Page 72 of Starchaser
“Sorry,” I mutter, thankful he can’t see me blush.
I allow him to lead us down the stone steps. It feels like an eternity before the cool, dusty air warms, tinged with the unmistakable scent of a damp room and the faintest whiff of sea brine.
“Almost there,” Titus assures me.
We descend twenty, maybe thirty, more steps before we emerge from the stairwell into—
“Maker of All,” I whisper, my eyes wide.
Water divides the torchlit cavern, the canal flowing in from the mouth of the cave and forming a tiny channel that flows through a narrow space in the back wall.
I drag Titus along behind me as I rush for the mouth of the cave to gaze out at the black midnight waters of the Western Sea. Unimpeded by the city, the ocean spans for miles, mirroring the starlit sky, the silver path of moonlight interrupted only by the horizon.
He gives my hand a squeeze. “What do you think?”
I look up at him, my throat clogged with emotion. “What is this place?”
He flashes a dazzling grin at me before dropping my hand, crouching to remove his boots. “This,” he says, “is my best kept secret.” He tosses one boot aside, then the other. “Although,” he adds, wading backward into the pool of water that separates either side of the cavern, “it isn’t really my secret so much as it was hers.”
“Hers?” I echo.
He smiles then, his face nearly as radiant as the stars. “A long, long time ago, when this castle was first built, it was much smaller than it is now. Then, your room belonged to a queen.” He lowers his voice, his expression suddenly mystified with the same reverence and awe that overtook him that night at Hildegarde’s Folly.
“To Hildegarde,” I say, a heaviness weighing in my chest. “And this—”
“This was one of Hildegarde’s many secret hideaways. She had a fondness for them. Much like the one you visited in the pantry,” he adds with a wink.
I crouch beside the canal, running my fingers over the cool surface of the water. “You knew about the meeting?”
“I volunteered the space,” he says, his posture stiffening. “When we were children, and William’s family would come to stay at the palace, the two of us called it ourwar room. We spent hours planning imaginary battles there. Stole quite a few maps from the royal cartographer, too.” The ghost of a grin touches his lips. “I thought the Order could make use of it.”
“How did you find it?” I ask. “Wouldn’t the king and queen know about these secret rooms?”
He flashes me a smirk. “I’ve always been far too curious for my own good.”
“But just now,” I press, “that was sorcery, wasn’t it? You used sorcery to open the passageway.” My eyes narrow. “Sorcery only Hildegarde would have known.”
Titus runs his hands through his hair. “Take off your shoes,” he says, “and if you can manage to focus long enough to learn a bit of control over your own powers, I might just tell you a little something aboutmyunusual talents, hmm?”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t waste any time removing my shoes. “Isn’t it freezing?” I ask, gesturing at the water.
“Not to a bloodletter,” he says with a wry grin, as if that were explanation enough.
But he’s right. As I wade into the canal up to my hips, the temperature of the water warms, completely at odds with the winter winds that howl just beyond the cave entrance. With every step I take, my heart beats faster—stronger—as if coming fully alive, and my eyelids drift shut. The water welcomes me into its embrace, whisperingwelcome homewith every gentle pull and push of the tide. When I open my eyes, Titus watches me, his lips parted slightly on a breath. He doesn’t look away, not even after I catch him staring.
“There’s nothing like it, is there?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I run my fingers along the surface of the water, savoring the feel of the ocean on my skin. At once, I am whole. Awake. Free.
Powerful.
“Does it—” I hesitate. “Does it ever speak to you? Not even in words, but—”
“The language of the sea.” He nods, a smile touching his lips. “It speaks to all bloodletters—in different ways, at different times in our lives. But yes, I can hear it.” He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he wades closer to me. “Louder when you’re around, actually. Like it’s…” He trails off, his head cocked, his expression suddenly serious. “Like it’s trying to tell me something.”
I swallow hard. “What do you think it’s trying to say?”
Something in his gaze shifts, and his lip quirks, almost playful. “Maybe”—he leans in, the ghost of his breath on my face, his voice barely a whisper—“it’s saying, ‘Don’t do this.’”
