The Stolen Kingdom by Jillian Boehme

Author:Jillian Boehme
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

25

MARALYTH

It was almost half past twelve before Alac arrived at the stairway.

“Sorry I’m late,” Alac said.

I gave a little shrug and took his arm when he offered. It felt strong and sure beneath the shirt’s fabric, and my stomach did a strange, twisty thing that left me feeling mildly flustered.

We walked through a hallway I’d never seen and up a curved stairway that led to a broad foyer lined with long, rectangular windows one against the other, affording a view broken only by the strips of lead between the panes. I imagined that, if it hadn’t been dark, the view would be glorious. I remembered seeing these windows on my first approach to the palace, down the pristine cobblestone lane and through the lush trees. From up here, one could probably see past the lane to the colorful roofs of the town, and beyond.

A view that could be mine, if I were queen.

“My father’s apartments,” Alac said, gesturing to a grand double door set in the center of the wall facing the windows. “Normally it would be guarded, but as it stands…”

He opened the door a crack and peeked in, as though he feared the king might be hiding in there. Then he pushed it open and stepped aside.

“After you.”

Knowing I was stepping into the chambers of a king was inebriating. The front room was enormous, stretching the entire length of the hallway outside, with a large stone hearth at each end. A yawning archway draped with sheer curtains opened to a second chamber beyond, with wide windows reflecting light from the open doorway onto a canopied bed. The walls of the main room were hung floor to ceiling with ivory velvet, upon which was mounted all sorts of framed artwork and small tapestries, and the furniture was gilded—every single piece.

“This way,” Alac said, heading toward the bedroom.

A door stood to the right of the grandiose bed. Alac opened a narrow drawer in the bedside table and withdrew a key. I waited while he unlocked the door. It swung open on well-oiled hinges, and a dusty, faintly metallic odor wafted out. We stepped inside.

Alac let out a low sigh as he closed the door behind us. “I hate it in here.”

I followed him into the dark room, lit only by a single lamp in a red sconce that dangled above the altar. To the left sat a long table draped with a cloth and littered with candles and candlesticks. Alac lit a few while I walked toward the altar, my skin buzzing. It wasn’t the same sensation as when I ripened grapes beneath my fingers or whispered away a touch of frost. It was an intense feeling that set me on edge.

A hammered-gold container, like a miniature, domed building, sat in the center of the altar. It was overlaid with an intricate, swirling pattern of silver vines and inlaid with precious jewels—ruby, emerald, sapphire. On the front was a little door, not much bigger than my two hands together. Its knob looked like it was made from a large, uncut diamond.

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