Page 19

Okay. Next step. Next one.

Right, left, left. Back, back, forward. Left, right, right.

Punk chirped her own type of bird code, telling me which squares to skip and which to choose. I made it into a game, to keep myself from retching. Studying the wood grain, I kept tally of how many guesses I got right.

The final step. A series of clicks.

The doors opened, disappearing into slots in the wall. I kissed my friend’s beak and darted inside.

My eyes skipped from object to object. I hadn’t wanted to seem nosy when I’d last been here. Also, the delivery had taken mere minutes, so I hadn’t had the chance to really explore. I didn’t have much time now, either.

In the stomach of the vault, shelves held scrolls and manuscripts.

A traditional jester hat with bells on it, almost like a joke.

A jar of shimmering grains. Could it be actual sand? From Summer?

A collection of purple glass vials. The colors of Winter.

It felt less grand and more personal, like a treasure trove of keepsakes. A cobweb trembled from the ceiling. I migrated from one aisle to the next, my chest creaking with fear.

Where was it? Had they already moved it to a different location?

And then, tucked inside an alcove at the back wall, I found it. A wooden case. A box shape, its ribs entwined into a complex closure, made of barks from a dozen different tree species. The case had bolts and braided corners and embedded levers.

The handiwork of an unrivaled carpenter—an accomplished woodworker, worthy of a Royal commission.

I felt my lips curl, victory replacing anxiety. Only a handful of people knew how to open this case. The Royals. My mother. And me.

My fingers worked, pulling and twisting parts of the case. One had to get the right angles. Like the trap floor outside, one had to know the right order of pieces to manipulate. Because the case had no visible lock.

No, the entire case itself was a lock. A three-dimensional puzzle.

The vessel’s skeleton loosened. When it popped open, I felt smug and not a bit sorry.

Inside, on a sable velvet pouch, sat an acorn.

It had the same groove marking as the one wedged in my chest, proof of its legitimacy. Here I was, alive because of a nut. And here I was, stealing yet another one.

Though this one served a new purpose. The third acorn of the fairytale. A restored life.

I moved fast, reaching under my skirt and detaching a similar nut from the garter strapped around my thigh. I compared the two, the matching grains, the shell shapes, the caps perched atop. Most of all, the tassel-like plume groove.

Perfect identical twins. One real, one fake.

Nobody would be able to tell the difference.

I’d made the replica by copying the details of my own heart. I admired my handiwork, then swapped the acorns, clipping the real one to my garter and setting the other inside the wooden case. Working the ribs, I closed it up.

Punk had been keeping watch. Whirling, I hastened out of the vault, hopping in the same pattern back to the staircase. Pulling my hood back over my head, I retraced my steps, from one splinter to the next, my breaths shallow as Punk scouted the area for me.

At one point, murmurs ahead forced me and my sidekick to detour. Dodging the approaching noise, I dipped into another alleyway. It led to a mezzanine, with columns at each corner of the railings and a view of the level below.

Punk sped off, thinking me behind her. But just as she disappeared, another figure marched toward me, armed with a corseque. I plummeted to the ground, ducking as the man scanned the area. I thought he might continue on, but he stationed himself three feet from me.

I’d be so bored doing his job. Yeah, the castle and the Crown must be a target for the unhinged and lawless. But this was moral Autumn. How many criminals, assassins, disorderly nobles, or thieves could there be?

Oh. Right.