Lincoln rises and kisses her lightly on the cheek. “We’re discussing wedding plans, Mother. What else?”
“Are you?” asks Octavia in a sly voice. “Because I’ve been planning this event with Myla’s mother, Camilla, and I know for a fact that neither one of you has shown any interest in the details.”
We go through this all the time. Lincoln tries to stall Octavia, but she always gets the information in the end. I decide to cut to the chase. “We were scheming with Lucas.”
Octavia purses her lips. “And I suppose you won’t tell me what those schemes are about?”
“No, Mother.” When Lincoln says this, it’s in his no-nonsense tone. Unlike the stalling maneuver, this one always works.
Octavia glances at the closed door. “And I suppose you had Lucas cast a compulsion spell not to discuss whatever you three were really up to?”
“Yes, so don’t bother trying to wheedle it out of him.” Lincoln folds his arms over his chest. “Now, what are you doing here, Mother?”
She folds her hands neatly at her waist. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted a friendly visit?”
“Not at all,” replies Lincoln. “You never visit after 9 p.m. And besides, I can see the edge of your fighting suit under your robe.”
“Oh, bother.” Octavia pulls the robe even more tightly around her. “I need you both to come with me. I’ve gotten some strange reports from my servants.”
“Sure thing,” I say. Octavia has about the best spy network in the after-realms. Nothing happens in Antrum without someone whispering it into the Queen’s ear, often within seconds after the fact.
“Follow me.” Octavia steps over to the far wall and pulls out one of the moving glass panels. She exposes a hidden passageway set behind the stainless steel.
Lincoln groans. Still, he pulls on a fresh tunic and some breeches. My guy can’t go wandering around Antrum in jeans. His people get twitchy about stuff like that. “How did you find out about that doorway, Mother? The new passage was supposed to be a secret. You don’t even want to know how hard I worked in order to keep it hidden.”
I raise my hand. “He worked really hard.” We had Striga cast about a hundred memory cleanses to keep everyone oblivious. Even one of those takes forever.
Octavia lifts her chin. “Well, try harder next time.”
Lincoln clears this throat. “I had a question. How did you find out I was building it?”
“A woman never shares her secrets.”
Lincoln chuckles. “On second thought, I’m not sure I want to know.”
Octavia steps into the hidden passageway inside the wall. Lincoln ignites his baculum to use as a torch. “Where are we off to?”
“The Vault. I know a secret way to get there.”
I pause. “Is something wrong with the codex?”
“I don’t know.” Octavia straightens her spine. “My spies tell me that Cryptan has been injured.”
My insides twist with worry. Cryptan’s hurt?
With that, we hustle our butts of into the semidarkness. There’s a warren of hidden corridors that all look the same to me. Good thing Octavia and Lincoln seem to know their way. Still, it feels like forever ekes by before we’re out of the hidden passages and into the courthouse. Soon, we’re standing before the Vault door itself. The same dicky Acca Captain is still on duty—Ethan—which gives me the creeps.
Octavia marches toward Ethan. She’s in full bitch-queen mode, which is really something to see. I want to cower under a large piece of furniture, and she isn’t even directing her anger at me. “When was the last time you spoke with Cryptan?”
“Good evening, Your Majesty.”
“It’s past three o’clock in the morning.”
“Good morrow, then.” His words drip with acidic hate. That’s not good. No one mouths off to Octavia. It’s simply not done.
Something is wrong. Very wrong.
“You’re supposed to check with him on the hour,” says Lincoln. “When was the last time that Cryptan responded to you?”
Ethan’s face stays eerily calm. “Only a few minutes ago.”
One advantage of being part demon is that I have a pretty good bullshit detector. And what Ethan just said? Total crap. The guy is lying.
“I see.” Octavia steps up to the door and pounds on it. “Cryptan! Open up!”
There’s no reply.
“The man’s fine,” says Ethan. “I’m sure Your Highnesses have better things to do than double-check my work.” He gestures toward the exit. “Now, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind.” Octavia glances at Lincoln. “Son?”
“With pleasure, Mother.” Lincoln takes out his baculum. The pair of silver bars aren’t lit with angelfire. That said, they’re still pretty heavy items in their own right. Lincoln slams them into the side of Ethan’s head. The man falls to the ground in a lump, unconscious. Lincoln scans the other guards. “Anyone else want to interfere?”
No response. Wise choice, people.
Octavia extends her hand. “Then give me the keys.”
Another guard down the line steps forward, a gleaming set of skeleton keys in his hand. “Your Majesty.”