Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,45

could gain things too, if we’re brave.

But then, up ahead, the footsteps slow and stop, and Cadius and Brekken’s conversation starts up again, too low to hear. Carefully, putting each foot down slowly so my boots don’t squeak against the polished stone, I move around the corner.

Up ahead, a partially open, heavy-looking oak door affords a view of an office. I see bookcases and a chair upholstered in sleek fur. Brekken and Cadius stand inside, talking, but the conversation has switched over into the Myr language. I can’t make out any of it.

Frustrated, I draw back into the opening of an adjacent hallway, so I won’t be seen when they leave. I followed them because I didn’t want to be separated from Brekken, but maybe I should have stayed in the ballroom, since I’m little good to him as backup. We came here to observe, and I’ve seen a lot, but I can’t think how we’d use any of it. What we need is to find the phoenix flame armor. Only then can we take this hub of the soul trade down. Maybe there’s something in the office, a map, schematics?

My attention snaps to the sound of Cadius and Brekken leaving. The office door closes, and two pairs of footsteps walk down the hallway. Brekken’s tread sounds heavier than normal, like he’s doing it deliberately to warn me.

I shrink back against the wall, shuffling away from the opening to the main hallway, hoping the shadows are enough to cloak me. Brekken and Cadius pass, strolling casually back toward the ballroom, a delicate brass key dangling from Cadius’s fingers. I want to signal to Brekken, to get his attention so we can escape and figure out our next steps, but there’s no way to do so without Cadius noticing too.

I wait for their footsteps to fade, figuring I’ll give them a head start before returning to the ballroom, as much as I don’t want to. But as soon as I do, another idea seizes me.

The office door. It’s only a few yards away to my left. I saw the key dangling from Cadius’s fingers, but maybe … I sidle over and try the knob. It turns beneath my fingers. The door gives.

Shocked, I crack the door and slide inside before I can think too hard about it, shutting the door carefully behind me. My heart slams in my ears as it clicks closed. Brekken must have left it unlocked somehow.

Slowly, I turn to look around at Cadius’s office, half in disbelief at my good luck and half wary that this is some sort of trap. It’s a large, luxuriously appointed room, the decorations slightly less in-your-face than in the rest of the castle, but there if you look. Inlays of delicately carved bone scroll over the walls, climbing onto the bookshelves and sprouting into tiny sculptures of animals dancing along the molding. Paintings are set into the walls, fantastical landscapes rendered in oil and charcoal. There are woven tapestries lined in rich fur, shimmering with metallic thread. Bearskins—or something skins—cushion the floor, silencing my footsteps as I cross over to the desk.

In contrast to everything else in the room, the stretch of polished oak is bare, empty. I run my fingers along the glassy surface, my silk gloves hiding any fingerprints. Where to begin? Carefully, keeping alert for any noises that might tell me I’m not alone, I start opening the small doors set into the front of the desk, each leading to their own compartment. It contains the things you’d expect, quill pens and stacks of creamy paper, a wax stamp seal. Worry creeps in that this has all been for nothing. But then—a small compartment near the bottom of the desk yields a small, silvery key.

My breath catches, my fingers reaching for the key before I can decide if it’s a good idea. I’m highly aware of how I don’t have much time, how at any minute someone could barge in. Graylin would kill me if he knew what I was doing. If I was being cautious, if I was being safe, I would drop this and run back to the ballroom.

But that key.

I straighten up, looking around the office for anything with a lock. Immediately, my gaze falls on a cabinet on the other side of the room, near the window. A long, squat thing of black polished wood, with carved claw feet. Hurriedly, heart in my throat, I go over and slide the key into the small