Fidel had shown her the key in its secret drawer in his desk a few years before. There was only one key and one lock, for the treasure hold was always guarded by eight armed men at a time. No one had ever succeeded in penetrating it. As far as Una knew, no one had yet bothered to try. Surely it would be a safe place if she could but retrieve the key.
She stepped into the narrow stairway and hurried down it, holding the candle carefully before her to light each step. These were older steps, made of stone, the tops worn from frequent use. She had to be careful as she descended the spiral. Each turn she made was an agony, for her imagination told her what to expect in the darkness around every bend. But there was nothing, and she reached the door at the end of the stairs.
Her heart hammering, she stepped into the hall. This hall also had a row of tall windows, and she turned her face away from them, not liking to see her own pale figure tiptoeing in the reflected world beside her. Her feet made no sound on the thick rug, and she made her breaths as light as possible. All was silent.
A few turns later, she came to her father’s study and stepped inside, shutting the door softly. Here she breathed in momentary relief. The room was dark, full of strange shapes. Gilded candle sconces on the wall gleamed in her candle’s glow. But the dragon smoke had not penetrated so thickly here. It still smelled like her father.
Una set her candle down on the desk and felt around for the secret drawer. Her hand bumped a sheaf of papers, knocking them from the desk. She gasped and tried to catch them, but they hit the floor and scattered. She stood as though paralyzed until the sound cleared from her ears, replaced once more by silence. Taking a deep breath, she reached with trembling fingers to once again feel for the secret drawer. She found it and fumbled a moment with the little mechanism. It sprang open with a snap, and her fingers found the key. It was three inches long, made of iron. She held it tightly in her fist, as though merely by possessing it she was rendered safe. Then she slipped it into her pocket, retrieved her candle, and returned to the door.
Una paused with her hand on the latch. How she longed to stay there, in the comfort of her father’s study! If only she dared crawl into his big chair and curl up there, breathing in his smell. Perhaps it would be enough? Perhaps she needn’t dare those dark halls again?
But no, it was not safe. Like a mouse she wished to crawl deeper and deeper, to bury herself in darkness so no one could possibly find her. She had the key and must go.
Una crept back out and darted down the hall, around another bend, then another, coming at last to a long back staircase that led down to the basements and below. She’d never used it herself, having never before ventured into the storerooms. As she opened the door, dank air rose to meet her. Shivering so that her candle flame danced back and forth, she stepped into the stairway and started down.
Somewhere overhead, a door slammed.
It was upstairs, probably on the same floor as her chambers. He must know now that she was not in her rooms. She strained her ears, unable to breathe.
Nothing.
Panic billowed inside her, and she gathered her skirts in her free hand and started down the stairs, nearly running. But these steps were even more worn with age and use, and she slipped, tumbling forward.
She put out her hands to catch herself, one grabbing hold of the metal stair rail, the other pressing into the wall on the other side.
Her brass candleholder bounced on the steps. The flame went out, and the candleholder continued clattering and ringing all the way down into the darkness.
She choked on a scream and continued down the stairs, faster now, gripping the rail and the wall to support herself in her descent. All was pitch-black, so Una could not see the steps before her, and many times she would have fallen if not for her death grip on the railing. As though in a dream, she felt she could not run fast enough; weights pulled her feet back, restraining her. A sharp cramp shot through her side, up through her rib cage, but she did not slow. Down the stairway she wound, past the main levels of the palace, far past the basements. Her hand brushed doors leading into the primary storage rooms, but she knew these were not the sanctuary she sought. Only when she reached the bottom of the stairs did she stop.
There was no door here, only an opening carved into the rocks of Goldstone Hill, leading into a fairly wide passage. Una slipped into the opening, still keeping one hand on the wall, and followed the passage to its end. The air was stale, and the stones that she could not see under her feet were rough, but terror of discovery drove her on. She came to the door at the end of the passage, felt around in the darkness, and found the lock attached to a large chain that held in place a heavy bolt across the door itself.
She’d have to lift the bolt in order to enter the king’s treasure hold.
She realized in that moment that she would not be able to lock herself in.
“Princess?” The voice in the stairway was deep and terrible. “I know you’re down here.”
She fumbled in her pocket for the key, pulled it out, and tried to insert it in the lock. It wouldn’t go in, her fingers trembled so.