Page 19 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty (The Legacy of Aquila Hall #1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DOROTHEE

Back at Aquila, Archer headed straight for the library, and judging by the sounds emanating from the hall, the ball was still rather lively.

“Shouldn’t we change into some dry clothes? I have no intention of contracting pneumonia,” I muttered, walking rather awkward in my soaked clothes.

“For once in my life, I’m thankful that Mai is such a mother hen. She stored some spare clothes for hypothetical situations like this.”

“Maisie?”

Archer was the only one who called her Mai, so I was sure he wasn’t talking about anyone else. She had told me that her grandmother was a family friend and that they’d grown up together like cousins, which was why he called her by the same name her sisters used for her.

“Indeed,” Archer said, heading past the study tables and toward the shelves at the back of the library. No one ventured there because they only contained family history records of the founders and citizens of Owley. All the students came from far away and shared no familial ties, which was why no one took an interest in studying them.

When I’d first returned here, I hadn’t had the time to look into any of the titles. Magdalena, the librarian, had shushed me away with the explanation that only professors were allowed past the clearly marked sign. That same sign stated the rule explicitly.

Most students didn’t bother following the library’s rules, so I hadn’t thought it would be a problem. But I suspected Magdalena didn’t like me because I stayed until the very end of her shifts, preventing her from leaving early.

When I’d asked Chadwick about it during one of our sessions—why students couldn’t read those titles—he couldn’t give me an explanation. He’d only been working here for a year and had never been interested in history because it wasn’t his subject.

“If anyone sees us here, we could get into serious trouble. I was already scowled at by one of the librarians last week, and quite rudely at that,” I informed Archer, though I was certain he already knew these shelves weren’t meant for students’ eyes.

He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at me. The fake blood had been washed off his skin by the water, leaving it only to stain his white shirt, which had turned almost completely translucent in its soaked state.

It took a significant amount of self-control not to let my gaze linger on the way the wet fabric outlined his muscles. I wasn’t blind. I could see how attractive he was, even though I didn’t appreciate his detached demeanour.

“Is that really your biggest fear tonight, after everything you’ve just witnessed?”

“No, but I don’t like getting into trouble.”

I hated the attention it caused.

Attention seekers got punished. That was what my mother had taught me at the age of six, after I’d screamed in a grocery store because an old man with a head wound had been standing near the strawberry marmalade, his brains half spilling out.

She’d dragged me out of the shore, furious that I’d made everyone look at me, and smacked me across the cheek. I don’t think anything had hurt me as much at that age as realising that, instead of protecting me, my mother was just as monstrous as the ghosts haunting me.

“If you ask me, you are trouble itself,” Archer remarked, trailing his index finger along the spines of the books as he searched for something.

I cleared my throat. “Good thing I didn’t ask you.”

Archer stopped at a hardback bound in wine-red leather with the name Asteria embossed in gold. The book wasn’t large. It resembled a short story—or, considering all the books on this shelf documented old family names, perhaps a short life.

He nudged the book forward with his middle finger. Instead of pulling it out, we heard a faint clicking sound, and part of the shelf shifted.

A hidden door.

The corners of my mouth twitched as if to smile, but I resisted. I kept telling myself I should be weeping, shattered to the point of madness by what had happened—but I just couldn’t. I’d already felt like breaking earlier, on the stairs in Gwyn’s arms, and for what?

After all I’d endured, things finally seemed to make a spark of sense.

Instead of fear and pain, I felt happiness and hope.

Perhaps I really was on the brink of madness. But my body was so full of adrenaline that I couldn’t feel anything else.

“Get in here before anyone sees us,” Archer told me, pulling me out of my thoughts. Without a second thought, I stepped into a tiny room. It was a storeroom.

Somewhat disappointed, I turned to Archer as he closed the bookshelf behind us, plunging us into complete darkness.

Archer’s pale face was illuminated by the dim light of a match flame.

“Boo,” he said, giving me a half-hearted smile. I rolled my eyes.

“You keep a matchbox in your jeans for casual occasions?” I asked, glancing around the tiny room, where cobwebs decorated the dusty shelves and books lay stacked on the ground.

We were supposed to be at a costume ball right now, yet for some reason, he’d thought to bring matches.

“Maybe I’m a pyromaniac,” he said with a shrug, retrieving something off the shelf.

I stifled a quiet chuckle. “No, you’re not.”

With a lit candle in hand, Archer turned to face me. “And why are you so sure of that, De Loughrey?” he challenged, looking at me like a professor eager to prove me wrong.

