“‘The answers to riddles, to secrets and more, are found in the middle of Legends and Lore.’”
“There’s more to the story, apparently,” she said, “and you can find the answers in ancient lore? Maybe you should ask Arcadius.”
“I think not,” Royce said. “There’s a street in Ratibor called Legends Avenue and another named Lore Street.”
“Do they intersect?”
Royce nodded. “Just a bit south of Central Square.”
“And what’s there?”
“A church, I think.”
“Royce is right. We need to get to Ratibor,” Hadrian announced.
Arista stood up. “Trust me, I’m more than ready to leave this place. When I—” She stopped herself. “When I used the Art, I sensed something unpleasant. It feels …”
“Haunted,” Royce provided, and she nodded.
“What is this place?” Royce asked Hadrian.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s only a few miles from where you grew up.”
Hadrian shrugged. “Folks in Hintindar never talked about it much. There are a few ghost stories and rumors of goblins and ghouls that roam the woods, that kind of thing.”
“Nothing about what it was?”
“There was a children’s rhyme I remember, something like,
Ancient stones upon the Lee,
dusts of memories gone we see.
Once the center, once the all,
lost forever, fall the wall.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hadrian shrugged again. “We used to sing it when playing Fall-the-Wall—it’s a kids’ game.”
“I see,” Royce lied.
“Whatever it used to be, I don’t like it,” Arista declared.
Royce nodded. “It almost makes me look forward to Ratibor—almost.”
CHAPTER 10
REWARDS
The midday bell rang and Amilia stopped, uncertain of which way to go. As a kitchen servant, she was unfamiliar with areas reserved for nobles. Only on rare occasions had she filled in for sick chambermaids by servicing bedrooms on the third floor. She had worked as fast as possible to finish before the guests returned. Working with a noble present was a nightmare. They usually ignored her, but she was terrified of drawing attention. Invisibility was her best defense and it was easy to remain unseen in the steam and bustle of the scullery. In the open corridors, anyone could notice her.
This time she had no choice. Saldur had ordered her to his office. A soldier had found her on the way to breakfast and told her to report to His Grace at the midday bell. She lost her appetite and spent the rest of the morning speculating on what horrible fate awaited her.
The bell rang for the second time and Amilia began to panic. She had visited the regent’s office only once, and since she had been under armed escort at the time, the route had been the last thing on her mind. She remembered going upstairs, but didn’t recall the number of flights.
Oh, why didn’t I leave earlier?
She passed the great hall, filled with long tables set with familiar plates and shining goblets, which she had washed each day—old companions all. They were friends of a simpler time, when the world had made sense. Back then she had woken each morning knowing every day would be as the one before. Now each day was filled with the fear of being discovered a failure.
On the far side of the hall, men entered, dressed in embroidered clothing rich in colors—nobles. They took seats, talking loudly, laughing, rocking back in chairs, and shouting for stewards to bring wine. She held the door for Bastion, who carried a tray of steaming food. He smiled gratefully at her as he rushed by, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.
“How do I get to the regent’s office?” she whispered.
Bastion did not pause as he hurried past, but called back, “Go around the reception hall, through the throne room.”
“Then what?”
“Just ask the clerk.”
She headed down the corridor and around the curved wall of the grand stair toward the palace entrance. Workers propped the front doors open, granting entry to three stories of daylight, which revealed the cloud of dust they were building. Sweat-oiled men hauled in timber, mortar, and stone. Teams cut wood and marble. Workers scrambled up and down willowy ladders while pulleys hoisted buckets to scaffold-perched masons. All of them were working hard to reshape visitors’ first impressions. She noticed with amazement that a wall had been moved and the ceiling was higher than the last time she had been here. The entrance was now more expansive and impressive than the darkened chamber it once had been.
“Excuse me?” a voice called. A thin man stood in the open doorway to the courtyard. He hesitated on the steps, dodging the passing workers. “May I enter?” He coughed, waving a handkerchief before his face.
Amilia looked at him and shrugged. “Why not? Everyone else is.”