Verice it needs a shimmer charm on it. Mademoiselle Mystrim is…dissatisfied with its appearance and would like it to be more radiant.”
The servant girl took the pillow and darted to the door that led downstairs, slipping through it and disappearing as silently as she had appeared.
Nefari glanced at Angelique and Quinn.
Quinn pointedly dropped a dagger on the heap and grabbed another from her cloak.
Nefari raised his eyebrows but ducked back into the showroom—too paranoid to leave Elle and Gabrielle alone.
Angelique exchanged nods with Quinn and then began creeping down the hallway, stopping at the first door.
Quinn—able to hear the nearly silent girl—would serve as the lookout while Angelique tried to find where Nefari hid his papers.
The first door was an obvious dead end—it was a bedroom, with a washroom attached. The door across the hallway from it was the kitchen.
Another door held another bedroom—this one filled with beds, probably where the other mages slept based on the cramped array of straw-stuffed mattresses and rumpled blankets.
If I don’t find anything in this last door, I’ll circle around to the bedroom. He might have something hidden there.
As stealthily as she could, Angelique cracked the door open and peered inside while Quinn loudly dropped another dagger on the pile with a clang.
Through the crack, Angelique could see a meticulously organized desk with a capped inkwell and both a feather quill and a fountain pen placed above what appeared to be a logbook or journal.
There were two bookshelves (both contained books that appeared to be organized by color and size), a crate with straw poking out of it, and a few chairs.
This is it—it has to be his study.
Angelique opened the door a little wider and paused as she let her magical senses expand, testing the room for any alarms.
She felt nothing—no traps of any kind. Until something brushed around the ankle of her boots. Her anxiety already reaching new heights from this new experience of breaking-and-entering, Angelique jumped in place.
“For goodness sakes, it’s me,” Puss hissed, invisible thanks to his magic. “I’m here to cast the silence spell on you—as we decided upon when planning this!”
“Sorry,” Angelique whispered.
“There. All done—good luck,” Puss whispered.
He was gone as quickly as he’d come—probably to sit at his post on the threshold of the showroom so Gabrielle could appear to use magic if required.
Her throat closing with hope, Angelique slipped inside the study as Quinn dropped two pointed hairsticks tipped with metal on the weapons heap.
Angelique left the door cracked—so she could hear Quinn—and skulked inside, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she tried to figure out what would be most appropriate to check first.
Elle said general records from the Chosen would be most helpful, or a list of Nefari’s suppliers in Mullberg.
Angelique checked the logbook first, slipping her gloves back on before she flipped the cover open.
It appeared to be a record of recent orders—supplies going out and coming in.
Some of it was straightforward—any food orders like sacks of flour and the like—but a separate column was filled with a gibberish code that—based on the numbers used and the organization system—Angelique was willing to bet were customer orders.
This would be why Nefari wasn’t terribly concerned about leaving us on our own—he’s got everything coded. Elle could probably crack this, but it would take more time than we have in this snatched instance, and we can’t take the logbook, or he’ll know, and they’ll flee the den.
Angelique mashed her lips together, then closed the logbook and approached the bookshelves, her boots soundless on the wooden floor thanks to Puss’ spell.
One shelf was filled with books that were all the exact same size and thickness as the logbook—though they had different colors. A quick perusal revealed they were past records, color-coded for year.
My goodness. I guess I assumed the Chosen wouldn’t be quite so…meticulous, but I imagine they must be more like Nefari than one would think, given their ability to launch such long-reaching plans across the continent.
Angelique was thankful for her gloves—her fingers felt clammy and might have left smudges otherwise as she perused the bookshelves.
She was surprised to see several copies of books on magic that were so rare, they were kept under lock and key in the Veneno Conclave library, but none of the books appeared to be records on the Chosen.
Angelique plucked a few tomes off the shelves and checked in the insides, just in case.
I guess hoping for a record of actual Chosen activity was too much. It’s not like Nefari