Clockwork Kiss

To the Lion’s Den

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 voices receded, their owners walking away. I pushed open the door and slipped out into the hallway. Just past the wine cellar I heard more voices coming from an open doorway. I peeked inside of a massive kitchen, cooks and servants moved around, going on about their tasks as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred in the castle tonight.

Quickly, before I could be noticed, I passed the doorway and continued down the hall. I had no idea where I was going or where I needed to go, but I felt like I was making progress. At least I wasn’t in the bowels of the castle anymore.

The thick, dark wool of the stolen cloak was stifling, but it served its purpose. The hood shadowed my face effectively, and the cloak hid the faint shimmer of Torian’s sword. I walked with a deliberate, low-shouldered gait, trying to mimic the hurried movement of the castle staff that I had seen. Torian’s sword felt heavy and cold against my hip, but its presence pushed me further, down the winding corridor.

I knew I needed information. The kitchen staff was too focused on their duties to be useful. As I made my way closer to the main halls though, the closer I was to Valerius’s operatives.

I turned a corner and was faced with a small, decorative alcove, draped with heavy curtains. A perfect hiding spot, and perfect timing too. A pair of figures approached from the opposite direction, and I ducked into the alcove. They didn’t wear the elaborate silks of the guests, but instead wore the heavy, sturdy tunics of security personnel. They were clearly elven, but their lavender eyes were cold, unlike Torian or Morwyn’s. Their stances were aggressive, and I was certain they were more of Valerius’s men.

“The Lord should be satisfied,” one spoke, his voice low and grating. “Drakemoor is secured. Took out Bartus, but it’s worth it.”

“Silence!” the second guard hissed. “The Master wants no mention of his capture until the Solstice alignment peaks. Besides that, the key is still missing.”

I pressed myself against the cold stone, holding my breath.

“And the mortal,” the second guard continued. “The stench from their human garment was all over the archives. Drakemoor must have hidden her before the snare.”

“Irrelevant now,” the first guard sighed. “The Temporal Key is what matters. Lord Valerius has taken Drakemoor to the Clock Tower Chamber. Not only does it make a good holding chamber, it’s the perfect place for the final phase of the ritual.”

My blood ran cold. The Clock Tower Chamber. The clockwork mechanism on the Temporal Key. The constant clock imagery. Of course it would be the final destination for Valerius to complete his plot at dawn.

The second guard yawned, “I’m ordered to double the patrol around the tower approach. If that mortal creature tries to return for her king-“

The first guard chuckled, interrupting him with a dry, unpleasant sound. “She won’t. She is a soft, fragile thing. She is probably running for the nearest door out of Aethelgard. Our Lord knows the human weakness for self-preservation.”

Their heavy boots continued to echo down the hall, confirming my path, and the immediate danger. I stayed in the alcove for a moment, letting their words sink in. Soft, fragile thing. They were dismissive of me, and that would be my advantage. They expected a terrified curator to flee. Instead, they would find a shadow armed with a ruler’s sword.

My hand tightened on the hilt beneath the cloak. I thought back to the vision of the Guardian, to Morwyn’s trust, and to Torian’s look of silent defiance.

The Clock Tower Chamber.

I had a destination, but the way was unclear. Even if I could venture into the most secure part of the castle alone, how would I rescue the lord who believed in my resourcefulness? I took a deep breath, pulling the hood lower, and stepped out of the shadows. There was no turning back. I just didn’t know where I was turning.