope of following me should I need help.

But I won't. I escaped from Ensel and his trader. I stood with Kymera and Bryre against the wizard and Ensel's army. I just faced one of the mercenaries running rampant through this forsaken city. If nothing else, I'm a survivor.

The least I can do is find one silly little horn-shaped basket.

My resolve pushes me onward, though little light reveals my path. Instead I listen—for the sound of water, or feet overhead. One means death, the other means I'm headed in the right direction. Before long, the tunnel splits. I wait and listen for ten whole minutes before choosing. I'm glad I did. The faint sound of waves splashing against rock echoes from the path that my gut initially urged me to take. I hurry down the left split instead, and soon face a door. Those mercenaries must not have discovered the tunnels yet. I intend to be long gone from Belladoma by the time they do.

Putting my ear to the door, I listen for any hint of life beyond. My pulse thrums under my fingertips, pressed to the wood. From the rumors we heard on the journey to the city, it sounds like only the mercenaries wander the castle now. The royal family is long dead, of course. Ensel usurped the real king—his own stepfather, no less—and killed every other possible heir.

When no sounds come through the door, I risk peeking inside. It's a small storage room in the palace cellar, empty of all but a handful of rotten potatoes and carrots. I crinkle my nose at the smell. I doubt Ensel hid the cornucopia here. I need to find his chamber and hunt for a clue there. It's the most likely place. I shudder at the thought.

I try to take a step, but my feet refuse to move forward. To tread upon the flagstones I remember all too well. The sounds rush back—screaming girls and fleshy tentacles hitting rock, ringing in my ears and making me wish I could
run as far from this place as possible. I sway and sink to my knees, unable to move and unable to scream. Frozen by my past.

I close my eyes and gasp in breaths, but it only makes me dizzy.

Faces of the other girls swim before my eyes, their screams all too real. The girls and the beast, the witch and Hans collide, merging into an epic nightmare in my mind.

But Hans isn't dead. Not yet.

Courage lifts me to my feet. I hold my sense of bravery close like a shield. I will do this. I must.

One footstep at a time, I find the kitchens and dodge my way through the halls past wayward mercenaries. Only a few remain in the palace today. The delegation from Bryre must keep them occupied for now. I'm almost glad it chose today to show up.

I stop briefly in the servants' quarters on my way up from the kitchens. A handful still work in the castle, though I can't imagine the mercenaries pay them. More likely they've threatened and bullied them into slavery. I duck into the laundry room, still steaming from the wash earlier this morning, where I steal a serving girl's uniform and a large cloak. I throw them on and hide my own clothes in my satchel.

When I reach the part of the castle I recognize, the tremors in my hands begin. I close them into fists and press them to my hips, breathing deeply.

These mercenaries may be intimidating, but the one thing I really fear is the beast waiting in the depths outside
the cliffs. It is much too close for comfort. I won't be around when that monster rises, expecting to be fed.

Swallowing my fears, I head for the courtiers' quarters. I recall much of the layout from when we escaped Belladoma. Ensel's own chamber is farther down the hall from them. I half expect the room to be stripped bare, but it's the best idea I have.

Ensel must've kept the cornucopia close at hand. His private quarters would've been the most reasonable place. Trouble is, I can't say he was the most reasonable of men. In fact, from what I saw and heard, Ensel was flat-out insane.

Several voices emanate from the courtiers' quarters, and I tiptoe by as quietly and quickly as possible, holding my breath. When I was first brought to Belladoma as a captive, I attempted to escape every day for an entire week. They threw me into the dungeon after that and then put a steel bar over the door to the girls' room too, but each time I got out, I went a little farther and became a little better at sneaking by undetected.

This time, my disguise should help, though not many servants wander this area of the palace. Hopefully the mercenaries don't know all their faces.

When I locate Ensel's door, I put my ear to it and listen. No one seems to be inside, and I yank at the knob. It doesn't budge.

It's locked.

I pull two pins from my hair and kneel close to the door. It takes more tries than I'd like to pick the lock, but after a while I'm rewarded with a click and a turning doorknob.
The past few months of stealing food for Hans and me have paid off. I volunteered to help out the baker and butcher every chance I had. The food, however obtained, was more like payment.

I check the hall once more for prying eyes and then slip into the room, shutting the door softly behind me.

To my surprise, Ensel's chamber is much the way I remember it—far too fine for a king who wasted all his money and let his kingdom starve. But it's more worn down than I recall, and the telltale signs of mercenary occupation taint the former finery. Empty wine bottles and flasks litter the floor, and a thin coat of dirt seems to have settled over everything except the bed. That is a rumpled, but well-used, mess.

