Page 92 of Of Masks and Fury

Or who might be too broken to help us at all.

Pherin perched on Isi’s shoulder, her tiny body rigid. The bird’s head swiveled constantly, tracking every sound. She was ready to alert us at the first sign of danger, and I was grateful for her vigilance even as worry gnawed on my bones.

Gavelle had already left to carry my message to Syllavar, though I wouldn’t have been able to bring him inside without giving us away. Cinderhawks were rare; my connection to him would be remembered from the Day of Mercy.

Voices drifted down from the upper levels, normal castle activity. Servants cleaning while the lords and ladies slept, guards marching through the halls, plus the familiar rhythms of a household long asleep.

The temperature dropped with each level we descended. The air grew damper, carrying the musty smell of stone that had never known sunlight. Isi shivered beside me.

We reached the base of the stairs and after making sure there was no one in the hallway beyond, we stepped out.

The storage room corridor stretched ahead exactly as I’d mapped it.

We exited the hall, aiming for the wine cellar, and reached the first checkpoint, a junction where three corridors met. According to Derren, a guard sometimes patrolled this section during evening rounds.

I pressed my back against the wall, Isi pressing in close beside me. Her warmth bled through the layers between us as heavy boots rang out on stone.

Coming closer.

Isi went still, barely breathing, tension coiling through her muscles, ready to fight or flee if necessary.

The footsteps drew nearer. A guard appeared at the junction, near enough that I could reach out and touch him.

He whistled off-key, his melody carrying in the quiet corridor. But he appeared oblivious to us standing in the shadows.

Pherin fluttered a wing in warning, and I shifted us deeper into shadows.

As he passed us, his torch made light slither across the walls. He continued down the next corridor without breaking his stride.

I counted to twenty after his footsteps had faded before allowing myself to breathe normally again.

“That was close,” Isi whispered.

I squeezed her hand. “Yup.”

The wine cellar waited at the end of the corridor, exactly where Isi had said it would be. Inside, racks of bottles lined the walls, their contents aging in the cool darkness. The air smelled of oak andfermentation, pleasant compared to the musty corridors we’d navigated.

Isi led me to the back wall, where a door was half-hidden behind a rack of very old, very expensive wine.

I pulled the rack aside as quietly as possible, though it screeched as I shifted it on the stone floor and the bottles clinked. We ducked behind a cabinet and waited in silence after, but no one investigated. We approached the ancient door, the wood dark with age and the iron hinges coated with rust.

Isi reached for the handle and twisted but couldn’t tug it open.

“It’s locked,” she said, surprise in her voice. “It wasn’t when Addie and I were children.” She produced two thin pieces of metal from a pocket in her leathers.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to pick the lock.”

“Pick the lock,” I slowly repeated. “You know how to do that?”

“No, I just happen to carry tools to do so in my pocket.” Her smirk rose. “How else do you think I got into your office at Syllavar?”

My grin rose. “I’d wondered about that.”

“Addie taught me.” Her fingers worked the lock, her head tilted to listen for telltale clicks. “She said every princess should know how to get into places she wasn’t supposed to be.”

I shook my head, watching her hands move with skill I envied. “Your sister was a terrible influence.”