I stepped through the ruined doors, headed for the stone staircase. This route was different than the secret one Torian and I had taken. It was shorter, lit up by scones on the wall as I made my winding ascent.
I emerged in a wine cellar. Massive and brown, the walls lined with bottles while tanks and barrels filled the center of the room. Compared to the dampness of the secret tunnel and the dusty parchment of the archives, this was a breath of fresh air. The room smelled of cinnamon and spices and fermented grapes. I sucked in a deep breath, grounding myself.
I climbed the wooden steps to the door, my hand on the banister, holding it tight. On the other side of the door I could hear voices. I pressed my covered ear against the wood, listening. I couldn’t make out the words as the voi