A heavy weight descends on my chest, threatening to smother me. Someone still lives in these quarters. I'd be willing to bet it's Vincali. I can't be caught in here when he comes back.

The good news is that if anyone is dealing with Ren and King Oliver right now, it's bound to be him. They wouldn't settle for speaking with anyone other than the man in charge. He'd have to oblige them.

That means I have an hour, maybe two, to find what I need. If what I need is here at all.

Now, where would I hide something as valuable as a cornucopia if I were greedy and suspicious like Ensel?

My gaze wanders around the sitting room. Fine tapestries line the walls, woven with silver and gold thread depicting both pastoral scenes and seascapes with a beastly
thing inching its way across the image. It makes me want to retch. Several shelves holding decorative items and the occasional book also line the walls. And there's the fireplace we came through when we made our escape.

My eyes light up.

If Ensel has secret passages, could he have a secret hiding place, too? A vault? Perhaps even a secret room? The mercenaries haven't found the tunnels yet, because they weren't part of the trusted guard Ensel kept in the know. They might not have a clue what to look for.

But I do.

I doubt it's in the floor because that's where we found the tunnel entrance. But the walls . . . any of them could open into another room. Those tapestries are perfect for hiding cracks and grooves. I consider the layout of the space. Where would be the most likely place for a hidden room? The sitting room stretches all the way to the windows. One side, with the fireplace, leads to the tunnels; the other side of the adjoining wall is the bedroom, which runs perpendicular to it.

Which means there's a pocket of space between the bedroom wall and the passages that could be perfect. I immediately begin to run my hands over the walls between the fireplace and the bedroom door, hunting for any seam or crack that could be the opening to a hidden chamber. I peel back every tapestry, scanning from floor to ceiling, but nothing presents itself on this side.

Frustrated, I run into the bedroom and examine the wall from that angle. I remember there was a piece that
moved with the fireplace. Could a similar mechanism be at work here? This wall is bare of tapestries, but several hooks, the kind you'd hang a robe on, are built into it just below a shelf. I tug on one and it turns all the way down. Emboldened, I yank on the other three and they all move too.

But the wall doesn't.

Perhaps they must be pulled in a certain order. There are twenty-four possible combinations, and on the seventh I hear a click, like a lock in the wall releasing. I pull on two of the hooks and the wall creaks open. It hasn't been used in months.

The main door to the suite opens and I freeze. Two men's voices grumble in the sitting room, and panic spurs me to close the secret door behind me, creaks and all.

I'm alone, trapped in the dark. In Belladoma.

As the minutes tick by slowly, the silence becomes a roar of crashing waves, the darkness a solid mass of writhing black tentacles. Every second my heart beats louder and louder, until I'm sure it will explode out of my chest and give my location away.

I close my eyes—not that I can see a thing—and try to make out what they're saying.

At first I can't hear much but the blood drumming in my ears. Gradually, my pulse slows and I settle on the hard floor to focus. The men are arguing, I think. Their voices started hushed because of the wall between us, but there's an edge to them. They're not seeing eye to eye on . . . something.

Ice forms over my heart. One man has a higher-pitched voice, and the other has a gruff tone that is all too familiar. Vincali.

Part of me is dying to know what they are talking about, and the other part is dying to get out of the close, dark room. Yet here is where I might find answers.

If only I could see those answers.

I scowl at the nothing around me.

The men's footsteps approach the bedroom, but I still can't make out complete words through the thick stone walls.

The deeper voice—Vincali—laughs; then his footfalls cross the room and the bed creaks. I picture him perched on the edge.

One boot drops to the floor, startling me and making me gasp. Something next to me clatters. I clamp a hand over my mouth, terrified they might have heard me squeak, or bump into the pile of . . . whatever it is next to me.

They're far too quiet for far too long, and my pulse spikes in response.
Thump thump, thump thump.

My muscles tense, tight and ready to spring. I have no real chance against these men. If they find me, surprise is the only thing I have on my side.

I may have to use it. I have no idea whether the hooks returned to their normal position when I closed the door, but I'm praying they did. If not . . .

The other man begins to speak again and relief fills me. But the clinking of a decanter and a wineglass sets my nerves even more on edge. How long will they dally out there?

I can't do anything from inside this room.

Anxiety bubbles in my gut. I hate being stuck here in the dark, helpless, and at the mercy of these two men.

What if they don't leave at all? What time is it, anyway?

