Page 23 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)
Early the next evening, once the downstairs celebrations had drawn the courtiers from their chambers, I donned another plunging tulle-and-crystal ball gown—this one in shimmering violet—and crept into the nobles’ halls.
The nobles had protested against guards here several years ago, demanding the same privacy enjoyed by the royals.
I was grateful for their persistence as I withdrew the silver key and set to work.
I tried the chambers of the ruling families first: the Brogues of Creak, the Kaulters of Parrey, the Byrds of Avanford, and the Jacombs of Dawning, who—according to gossip—hadn’t returned to court since their trial.
Then, although the rose-engraved keys were only given to the highest ranking nobles, I continued to the rooms of the wider gentry, including Erik’s advisors—weathered aristocrats whose combined efforts swayed Erik no more than a bothersome gust of wind.
But it was useless. The key fit in no door.
The occupant must’ve changed the locks after all, and I was back where I started—with no way of knowing who Wray had been meeting the night of his murder, and no idea who’d stolen the compass.
Instead of heading straight downstairs, I trudged to the royal wing, weighed down by my failure. Perhaps I could indulge in Carmen’s renowned fudge collection before another night of fruitless socializing.
Angry voices rang against the marble, and I slowed.
“I—I resigned my seat three years ago,” Lord Rupert Brogue was spluttering. “Take your problems up with my son.”
“Your son is denying my province a quarter of the grain we paid for,” said the second voice. Lord Junius Jacomb.
Had the Jacombs returned to court after all?
“ Denied is a strong word,” Rupert said.
“Have the other provinces received their grain?”
“Well, how should I—?” Rupert broke off as I stepped into view, his monocle fogged.
“Excuse the interruption,” I said.
Rupert scrubbed the monocle over his brocade jacket. “Not at all, dear girl.”
I turned to Junius, and my smile went taut.
For all the years I’d known him, Junius had looked the same: slender, immaculately dressed, a dark bun of braids artfully arranged atop his head.
But now his embroidered waistcoat crinkled in all the wrong places, flyaway hairs straggled around his bun, and a fine stubble crept beyond the edges of his manicured shave, like the unkempt lines of a child’s coloring book.
The trial must have taken a devastating toll on him.
“Shall we ask Lady Alissa if Vereen has received its grain?” Junius asked.
Rupert went red. “I don’t—”
“Well?” Junius rounded on me. “Have you received your shipment?”
I bristled at his tone. “You’ll have to ask my father,” I replied curtly. “I’m not privy to matters of inter-province trade.”
“Of course you’re not,” Junius drawled. “Why worry your pretty head?”
Rupert puffed up again. “Now, hold on—”
“It’s all right.” I gave a serene smile. “Do we have a problem, Lord Junius?”
As Father’s closest acquaintances at court, the Jacombs had always shown me kindness.
Now Junius looked me over scornfully, with eyes significantly older than his thirty-something years, creases gathering in his warm brown skin.
“I forget myself, Lady Alissa. I now see that the blind adoration usually reserved for the king must also be spent on the lady he favors.”
Dangerous words. Spoken by someone with nothing left to lose.
Junius sketched a mocking bow, lantern-light slicking off his white stud earring—his only piece of jewelry. Then he strode away.
“He’s paranoid,” Rupert blustered. “He’s been like this with everyone. But to address you like that... His Majesty will have a thing or two to say—”
“Why trouble our king with such pettiness?” I interrupted smoothly.
Rupert nodded and turned away, muttering about the state of court these days .
I took a moment to compose myself before moving again.
Junius wasn’t paranoid; Vereen had received its grain from the agricultural province three days ago. Which meant the Creakish had purposely withheld Dawning’s share.
It explained why Junius had come to court after all.
The nobles were turning against the Jacombs because of the Hunting on their estate.
It didn’t matter that Junius’s mother, the ruling lady of Dawning, had pleaded ignorant of housing Wielders and stripped her jewelry at Erik’s feet.
It didn’t even matter that he’d pardoned her.
The damage was done, the label of sympathizer stitched across their name as surely as the Hunters’ Mark had been painted upon their door.
The gentry were fools. Dawning was the kingdom’s most respectable province, famed for nurturing scholars and architects. Their ruling family wouldn’t have knowingly committed treason. Especially not for Wielders.
I arrived at Carmen’s door, knocked, then waited one minute before I sighed and turned away, adjusting my skirts.
The extra weight in my pocket halted me.
Slowly, I reached for the silver key. A spark of hope quickened my heartbeat as I realized my error. Rose-engraved keys didn’t only belong to the ruling nobles... They also belonged to the royals.
Carmen had been twelve when the compass was stolen. But this suite had once belonged to her mother—Lady Nelle, the Mantis herself.
Surely it was worth trying.
I tried to control my expectations—steady my shallow breathing—as I pushed the key into the lock and twisted. My specter flared as a cheerful click sounded.
Then Carmen’s door whispered open.