Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(102)

My throat tightens as I hear an echo in my head of dice rolling across the floor and a small boy’s voice: What are you doing here?

When Dez found me that night, he didn’t come in through the main door.

There’s a hidden room.

I have to get up there. I slink back into the festival to find the shortest way upstairs.

Couples dance in wide circles, colorful ripples moving in time with the music.

Leo is flirting with an attendant, leaning slyly against a pillar while Prince Castian speaks passionately to Justice Méndez in a far-off corner. The justice storms away into the gardens, leaving Castian glowering so fiercely no one comes near him. He’s the rude, petulant prince getting served wine from the first courtier’s memory I stole.

I am a shadow among their bright jeweled dresses. For a moment, when I look up at the carved pedestals where the Hand of Moria stand, where I would be had this entire Sun Festival not been dedicated to me. My head spins, my stomach aches. The stitches on my forearm itch and pulse. The air itself around me seems to move, as if something is hiding behind a glamour.

I recognize it. Illusionári magics. Margo! Please, Margo, I think. Give me time to find a way to free us both.

I follow a gaggle of glittering courtiers as they head toward the washrooms, and when they pass an exit, I slip out of the ballroom.

I make my way back up to the tower, hoping everyone at the party is too distracted by the revelry to notice my absence. At the very least I should have a few moments before they realize I’m no longer there. I head straight to the familiar wooden door that has been gnawing on my memories since I’ve returned. There is no guard in this hallway tonight. The library is unlocked. My eyes get used to the dark after a few quick blinks, but I light a gas lamp on the table. The window is still open, but it is so much colder here, like the cold of Lady Nuria’s apartments downstairs. I think of the noises she heard that I thought might be the memories that haunt me, and she believed to be wind. She was right.

There was a draft.

From a hidden room.

When I close my eyes and move my gloved hands along the platinum, the memory of the day I was taken from the palace wants to step forward. The echo of footsteps. The hinge of metals as a boy speaks to me. What are you doing here?

I go to the farthest wall of the library, the wall that should be shared with my room, but isn’t. There’s something in between. There has to be. I frantically pull on the tops of books, ripping them off the shelves and onto the floor until I find the one. I push the shelf panel with all my strength, a rivulet of pain shooting from my wound. There’s a trickle of warm blood running down my arm, but I don’t care because the door gives, the hinges sighing from disuse.

I hold my breath as dust fills my nose, the staleness of ash and furniture swollen with moisture.

I press my hand to the shuttered window I noticed from the gardens, caked with years of dust. I grab the lamp and frantically search the room. I was drawn here for a reason, to this secret room. I know it’s here. The box, the weapon, their “cure.” Music drifts up from the festival. They haven’t noticed I’m missing. Yet. I turn over the cushions on the moldy furniture, empty the shelves, search behind every hanging painting. There’s a faded tapestry of two pirates at the helm of a ship. I remember them from the storybook Castian was reading with Davida. Does this room belong to the prince? A secret place only he knows about, a place to keep things he’d rather leave hidden . . . My heart slams against my chest as I push the cloth to the side, revealing a shelf built into the wall where a child might place their treasures. I raise the lamp in my hand.

There it is. I saw it in my stolen memory of Dez and Castian. A slender wooden box etched with gold designs. How Dez cowered from it, repulsed and afraid.

The hinges squeak as I tip the lid open. It gives so easily that I know something is wrong. My heart stutters when I close my fist around the thing inside.

An infant’s dress, the white fabric yellowed with time. Beneath that a round, painted portrait that fits in my palm. The king’s soldiers keep ones like this, pictures of their loved ones, usually a lover, in their breast pockets while they fight. This one has two children. One golden-haired and the other one dark. I flip the portrait to find two faded initials. C & A.

What is this?

The floorboards creak behind me. I spin around and nearly knock over the gas lamp.

Prince Castian stands at the threshold. “I knew you’d find your way back here.”





Chapter 24


The weak gas lamp strains to burn against the dark of the exposed hidden room. I set it on a table and face my Bloodied Prince. Shadows outline his broad shoulders, his gold curls, the medals over his heart.

I’m injured, but so is he. I can still fight.

I throw my weight into my fist and surprise him with a punch. I graze his cheekbone, but it’s a miss.

He groans but doesn’t step back. He grabs one arm. I swing with my free hand, dragging my nails across his face. It’s dirty, but I hear Dez. It’s your life or theirs. Choose the option that brings you back to me. Except that I won’t be coming back to him this time, will I?

Castian shoves me but doesn’t try to hit me back. I grab the wooden box and swing it sharply into his side. Whatever he was going to say to me dies on his lips as he clutches his ribs.

“Stop this!” His voice is gruff and loud.