Eventually the second man leaves Vincali to his business, and he hums to himself in his deep baritone voice.

When he dozes, I'm left wide-eyed and anxious, waiting in the dark.

MY REPRIEVE COMES IN THE FORM OF THE NOISY ENTRANCE BY ANOTHER
mercenary, who calls Vincali away. He doesn't sound happy about being woken up, but I'm relieved. I wait a few more minutes to be safe.

When I'm certain I'm alone, I crack the secret door open. The room is still a mess, but now the candles are lit and two wineglasses sit on a table on one side, with an empty decanter between them.

Wonderful. Not only is Vincali vicious, but he's also drunk.

Now, finally, I can examine the room I've hidden in for the last couple of hours. I throw the door wide, propping it open with a boot. I knew it was full of oddities, but not until this moment, peering inside with the candlelight, do I realize what I've stumbled upon.

Ensel's secret treasury.

Granted, as far as treasuries go, this one is rather poor. For people like myself—and the mercenaries—it would set us up for a lifetime or two, but it's not enough to sustain an entire city.

The room is small, maybe ten feet by ten feet, and another ten feet high. The shelves on the walls are stacked floor to ceiling with gold bars. Piles of gold, silver, and bronze coins are heaped in the corners, along with jewels, necklaces, and brooches of all shapes and styles.

It brings to mind the dragon hoards I've read about in the fairy-tale book.

This display disgusts me. Ensel ruined lives to keep this safe? It's horrifying.

Even worse, I don't see the cornucopia. I systematically make my way through the piles, poring over every piece of silver, leaving no bar of gold unturned.

Nothing.

Riches to set me up for life, but nothing to grant me the one thing I need. The one thing that I can barter for my brother's life, and my own. But then, as I pull apart a tangled mess of jewelry, I do find something.

Something from my past.

I pull a necklace free and stare at it, hardly believing my eyes. It quivers in my shaking palm, making the silver sparkle. It's a thin silver chain, pure and fine, with a pendant set with a ruby-red rose. The tiny gems glitter and swirl in the patterns of the petals, and emeralds trace the lines of the leaves and thorns.

Awestruck, I run my trembling fingers over the jewels.

It can't be. It's impossible. How could this be here? This necklace that looks exactly like one I know well?

There's one way to test if it's truly the one I remember.

I press down simultaneously on the top and bottom of the pendant. A soft click echoes in my ringing ears, and the locket swings open. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the chill in these rooms. Uneasiness slips over my skin along with it. This can't be.

Inside the locket are nestled two little paintings. One is the likeness of a boy, the other of an older girl.

They are Hans and me. The portraits were done five years ago. Mama was a painter; she was astonishingly good at portraits, especially miniatures. She had a cart at the market and everything.

This locket was the finest thing we owned, given to my mother as a gift on her marriage to my father.

And now my mother's locket is in Ensel's secret treasure chamber.

Shock brings me to my knees. I don't understand. How could my mother have been here? Why would she ever go to Belladoma? King Ensel was certainly cruel, but what possible use could he have had for her?

And if she was here, what about my father? I scrabble on my hands and knees, tearing through the remaining finery. I ignore the burning in my eyes and the faintness in my head. I have to know what happened. Is she still here? Or did Ensel toss her over the cliff?

My heart sinks into my boots.

That would make the most sense. A horrible, terrible sense. All the jewelry must be from Ensel's victims. What other use would he have for women's jewels?

I swallow down the sickness, and keep scrabbling, but no sign of Papa presents itself. He carried a pocket watch that he wound every night. But it wasn't made of gold or precious jewels. It must not have qualified in Ensel's twisted little mind.

I put the chain over my head and hide the pendant under my shirt. No one needs to see it, but I like the idea of wearing it close to my heart. Now that I know my mother was here in Belladoma, it changes everything. Something terrible must have happened to my parents.

Or
someone
, like Ensel.

I strike my palm against the floor beneath me. That awful man ruined so many things.

Something in the floor clicks, then springs loose. One of the floorboards conceals a hidden compartment. I pull it back to peek inside.

The crowns. Of the former king and queen. People say they were kind. Then Ensel betrayed them, stealing the throne and awakening the horrible beast beneath the waves.

The crowns are gold and platinum filigree and covered in jewels that glitter like pure starlight. Diamonds. They rest on top of many pieces of parchment along with a box filled with several crystal vials of murky liquid. A rush trills over me. What if this is where he hid the secret to his cornucopia's location? I pocket all the papers and vials, desperate to
leave this awful place and examine them in better light and with a night's rest behind me.

