Page 99 of Of Masks and Fury

ISI

“No one’s here,” Trew said, reaching down to help me into the tower room.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and I froze before gripping his forearm, using it to pull myself up and through the opening. A glance out the window told me the storm was still some distance away.

Pherin shot past us, her tiny wings a blur as she circled the space.

I stood on the stone flooring, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The circular room stretched wider than I remembered, flanked with tall windows on two sides. A chilly breeze swept through the openings, making papers flutter on the tables. Scraps of wood smoldered in the fireplace, suggesting someone had been here recently.

Stone half-walls divided the space into separate areas. That was new since I’d come here long ago with Addie to play. An eerie blue glow pulsed from one of the areas on the left.

Trew moved ahead of me, checking behind the partitions, a blade in each hand. If someone tried to attack, he’d gut them before they’dtake one step. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, ready for violence.

I grunted. “Search. We need to be fast.”

“Take the left side. I’ll take the right.”

Pherin continued her aerial reconnaissance, perching on high points to watch the hole in the wall and the door to the tower stairs not far to its right.

The first alcove I searched held shelves lined with jars. Hundreds of them, each carefully labeled in precise script. I moved closer, reading the names on the top shelf with growing horror.

Asphodel. Bloodbane. Monkshood. Belladonna. Hemlock. Nightshade variants I recognized from my childhood tutoring.

My hands shook as I reached for one jar, not touching it but reading the label again to make sure I hadn’t misread.

The elegant script remained unchanged, each letter forming words that made my stomach clench with recognition. I’d watched people drink these ingredients. Had stood on that platform wearing a bone-white mask while citizens of my own kingdom consumed death steeped in blood-red wine.

I remembered one young woman from a recent ceremony, her knees buckling as the ashwine hit, crumpling to the ground with a final, choked gasp. The memory of her face, terrified and pleading, crashed over me. One jar. Then another. Row after row of the carefully labeled jars, each offering the same death.

My breathing came in short gasps. This wasn’t just storage. This was for production. Someone had been creating ashwine here, in this tower, while I lived in ignorant comfort a few floors below.

How many people had died because of the contents of these jars? How many futures had been stolen, drop by carefully measured drop?

Whoever worked in this tower had access to everything needed for the executions.

My stomach turned. I grabbed a jar of embershade and dumped its contents into the smoldering fire, watching the powder hiss and blacken. Featherwort followed.

Behind the next partition, Trew’s sharp intake of breath made me turn.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Come see.”

I returned the jars to the shelf and rounded the stone half-wall, stepping into a large area. My blood curdled.

Reinforced walls held scorch marks and deep gouges, as if something with massive claws had torn at the stone. Multiple containers lined a workbench, each filled with ashes.

“Skathe remains,” Trew said. “Someone’s been killing them.” He gestured to stacks of papers on a nearby table covered with drawings. “Studying them.”

“How did they get them here without being seen?” I actually didn’t need to ask. The woman who’d pushed my mother down the stairs could’ve traveled through one of the gaps in space my mother had created, like the red-haired woman must’ve done at the top of the stairs. If she’d had a Skathe in tow…

I moved to the next alcove, circling to the partition, needing to understand what was going on.

Maps covered a long table, held down at the corners by stones. My breath snagged in my throat when I recognized the layout of my dormitory room at Syllavar. The hallway outside the door. Routes marked in red ink from my third-floor quarters to the training halls. The dining area. The library.

Guard rotation schedules for Syllavar Castle had been written on the edge of the map. A timeline showing when I’d arrived, where I’d gone, and who I’d spoken with.

Sketches of people I knew covered another section of the table. Trew, his features captured in remarkable detail. Nia. Malcolm Reid. Grayson and Coralee. Others I recognized from my classes. Even Kira.