“Since the beginning of October, we’ve had a fire burning in the common room, and it hasn’t so much as caught your interest. You’re not impressed by the power of flames. Besides, my roommate is a notorious gossip, and she’s never mentioned your name in the same breath as fire. So, I’m almost certain that you, Archer Kingstone, are not a pyromaniac.”

“You must find me fascinating to watch me so closely while I’m with my friends, to know that the fireplace doesn’t captivate me,” he said, smirking slightly.

Heat rose to my cheeks. He was right—I’d been observing him, trying to figure him out because he was the one I knew the least about. But I hadn’t realised I’d been so obvious.

His hazel eyes shifted over my shoulder, and he nodded at something behind me. The corners of his mouth twitched twice as though he was trying to suppress a smirk.

I turned around, following his gaze to the wooden bookshelf, which was filled with everything but books. I presumed the ones that had once belonged there were now stacked haphazardly on the floor.

“There’s a door behind the wall. Figure out how to open it,” Archer demanded. When I glanced back at him, I noticed he had leaned casually against the wall, watching me with the intensity of a hunter observing its prey.

“I’m freezing, and I’m certain you are as well, so please just open it,” I said, shivering slightly. He didn’t budge.

“Demonstrate that you’re a De Loughrey, Dorothee. Get that door open—it’s not that difficult,” was all he replied.

What was that supposed to mean?

He couldn’t possibly know anything about my family. I barely knew anything about them myself, despite being born into their ruthless dynasty.

I was freezing in my soaked clothes, fully aware that the cold would take its toll on me by tomorrow. Reluctantly, I turned away from him and faced the bookshelf. The top shelf held a globe, thick with dust. Several candles were scattered across it—most damaged or shattered completely—rendering the shelf intentionally unremarkable.

I scanned the items, focusing on anything out of place: glasses, cups, shellfish... a scale .

The scale caught my attention. On one side, three crystals were delicately balanced. I picked one up, the chill of its quiet magic radiating through my fingers. It was black tourmaline—the same stone Archer had given me, now turned into the pendant of my necklace.

I glanced back at the scale, which had shifted slightly when I removed the crystal. A shadow-free patch was left in the dust where the stone had rested. I inspected the other side of the scale, but it had barely any dust at all.

It was the scale.

The problem, however, lay in the ten or so weights scattered on the shelf below it. It was impossible to tell which one—or ones—belonged on the scale to trigger the mechanism. The weights bore no fingerprints or clean spots to provide clues, and I suspected they were often rearranged.

Sure, I could try each of them, but the challenge of solving it on the first attempt was far more appealing.

Inspecting the scale closely, I noticed words engraved on its base. To my disappointment, they were in Latin.

“Can you translate this for me?” I asked, not bothering to turn around even when I heard him shift closer.

“ Quod stella lucet in Aquila? ” he murmured, his breath brushing my neck and sending a faint tingle over my skin. Then, in a whisper, he continued, “Which star shines brightest in the Aquila constellation?”

I’d always wondered why the school was named after a constellation, which had prompted me to dig into its history. That curiosity was now proving to be rather useful.

I picked up one of the weights for a closer look. Engraved on its bottom was a name, much like the inscription on the scale. This weight bore the name Libertas . Placing it back, I searched for the one I needed.

“The Aquila constellation contains eight main stars, but Altair is the brightest. It’s also known as the Eagle Star,” I said confidently. I returned the black tourmaline to its original place and carefully placed the weight labelled Altair on the opposite side of the scale.

A clicking sound echoed immediately.

I tugged on the bookshelf, and it swung open to reveal a staircase descending into darkness, ending at an old wooden door.

Triumphant laughter escaped me.

I’d solved it. Well, it wasn’t particularly difficult, but still, I’d solved it.

Archer smiled faintly before he reset the mechanism, returning the weight to its rightful place and pulling the secret door shut behind us. He locked it from the inside, muttering, “We don’t want unwanted guests.”

Then he strode down the stairs, the only source of light from the candle he carried. I followed him closely, unwilling to risk walk the steep, narrow steps in total darkness.

When we reached the bottom, I saw that the wooden door had a pentacle carved into its surface, encircled by a ring.

Archer reached beneath his shirt to retrieve the necklace he always wore. Its pendant, tucked out of sight until now, held the key to the door.

He unlocked it smoothly and pushed it open, turning to face me with a smirk.

“Welcome to the hideout—the safest place in Aquila Hall.”