The distress of finding my mother's necklace has not worn off, and my hands shake as I close the door on the hidden room in a daze and put everything—boot and all—back exactly as it was. But while I do, I notice a pile of papers on the desk near the bed. The one on top, I assume, is half finished, because it bears no signature or seal yet. Curious, I hover over it and read quickly.

Your Majesty,

As you expected, we had no trouble taking over the mercenary army. Over the past two months we've rounded up the scattered troops, and the price you've instructed me to offer them will be enough for them to live and breathe for our cause, no questions asked.

But I write now to inform you that we found where the wizard once lived. The rumors are true; he is dead. We stripped everything that was left in the remains of his cottage and laboratory and will send it onward within the next week. We did not find what you hoped would be hidden there, but we still scour the city and countryside. If it exists, we shall find it.

I also must advise you that there has been a complication. The king of Bryre and his army have arrived, and I fear he is here for more than just to offer his aid in feeding Belladoma. I have stationed troops in the woods near their camp and spies to watch their every move. If they do anything to threaten our endeavor, we will put a stop to it immediately. The surprises we
found at the wizard's place may come in handy sooner than we expected.

The letter ends abruptly, but not before it raises the hair on the back of my neck. All the power the wizard left behind is now under the control of the mercenaries? I was right. They were responsible for the burning inn.

And who is the mystery royal Vincali addresses? More important, what could he want with horrible, tainted magic?

I'll have to warn Ren and the king that they're being watched. Could they really be up to more than they have let on? I don't want them to know I'm here, but I can't leave them in danger like that. Not if I can help them evade it.

I must flee. I remember where the trapdoor in Ensel's floor was before. I pull back the rug and open the trapdoor, careful to place the rug back over so it will fall flat when the tunnel door closes.

These tunnels are coming in handy now that I'm the only one who knows about them.

By the time I reach the barn, night has fallen thick around the city. Finally, I've begun to collect myself, though I'm sure Dalen still notices I'm shaken up.

“Did you find something?” he asks while I set my pack down in the area between the stalls and remove my cloak.

“I did, though I don't know whether any of it will be useful.” I pull the papers from my pack and spread them out on a table in the corner. “I found a secret room. It was Ensel's treasury—jewels, and gold, even the old king and queen's
crowns. But no cornucopia.” The heavy weight of my omission—my mother's pendant—hangs around my neck, and my eyes stray back to my pack, where the vials remain hidden. I'm not sure what he'd think of me taking the latter, and I'm not ready to engage in a conversation about my parents yet. I need to think more about both first—then I'll tell him. “We should look through the papers and see if there's any mention of it, but otherwise, it's a dead end.”

I fold my arms across my chest and lean my head back against a stall door. Dalen eyes me curiously. “What is it? I can tell something else bothers you. What happened? You were gone a long time.”

I sigh. “The chamber was in Ensel's rooms, and while I was there Vincali showed up. He took the king's quarters, of course. After he finally left, I discovered a letter. He has the Bryrians surrounded. He thinks they're up to more than just feeding the city. Even worse, it seems he and his men were sent here to round up what was left of Ensel's mercenaries and hire them to take over Belladoma.”

Dalen frowns. “Why would anyone want to do that? This isn't exactly the sort of city people fight over, not with a sea monster outside.”

“It would be a desirable location if not for the monster. But the letter revealed that they're looking for something. They found where the wizard once lived and took anything magic they found there. But whatever they were sent here to find eluded them.”

“Any hints to what it is?”

I shake my head. “None. But I can't stop wondering.
What if they've heard rumors of the cornucopia, too? Who would have sent them? And what else could be of interest to anyone beyond our shores?” I throw up my hands. “Kymera, maybe? The wizard did create her, after all, and she was magnificent.”

“So really, it could be anything, and it's likely something magical.”

I nod.

“Perhaps there's a clue in the papers?”

“That's what I'm hoping. And that it isn't the cornucopia.”

We begin to look the papers over, but mostly, they're deeds to property in the city, pleas from citizens to forgive their debts and not punish their daughters, and a handful of communications between the wizard and Ensel. One of these I surreptitiously pocket. It mentions the vials and sounds like it was sent to Ensel along with them.

When our candle burns low, and we can't help yawning, we each curl up in our own stalls to sleep. I wait until I hear Dalen's soft snoring, then creep from the stall to the barn window. By moonlight, I read the letter and learn what the vials are and what they can do.

It isn't until I am safely back in my stall and pulling the blanket up to my ears that I realize the moon is almost full.