Page 74 of Hearts Lost

There’s no smile on Orryen’s face now. I see the fear rising inside my gut mirrored in his eyes.

“He said she left with Archibald,” Orryen replies, his voice low. “I thought you’d invited her to your family’s estate.”

“I was in the Outer Ring last night,” I snap.

A low, buzzing panic fills every muscle in my body. I can feel it rising up my spine, threatening to swamp my brain. Some distant, rational part of me screams that this isn’t Orryen’s fault, and I realize I’ve once again made my hands into fists. I meet Orryen’s eyes. Alarm flashes between us.

“Do you need—” he begins.

“No.” I cut him off, then step back, my mind already ten steps down the stairs.

Orryen catches my shoulder before I can spin away.

“When do I come looking?” he asks, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

Panic boils inside my gut; I try to shut it down, to ignore it, to concentrate on all the rational explanations for why my parents would have summoned Ithronel to our estate. My father’s voice cuts through my mind like a blade. Any companions you choose must be fully vetted. I shake my head, then give him the first answer to slip through my lips.

“No,” I say again, because any other alternative would imply something unthinkable.

And then I’m off, sprinting down the stairs, through the courtyard, and into the twisting streets of the Crystal City.

* * *

The door to my parents'estate is locked. That’s not unusual, of course, but what’s odd is that no one comes to answer the door. Archibald never ignores the sound of that solid brass door knocker. Hells, even my father answers the door, if he has to. I tug on the huge marble slab of a door one more time, and of course, it refuses to yield.

“Hello?” I yell at the door. “Archibald, it’s Aloserin!”

Nothing. I frown at the elegant barrier gardens all around me.

“Mom?” I scream. “Dad? You home?”

As if they’d be anywhere else. Dark humor twists in my chest. Since King Galan first began building the Crystal City, my parents have never left. The Lands Below are too much for them, as my mother will gladly explain to anyone who stands still long enough to listen. That’s why they’ve built themselves a fortress. I grit my teeth and stare at the closed door.

A bell rings. I freeze. Fears crawls up the back of my neck on icy legs.

Screaming voids below, I thought I’d imagined that bell. The bell that didn’t exist, the one that rang in our basement that didn’t exist. The bell that wove its tinkling little chime through my childhood nightmares. Fear rises in the back of my throat, hot and acrid, and I try to swallow it down. I must be imagining things.

The bell rings again, soft and silver. But there’s no bell in the basement. Hells, there isn’t even a basement. That’s what Father told me over and over again. There is no basement in the family Ravadithas’ estate, and there is no bell. There’s just the locked door that I’m not allowed to open.

My eyes crawl over the front of my parents’ grand estate, the fortress they built to guard themselves from the world the rest of us live in, only now I’m seeing it with different eyes. I’m seeing the house where I was raised through the trained gaze of the Royal Guard. I’m looking for weaknesses.

There’s a row of stained glass windows high in the walls. They cast lovely burgundy and sapphire patterns on the thick rugs leading up to the entrance. I frown at the stone walls flanking the marble doors. Rough stone. Rough enough to have handholds and footholds.

I’m moving before my mind can fully process my plan. The stone is gritty and cool beneath my fingers, and it only takes a few handholds before I’m face to face with the stained glass windows and their ornate geometric patterns. I remember the man who’d installed them, with his round cheeks and cheerful smile. I remember Mother ordering them, saying for the love of the stars she didn’t want anything historical. I run my fingers over the glass. This side is thick with dust; history accumulates anyway, doesn’t it, Mother?

With a frown, I wrap my cloak around my fist as many times as the thick fabric will allow. The bell chimes again, soft and distant. I pull my arm back, take a breath, and then drive my fist into the stained glass as hard as I can.

The window breaks with a tremendous, terrifying crack. Broken glass rains down on the hallway of my family estate, pattering against the thick carpet. I pull my fist back, then shake fragments of stained glass out of my cloak. Some part of me is calculating how much of my pay it will take to replace this as I brush the jagged edges of broken glass out of the frame, drape my cloak over the opening, and vault myself into the house where I was raised.

I land heavily on the carpet, glass crunching beneath my boots. The bell chimes again; something inside my gut twitches in revulsion.

“Hello?” I call. “Mom? Dad?”

There’s the creak of a door from somewhere behind me, and then the thud of footsteps. I spin around, my hand on my dagger and my heart in my throat. Archibald emerges from the curving gloom of the hallway, his pale eyes wide and his thin lips pressed into a tight line.

“Master Aloserin,” he begins. “We understood you were in the Outer Ring.”

Of course, I think. Of course my parents’ spies told them I’d decided to spend my personal leave in the Outer Ring. I push past Archibald, ignoring the panicked edge to his words.