Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(26)

Finn twisted it to the left and heard a click. Slowly, the spice-laden wall swung inward. Finn hurried into the passage, leaning against the heavy wall of stone to close it.

She’d made it. She sagged against the wall, breathing a long sigh of relief. Her fingers skittered up the wall in the dark, searching for the torch Kol had said would be there. She found it and lit it with a set of sparking stones she’d brought. Light poured down the dark, tight passage.

Now all there was left to do was find the cloak, grab it, and walk out the front doors.

“Easy,” Finn said.

She didn’t believe herself.

From his bedroom balcony, Alfie watched the fireflies wink in and out of existence across the grounds.

Soon winter would strike and the chill would chase them away until spring came. In Castallan, the weather never got so cold as to see your own breath, as it did in the winter kingdom of Uppskala, but the air grew cooler still and the shimmering lace capes worn by nobles were replaced by weightier cloaks.

“Everything has its season,” his father had once told him. Did his mourning have a season? Would it peel away from him, like petals peeled from stems as winter marched ever closer? Alfie’s jaw tightened at the thought. His mourning was like the fireflies—there were moments when it disappeared from sight, but it would always spark into existence again, recurring, resilient.

Everything had its season, but seasons always repeated. Though he’d promised himself to let go of his plans to find Dez and commit to becoming king of Castallan, he knew the grief would never leave him.

The clock in his bedroom chimed the hour, and Alfie started before rushing back into his rooms to change into his formal clothes for tonight’s dinner.

His shadow zigzagged about his feet, betraying his nerves, as he smoothed his blue double-breasted overcoat. He adjusted the silver circlet before throwing his hands up in exasperation. Did it matter if he looked like a proper prince if everyone at this dinner was going to whisper behind their hands about the validity of his rule? About how unfit for the throne he was compared with Dez? Alfie massaged his temples.

Now would be a great time for a pep talk from Luka, but Luka hadn’t spoken to him since Alfie had come home. Alfie could only hope that giving him space would help the situation.

A knock sounded at his door. Alfie dashed to it, hoping to find Luka on the other side. Instead, it was his mother, swathed in a ruffled red gown. A cape of gold lace trailed behind her. Her black hair was pulled back and threaded with scarlet ribbon.

Alfie deflated. “You look lovely, Mamá.”

She tilted her head. “You look disappointed.”

“That obvious?”

“Nonchalance has never been your strong suit.” She squeezed his hand. “Give him some time and do some well-deserved groveling. Things will go back to the way they were, Mijo.”

Alfie nodded, but he knew she was wrong. She didn’t know about Luka catching him sneaking out of the palace, or how he knew what Alfie had been up to for the last three months.

“I know,” he forced himself to say. “You’re right.”

“I am always right.” She offered him her arm. “Now come with me. You and I are due for some mother-son time.”

Alfie smiled and took her arm. She grinned back, giving his hand another comforting squeeze. But as they walked into the hall, she shot him a look, a spark of humor in her eyes. “And if you disappear for so long again, I will break my chancla off on your backside, oíste?”

Alfie could not help but laugh at that. “Yes, Mother.”

If I were a prince’s bedroom, where would I hide? Finn thought as she stared at the map by the light of the torch. She didn’t know if her voice would somehow be heard through the wall, and she wasn’t stupid enough to test the theory.

She was still beside the kitchen pantry, on the second lowest level of the palace. Her shadow moved this way and that as she considered which way to go. According to the map, the prince’s chambers were, as expected, on the highest floor of the palace.

Naturally, she thought, and rolled the map back up in her hand. Kol had told her that the royal family each had a key to the palace vault, and she’d rather ransack the prince’s rooms than the king and queen’s.

She walked through the winding passage until she came across a steel ladder. She’d need to climb two floors and walk another long passageway through the fifth floor until she found the next ladder. Then finally she’d be on the prince’s floor. As she walked, the torch lighting her way, she could see small, notched slats appearing intermittently in the walls. Her curiosity finally getting the best of her, she grasped a slat by its small notch and slid it sideways. Through the slot she looked into a grand dining room where servants adjusted place settings.

“Peepholes,” she murmured. A boy carrying a vase of flowers passed so close that she could smell its petals. She stepped back, holding the torch low. But no one seemed to notice. The guards must’ve used these passages to spy. Was she going to bump into one of them? Should she even keep the torch lit? Finn stopped herself from stamping out the flame.

She’d take the risk of using the torch to get through the passages faster, and then maybe she’d be less likely to bump into anyone at all. Hopefully. She swallowed hard and listened. She heard no footsteps. She moved on and walked down the winding passage, stopping at the occasional peephole. She looked into a library so vast it could house a village, and then into what appeared to be a training room where the walls were covered in an array of the finest weapons she’d ever seen. She had to stop herself from stealing one of the fancy machetes. But for the most part the palace was what she expected, immaculate and boring.