Page 35 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Back inside the palace, she heads for her room, not coming across another soul.Good.It’ll make what she’s about to do much easier.
She rifles through the breast pocket of her cloak, which Sabina grudgingly hung on a hook for her, and pulls out her lockpickingtools. Another trade taught by the Faithless. There’s a chance she won’t need them. But though Cato’s guards protect the palace, that doesn’t mean he won’t keep certain things locked away.
Tools in hand, she heads back out into the courtyard, slinking to Cato’s room.
Grasping the bronze handle first, it opens without fuss. She glances behind her, pulse thundering as she takes one last sweep of the palace before slipping inside and shutting the door.
She takes her time surveying Cato’s room. Off to the right, his blue silk sheets hang off the bed in a rumpled mess, puddles of water sloshed over the sides of his tub. Blocking the path to the double-wide balcony directly in front of her sits a round wood table with a wine jug and a cup placed in the center. And to the left, a closed door.
That must be where he keeps his important documents.Like the orders that would’ve been sent by the Three, or some documentation on these supposed secrets of the island Cato told her about.
Eyeing the metal filigreed lock, the trapezoid shape fascinates her: it lies on its side, the place for the key to the left of it on what would normally be the top of the shape. She crouches close enough to the door that her eyeline falls even with the keyhole. Luckily, the hole looks very similar to those in the Imperium called a key-operated pin tumbler lock. The mechanism consists of several pins of varying lengths that align when the correct key is inserted and allows the lock to be turned.
Being without a key has never been an issue for Dru.
From her tool kit, she plucks out the comb pick—a metal tool formed like a comb but with a longer shaft and shorter, wider teeth. Designed by the Faithless, it takes advantage of a design flaw in these locks where there’s too much space above the sheer line. The ends of the comb shove the pins past that sheer line, allowing the core to turn and unlock the door.
Not knowing how many pins there are, she settles with the four-prong comb first. Sliding it in, she feels each prong settle beneath their pin stack, angling her end down to push the pins up. She’s metwith resistance, meaning one of the teeth isn’t beneath a pin.Less teeth then. She replaces it with the three-prong comb, feeling each one settle into place again before angling down. This time, the comb shifts up enough that she hears the soft clicks in the lock.
Turning it like a key, the core tumbles and the door unlocks.Got it.
Placing the comb back in her kit, she pushes inside. No window graces this room, and she can’t light a lantern and risk Cato noticing some of the oil missing. So she lets the door swing open without touching the wall, allowing in as much natural light from his chambers as possible.
It’ll have to be enough.
Only a desk and a chair occupy the room. She pads carefully across the floor to behind the desk inside, having no idea where to start. Riddled with scrolls and unread letters, she can barely see the wood underneath. How can a king be so disorganized? Many of these likely come from when his father passed, though. Condolences, edicts, correspondence—it’s all too much for one person to bear.
Not daring to sift through the mess, she opens the only drawer.
“What are you doing?”
Dru’s gaze shoots up, finding Sabina standing just inside Cato’s chambers, carrying a stack of linens.
“Cato said he forgot something,” she lies. “Something he wants to bring to his mother.”
Sabina raises a brow. “And that something is in his office? Which is always locked?”
Dru maintains her composure. “He gave me the key.”
Sabina’s eyes fall into slits. “I don’t believe you.”
Not like I can prove my innocence—I don’t actually have the key.
Dru takes a breath, deciding to tell her most of the truth. “I wanted to find anything that would tell me why I’m here.”
Sabina watches her carefully before placing the linens on the dining table. “I’ll keep a lookout for the guards.”
Dru’s mouth drops open. “Why would you help me?”
“Because I’m just as curious about why you’re here,” Sabina admits. “Marcus has been talking about you for years. Just a few offhand comments now and again. But once Cato decided to move forward with the blood trials, he insisted they needed you. So, yes, I’m curious too.”
Heat rises up Dru’s neck. She wants to ask so many more questions, but she has a limited amount of time to find something here that might be of value. She nods at Sabina and goes back to the drawer.
The chaos from the top of the desk doesn’t translate to the inside: a few corked clay jars, which likely contain ink or beeswax, multiple calamus pens, and a stack of papyrus sheets make up the entire contents of the wide drawer.
She feels around for a false bottom, rapping her knuckle on the empty spots of wood. No hollow sound reverberates back. Next, she knocks on the legs, then the small side panels. Nothing.
Before giving up, she peers at some of the papers on the desk, hoping she can glean something from them without touching them. But every line of scrawl is in ancient Durevolian, a language she knows only a few spoken phrases of. Sabina would likely be able to read it, but it would take too long, and she can’t risk moving anything.
