Page 83 of The Nightmare Bride
I rocked back on my heels, suddenly wary. Oh, gods. “Why do I have the feeling I know exactly what you mean?”
“Because you do. Of course you do. Great minds, and all that.”
I swallowed. Or tried to, but my throat had gone drier than sand. “We can’t,” I whispered, even though no one was here to overhear. Lunk had taken Amryssa to dinner, bless his soul. “If Olivian finds us in his wife’s room, he’ll kill us. Actually kill us.”
“Then he won’t find us. We’ll make sure of it.”
I fisted my skirts. There were few things I feared, at least physically, but the rage the seneschal had unleashed on that steward was one of them. “We have no way to get inside, though. Olivian keeps the only key in his pocket.”
Kyven’s lips twitched. “You’re forgetting my many talents.”
I frowned, but... Right. He could pick locks.
Like any normal person.
“I’d be happy to do a little breaking and entering,” he said. “It beats reading, at any rate.”
I rubbed at my temples, but really, what was there to consider? Asking Amryssa about the dagger had gotten me nowhere, and my questions to the blade itself had gone unanswered. I almost suspected that whatever bit of Zephyrine lived inside had forgotten its divinity. Or else never understood it in the first place. And now I was running out of both time and options.
I sighed. “Okay, fine. But if we end up dead, I’m going to be incredibly annoyed with you.”
“You’re already incredibly annoyed with me.”
I huffed. “Yes, but only because—” When I snapped my teeth together, he arched a brow. His smile turned knowing, as if I’d spoken out loud.
I dropped my eyes. “I hate you,” I finished, with no vitriol whatsoever.
“Noted,” he purred.
I cleared my throat. “So when are we embarking on this suicide mission?” This, at least, made for a safer conversational topic than whatever the hell that last thing had been.
“How about tonight? After everyone’s asleep?”
“Tonight,” I said. “Great. Who needs to see another sunrise, anyway?”
I had no idea how long lock-picking was supposed to take, but I was fairly sure it wasn’t ten seconds flat. Which was why I stared at Kyven in horrified wonder when he pushed on the Lady Marche’s door and it actuallyopened.
He’d made it look so easy.
He offered the hairpin I’d handed over, now broken into halves. “Impressed?”
“Yes.” I pocketed the makeshift lockpicks. “Entirely against my will, but yes.”
He grinned, and I glanced around. The sconces in this wing stayed unlit at night, and moonlight threw odd geometries onto the carpet, courtesy of the hallway’s grimy windows.
“We ought to shut ourselves in,” Kyven said. “In case someone passes by.”
I nodded. The chances of a visitor here were slim, but we would take every precaution. I grabbed his hand and tugged him into the Lady’s room.
And abruptly flung his fingers away when they curled around mine.
Kyven’s disembodied chuckle floated from the darkness, followed by the creak of the door and the scrape of a match. Brightness flared as he lit a candle he’d brought in his pocket.
I spun a slow circle. The wavering light revealed a room that had once been the height of luxury—a four-poster bed stood against one wall, the mattress so high I would’ve needed a stepstool to climb atop. In the corner, a paneled screen served as a rack for a once-lavish dress. A mirrored vanity occupied another wall, cosmetics pots and brushes laid out on top.
I squinted. Dust caked the vanity, but streaks marred its surface, as if someone had fondled the Lady’s things. Recently.
“Someone’s been in here,” I said, my breath hitching.
