Shadow Touched (Editing)

24. NAIMA

Words cannot express the supreme pleasure I get when I see the look of fury on Finch's stupid face as I enter the Throne Room.

I casually make my way from the Throne Room, feeling extremely smug. My presence certainly makes a splash. I mean, the gasps from the nobles at court are so loud I'm sure they heard it all the way down in the city centre. Plus, the look of undiluted rage on Finch's face was priceless.

Ambushing the King may not seem like the smartest idea, but I know what my father meant to him. It was one thing to admonish me—to suggest I banish myself from the only home I've ever known—in private, another thing to let the people know his true feelings for me are anything other than congenial. After all, I am the daughter of a hero. A martyr lost to the Gloaming to save our beloved Athecca and all who call her home. At least, that's what Vincent said when he eulogized my father.

I walk down the castle's main hall, smiling here and there at the people I pass, most of whom recognize me and stare in shock, some amazed and all totally aghast at my presence. I love it. Soon enough, all of Varran—hell, all of Athecca—will know the prodigal daughter has returned. Since I made such a public spectacle of asking to speak with Grey, the people will be waiting to see us reunited. I am truly a master of manipulation.

I make sure the eyes on me see me leave through the castle's massive double doors, which, today, stand wide open to receive the people. Once out of the glare of their stares, I make a sharp right turn and squeeze myself into a small gap in the peony bushes that run the length of the east wing. There's a small door hidden here—one of many fail safes scattered around the grounds for the Royal family should they ever need to escape in the dead of night. The door is locked using a spell that requires the thumbprint of a member of House Valderre. Years ago, Grey had a silver chain with an elongated pendant made for me. To anyone looking, it appears as nothing more than a simple chain with a simple pendant. It conceals an imprint of his thumb that, when presented with the fail-safes, opens them. Making it easy for me to sneak into the castle—and to his rooms—without being caught.

I don't know if the pendant will still work, but there's no harm in trying.

The door is small, with a rounded edge at the top. Wooden, nondescript, really. It looks like the door pubs use to roll casks in and out. At the top left is a smooth silver rectangle that looks like part of the door's hinge. I take the pendant and place it against the metal. And wait. Within seconds, I hear the telltale click of the lock rolling back and give a push. The door swings back, and, despite my form-fitting dress, I drop into a crawl and work my way through. Fortunately, the catacombs are dug out to be taller, so I won't need to crawl the entire way.

I tap my Pocket Flame once, illuminating it just enough that I can see a few feet ahead of me.

I know my route like I know the back of my hand. As I begin to make my way through the dark hallway, with its twists and turns, my heart begins to pound with anticipation. Grey. I am finally going to see Grey. I can barely stand the twenty minutes it will take me to get from where I am to his rooms.

My dress keeps my pace slow, the tightness at the bottom impeding my steps. I silently curse myself. I just had to pick the skin-tight black velvet. Couldn't have gone with something a bit more breathable. I sigh. I love this dress, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And I am beyond desperate to get to Grey.

I shimmy the dress over my legs all the way to my thighs, where I have a dagger tucked into the black lace garter that circles my right thigh. I pull it out and then, with a quick snick, I slice the bottom of my dress, creating what would be considered a rather scandalous slit. I didn't think it was possible, but I think I just made the dress even better.

With my legs free, I push off again, picking up my pace as the incline that leads to Grey's quarters begins.

~*~

Up. Up. Up. Twisting round and round, I go. The passage is dark and cool, yet a light sheen of sweat has broken out on my neck and across my forehead. No light, but my Pocket Flame is visible. It bobs and sways with every step I take.

After nearly twenty minutes of a steady incline, the floor levels out. The hallway ends with two offshoots—left or right, each with a door. I turn to the right. The door is large, unlike the one I crawled through to get up here. It's made of heavy wood painted a smoky black, helping it blend into the wall.

Once more, I pull the necklace from my neck and place the pendant in the far left corner. I wait for the click, and just as the snick hits, the door swings open.

~*~