A castle guard passed Bennett’s hiding place and continued down the corridor. When bootsteps no longer echoed in the stone hall, Bennett pushed the trapdoor open and climbed out. His team of eight followed.
Bennett led them single file through the castle. It was a path he had walked countless times in daylight, but the buildings were different at night. Moonlight filtered through evenly spaced windows, casting a dreamy glow on tapestries and carpets that were vibrant during the daylight hours. Shadows from statues that lined the hall threatened to step out and grab him as he passed.
When they reached the staircase, Bennett motioned for Trier, his second in command for the night. Trier nodded, then disappeared into the darkness.
Paranoia gnawed at the edge of his courage, and he stared into the shadows for long moments after Trier had gone. The others had crowded at the end of the corridor, staring at a stained glass window. Three stories high, the glass depicted the namesake of their kingdom: an aspen tree. Moonlight passed through the panes, painting splotches of yellow, green, and red on the stone floor.
“There’s no one upstairs,” Trier said from beside them, and they all flinched. He smiled under the weight of their glares. “Sorry.”
They followed Bennett up the staircase and into the antechamber. He stopped in front of a wooden door. The glossy mahogany shone in the moonlight.
Salla pulled a small chisel and a mallet from her cloak, then pressed it against the head of a hinge pin.
Tap, tap, tap.
The pin rose with each strike. After Salla freed the last one, she jammed the chisel between the door and frame.
Rhett, the largest of them, wedged his fingers into the crack. Muscles straining, he pulled the door open.
The air inside was stiff and heavy.
Dakota took the cover off his lantern and turned the dial, letting the light grow. A chandelier dripped with jewels, facets reflecting the flickering light. The vaulted ceiling rose into darkness, still beyond the reach of the lamplight. A floral carpet splayed, colors muted by dust. Sculptures of knights from days past sat on the mantle of an empty fireplace, though several were missing. The walls were bare in places where paintings and tapestries had once hung. Even the plush fireside chairs were gone, stolen from the chambers of the dead.
“Let’s get started,” Bennett said.
They worked their way through the bookshelves, placing leather-bound tomes into their knapsacks.
Bennett traced a finger along the desk, drawing a line in the dust. If he were in charge, the room would never have fallen into such a state. He tried to push the thought from his mind, but it was hard to break his habit of fantasy.
Large windows backed the desk. Bennett threw the heavy curtains apart, sending a flurry of dust into the air. The castle gardens stretched until they met a ring of stone wall. Beyond, horse-drawn carts meandered through the cobbled streets, passing colorful townhouses.
Bennett flinched when he noticed Fretta beside him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she said, “if you need another minute.”
It was rare to see her so nervous, and he tried to smile. “It’s alright, what were you saying?”
“We’re done.”
The group crowded around the desk. Book corners jutted through the fabric of their knapsacks.
Bennett pulled a brass key from his pocket. The copper glowed warm in the lamplight, and he rubbed his thumb over the teeth. Bennett slid the key into the lock on the top drawer. It was empty except for a fine layer of dust on the bottom, and he felt along the wood before closing it.
How had he forgotten so easily?
He fit the key into the lock on the third drawer, and it revealed the same as the first: nothing. He felt along the wood until his fingernail caught in a small indent.
He had always thought opening the drawer would feel different. He’d assumed his first time opening the drawer would be accompanied by a sense of worthiness. As he lifted the plank out of place, all he felt was grief.
The compartment held several scrolls. Bennett stared as if taking his eyes away for even a moment would prove they existed only in his imagination. He gathered his courage and opened a scroll. Dakota moved closer with the lantern, illuminating the parchment.
The scroll was filled with winding symbols. Bennett opened another, but it was written in the same unreadable language. He dropped the scroll to the desk and grabbed another.
Trier unfurled the discarded scroll and traced a finger over the text. “What is this?”
“It’s coded,” Salla said.
“No, it’s Lexing, the scribe language,” Bennett said. His voice felt far away, as if it wasn’t his own. He gathered the scrolls and tucked them into his bag, then sealed the compartment.
All eyes were on him again, waiting for instruction.
“Let’s get out of here.”
One by one, they slid through the opening, but he couldn’t bring himself to follow. “Give me a minute,” he said through the gap.
No one spoke to remind him they didn’t have any time to spare.
He wished he could stay longer. He wished he could sit at the desk he had envied for so many years and lean back to watch the sunrise lighten the kingdom.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and stepped through the opening.
Salla knelt in front of the door, the hinge pins in one hand and mallet in the other.
Bennett gripped the key. He turned away, unable to watch his father’s chambers close to him for the last time.
