Long May She Reign(74)

“This is it,” Fitzroy said. He walked the length of the hall, past the scattered chairs and jewels spilled across the floor.

I turned on the spot, still staring. It was unsettling, to see the hall so empty, so quiet. Disturbed in the middle of a feast and left to gather dust. Someone had clearly made a quick attempt to clean up—removed the bodies, removed the mess—but otherwise, the feast might have simply paused. As though everyone had wandered away and forgotten to return.

“We need to head to the kitchens,” I said. “Do you know the way?”

Madeleine nodded. She led us out through another door, into a corridor lit solely by moonlight. The gilt walls glimmered.

Footsteps echoed from farther down the corridor. I clutched Fitzroy’s sleeve and jerked my head in the direction of the sound. Looters. What would they do if they saw us? Would they recognize me as queen? Or would they see us as rival treasure hunters, standing in their way?

The passage was cluttered with statues and human-size vases. I ducked behind one of the vases and Fitzroy pressed behind me, pushing me even closer against its cold surface, his heart thudding against my back.

Madeleine and Naomi darted behind a statue of two lovers entwined.

The footsteps moved closer. Fitzroy’s breath brushed my ear.

The person came around the corner.

It was Holt.

I gasped, and Fitzroy pressed a hand over my mouth to stop the sound. Holt was striding down the corridor, looking for all the world like he belonged. His cloak flapped behind him.

What was he doing?

I waited until he turned the corner again, and then I slipped out from behind the vase and crept after him. Fitzroy snatched for my hand, but I pulled away. I had to see what Holt was up to. What was he doing here?

Around another corner, and another. Fitzroy grabbed my arm, pulling me to his side. “Stop,” he hissed in my ear. “I know where he’s going.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. Where?

“The shrine to the Forgotten is this way. It’s the only thing down here.”

“There’s a shrine in the palace?”

“Of course. Even if my father didn’t care in the slightest about the Forgotten, he wouldn’t miss a chance to show off his gold.”

I nodded and stepped forward again, but he pulled me back. “Wait. We can look once he’s gone.”

“What good will that be?”

“We can see what he’s done, without him seeing us.”

I wanted to argue further, but he did have a point. If Holt saw us, we’d have no chance of uncovering whatever secrets he was hiding. And he’d know we’d been here, investigating. I couldn’t let him know that, not until we could rule him out as a suspect.

So I waited. Tucked in an alcove by a statue, twisting the ends of my hair around my fingers, my friends beside me. None of us spoke.

Why was Holt here? Surely, if he had an innocent reason, he wouldn’t have come in the dark, alone. But what could he possibly be doing?

The minutes crawled by. Then more footsteps, and Holt hurried past again.

I peered around the statue. Holt was carrying a sack in his arms, like its contents were precious beyond words.

Once he was out of sight, I stepped into the corridor and paused for Fitzroy to lead the way. But when we got there, the shrine was empty. A little moonlight fell through the narrow windows, but no gold glinted, no statues loomed, no relics decorated the walls. There were a few wooden pews, and a wooden altar at the front, but otherwise, nothing.

Or not quite nothing. Flowers had been left on the altar. I stepped closer. They were fresh, the petals still bright and blooming.

“Well, the looters have been here,” Fitzroy said.

“There was more?”

“Much more. There was gold plate, and tapestries . . . jewels embedded in the walls. It’s all gone.”

“Holt,” I said. “Do you think he stole them?” He’d been carrying something precious. But he wouldn’t steal from the Forgotten.

“Maybe,” Madeleine said. “If he convinced himself it wasn’t stealing. He thinks the old court was too extravagant, doesn’t he? Maybe he considered the gold an affront to the Forgotten.”

“How convenient,” Fitzroy said.

I picked one of the flowers off the altar. The petals were smooth under my fingertips. This was what Holt considered a suitable offering. Fresh, delicate, pure. I was tempted to put the flower in my bag, as evidence, but I paused. It was a genuine offering, and although I didn’t believe in the Forgotten myself, I didn’t want to disrupt that. I laid it carefully on top and turned back to the others.

“Let’s go down to the kitchens,” I said. “Before somebody else comes along.”





TWENTY-FOUR


THE KITCHENS WERE NEAR THE BANQUET HALL, DOWN a twisting staircase that, although unadorned, matched the opulence of the rest of the palace. It was certainly nicer than any part of the Fort, lined with neat white stone and sweeping metal banisters.

The kitchen itself was two huge redbrick rooms. Ovens covered one wall, and there was a large table in the middle of the room, still covered with chopping boards and knives and abandoned pans. More pans hung from hooks on the walls, and hundreds of empty plates were piled up on the side.

Where we looked depended on when the cake had been made. There were no traces of the cake or its ingredients on the center table, so I strode into the second room and started searching through the cupboards instead.