Page 58 of Starchaser
His lip quirks. “If only wars were fought and won by humor alone.” He pushes off the doorframe, but he doesn’t take a step back. He lifts his hand once more, as if to touch the scar that cuts across my throat, before letting it fall back to his side, his expression one of barely contained fury. “Tomorrow night,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper, “after dinner, I’ll meet you here. We’ve already lost one evening to a…disagreement,” he adds with a pointed look, “and the sooner you learn to control your affinity, the better. Once we’ve cured your curses, we’ll need your power to turn the tides in the Order’s favor.”
Two evenings have come and gone, and we’re no closer to finding a cure than we were before we came here.
“Why not tonight, then? Why not now?” I don’t want him to go, but I can’t say that, and I know it’s probably best he gonow, while I’m still angry with Will and clearly unable to think rationally.
His jaw tightens, and he looks away. “I’m needed elsewhere.”
I think about Leo, and I wonder if whatever he has to do involves the princess of Hellion. I know how he feels about their engagement, but after tonight—knowing that she isn’t possessed by Morana—will his feelings for her change? It shouldn’t make me feel sick to my stomach to think of the two of them together, taking a midnight stroll in the gardens or venturing into the city on horseback. Maybe, I tell myself, it’s because I wish I could do those things with Will.
That must be it.
“Good night, Titus,” I say, turning the knob and taking a step inside my room.
He doesn’t make a move to leave, standing as still as a statue, as if he was debating something that robbed him of any proper ability to reason. A crease forms between his brows, his expression pained—sad, even. “Good night, love.”
I shut the door, resting my forehead against it, waiting for what feels like hours before his footsteps fade down the hall.
“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Margaret says, her voice stirring me from my daze, “but you need to come with me.”
I turn, then, noting the urgency in her voice. Immediately, I search her face, her arms, her body for any sign of injury, but she looks fine, other than the pleading expression that twists her mouth into a frown.
“What is it?” I ask. “Is someone hurt?”
Margaret hesitates, and my heart leaps into my throat. “Everyone’s fine.” She sighs. “It’s Mother,” she says. “She’s called a family meeting.”
I follow Margaret through theservants’ passageways—dark stone tunnels that make the dimly lit corridors of Bludgrave Manor seem warm and inviting. My thoughts spiral, and I brace myself for what’s waiting for me at the end of this maze, but I don’t dare ask Margaret any questions for fear that someone could be waiting just around every corner, listening to our conversation.
If Mother has called a family meeting—if she sent Margaret to retrieve me—something must be seriously wrong. She wouldn’t risk casting suspicion on Charlie, Lewis, and me for no reason. Because if someone were to pass by my room and notice my guards aren’t at their post, and worse, if they were to knock and find that I’m wandering the castle unattended, without permission…
I walk faster, nearly racing Margaret toward an unknown destination.
After half an hour of descending staircases, abrupt turns, and long stretches of hallway, Margaret comes to a halt in front of a stone door. She turns to face me then, though I struggle to make out her face in the darkness. She looks as if she wants to say something, but she shakes her head, apparently thinking better of it, and pushes open the door.
Margaret leads me out into the abandoned kitchens, and I have to fight the urge to stop and look around, following my sister to the wooden door at the far side of the room. She checks over her shoulder before waving me inside a massive storeroom and closes the door behind us.
“Well?” I ask, feeling my way through the dark.
“This way,” Margaret says, and I follow the sound of her voice. She tugs at my gown, pulling me down to my knees beside her. She moves a barrel of potatoes to the side and pushes on a loose piece of stone. The wall gives way to a tunnel barely big enough to crawl through.
“You first,” she says.
I gape at the hidden passageway. “How—”
“Ask me again when we’re not hiding in the king’s pantry.”
“Right,” I mutter, starting down the tunnel, “just hiding somewhere in the castle walls, apparently.”
In the dark, it seems as if the passageway goes on forever. Margaret stays close behind, our labored breathing and the scuff of stone the only sounds in the dank crawl space, until—
“Mouse!” Margaret squeaks, and an instant later, a tiny brown mouse squeezes past me, disappearing farther down the tunnel.
I chuckle as Margaret curses under her breath. Finally, somewhere in the distance, muffled voices break up the silence.
“… door, Jack,” someone says.
A few feet in front of me, the pitch blackness gives way to a circle of warm amber light. Jack appears, framed by the stone, Albert and Elsie pushing against him on either side as if vying to get a glimpse of us.
My heart squeezes at the sight of my youngest siblings’ bright, cheerful faces. Jack helps me to my feet as I emerge from the tunnel, and before I’ve gained my balance, Elsie and Albert throw their arms around me, chattering endlessly about everything they’ve seen since their arrival. I’m thankful that from their perspective, this seems like a grand adventure.
