“Some people are harder to contact than others,” commented Rialla hoarsely, wiping perspiration off the back of her neck with the cloth that she’d been using before Tamas took her into the keep. “I hope I never have to do that with him again.”
“You won’t if we make it out of here,” said Tris. “Follow me, keep alert and let me know if we are going to run into anyone.”
They walked quietly down the corridor until they reached another, smaller stairway that circled up to an oaken door. From the shape of the walls, Rialla assumed that this was one of the two towers in the keep.
Carved into the door, the stylized cat of Altis eyed them austerely from above. Tris pointed upward, indicating the door. Rialla probed hastily for anything that hinted the room was occupied.
Tris waited until Rialla nodded before he started up the stairway. The door opened inward without a sound. There was a ostentatious gold key on the inside of the door. Rialla turned it, locking them in Winterseine’s study.
The heavy drapes blocked most of the light, and as Rialla turned to her right she bumped into a narrow bookcase with her shoulder. It was nearly as tall as Rialla was, and apparently filled with books. It should have been heavy enough that a horse could have bumped into it without knocking it over.
Rialla looked with stunned disbelief as it tipped and started to fall. Tris grabbed at it, and managed to steady it.
“I thought that you were supposed to be graceful,” he quipped as she joined him straightening the books that had been disarranged.
“Graceful, yes,” she agreed, “but dancers don’t need to see in the dark.”
As she spoke, Rialla picked a book off the floor where it had fallen from an upper shelf. It was finely bound in leather, with a brass clasp to keep it closed, nothing to distinguish it from any other book—except that it rattled.
“Tris, could you light this room?” asked Rialla, working the clasp.
Light flared, then steadied. She opened the book to reveal that a section in the center had been cut out. In the resultant space was a plain silver ring, its only ornamentation a small blue stone, dislodged from the cloth it had been wrapped in. The ring’s stone was polished smooth, and the indigo depths glittered oddly in the magelight. Rialla shivered with the uneasy sensation that the ring was examining them as much as they were inspecting it.
“There’s magic in that,” said Tris softly. “Old magic.” He shut the ring in the book without touching it and slipped the tome back into place on the shelf.
He took down the one next to it and opened it. It was hollow as well, but empty. The dagger, with its distinctive handle, was in the third book. The serpent’s ruby eyes twinkled at them for a moment. Tris took it and tucked it into the leather apron that was standard garb for a woodcraftsman.
He put the book that had held the dagger back on its shelf. Hastily they continued to straighten the books, until the bookcase looked as neat as the others in the room.
Rialla shook her head. “Do you know how much those books were worth before he ruined them?”
Tris snorted. “They were never books—there’s no sign of ink on the paper. I suspect that he had them bound with blank pages then hollowed them out.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Rialla, getting to her feet and looking around the room.
The rug she stood on was only slightly less valuable than that one in Terran’s chambers. Tris’s light clearly revealed the rich reds and golds of the elaborately woven patterns. The room was small, but it contained two more bookcases and a large desk.
“Over here,” said Tris, moving to the desk.
He ignored the ledgers that covered the desktop, and ran his hands over the locked drawers, stopping at the bottom one on the left side.
“There’s something powerful in this one,” he commented. He slipped a ring of keys out of his belt pouch and inserted a likely one into the lock.
“Are those clan keys? Where did you get those?” asked Rialla.
“I believe so; they were left as payment,” answered Tris.
The lock turned over, and he pulled the drawer open. Inside was a thick book with a silver clasp. Embossed on the expensive white leather was a symbol that Rialla knew well.
Tris glanced at her and then back at the book. “That’s the design he used for your tattoo.”
“It’s Winterseine’s,” agreed Rialla. “But is this a grimoire?”
“I’m not going to open it. From the feel of it, that book has enough magic in it to destroy this keep and half the surrounding countryside,” replied Tris briskly.
“It’s magic and it has Winterseine’s personal seal,” said Rialla. “That’s enough for me.”
Tris took the book out, shut the drawer and locked it. He undid his belt and slipped the book under the loose tunic, shifting it until it sat in the hollow under his ribs. Once he had it placed to his satisfaction, he cinched the belt tightly around his waist. Under the heavy woodcraftsman fabric, Rialla could hardly tell that the book was there.
“Can you tell if there is anyone nearby?”
Rialla relaxed for a moment and concentrated. “No one, as long as Terran isn’t there.”
“What do you mean?” Tris raised an eyebrow.
“Terran could be listening from the other side of the door and I’d never know. For some reason my empathy can’t detect him at all. However,” she added, “I suppose that we can chance it.”
They made it down the circular stairway without incident. As they approached one of the stairs that would take them farther down, Rialla stopped Tris with a tug on the back of his tunic.
They’ve found Tamas, she told him, and instituted a search. They’ll block the stairways and search the lower levels first before they start up here. Rialla felt a cold knot of dread form in her stomach. She wanted out.
Then we need to find a window up here, said Tris.
You’re enjoying this! accused Rialla hotly.
He grinned unrepentantly at her and started back up the hall, leaving Rialla to scurry indignantly after him.
The first door that Tris tried opened into a guest bedroom, complete with window casements. Winterseine hadn’t bothered with the expense of glazing them in, so when they folded the casement doors back, there were only two barriers to their escape from the keep: guards and gravity.
Rialla looked around cautiously, but no one was watching the back side of the keep. There was a good reason for this. The only windows on this side were on the third floor. Anyone stupid enough to jump out of one of them and onto the hardpacked dirt of the courtyard below would wait for the searchers.
Rialla peered cautiously down the ivy-covered walls. I don’t know, Tris. It looks like a long way to the ground.
Don’t fret, advised Tris, reaching out to touch a strand of ivy.
Rialla watched closely, but she couldn’t see any difference in the plant after he touched it.
I want you to follow me. This will only support our weight if we climb straight down. Without giving her a chance to protest, he climbed out the window, twisting to get his shoulders through the narrow opening.
Looking at the fragile strands, Rialla felt some trepidation—but anything capable of holding Tris was more than capable of holding her. She waited until he was well on his way before starting after him.
The ivy felt unnaturally stiff, providing easy handholds.
The edges of the leaves were sharp, as if they had been fabricated out of metal, and she gained a few cuts before she discovered how to reach through the leaves to the vine beneath. When she neared the ground, Tris caught her by the waist and set her aside. He touched the ivy again, returning the plants to their original state.