Clockwork Kiss

The Descent

The secret door gave way to a cramped dark stairway, descending down into the bowels of the castle. I swallowed, but despite the coolness of his skin, Torian’s hand was warm and comforting against my palm. I took a breath and stepped into the secret corridor behind him.

We moved down a few steps and I heard the secret panel begin to slide back into place. I looked back to see Morwyn closing the door. “Aren’t you coming too?” I asked.

“I have done all that I am able, and I’m afraid I’ll only slow you down. Trust yourself though, child. Your intelligence and your resourcefulness will come in handy. And remember, you are so much stronger than you think.”

With those parting words, the corridor was sealed, and Torian and I were left in complete darkness. I swallowed again, reaching with my free hand and finding Torian’s shoulder. My fingers curled in his cloak, clinging to him as we began our slow descent.

Morwyn’s last words hung in the oppressive darkness. They were a heavy, unsettling prophecy that felt more like a burden than a blessing. I gripped Torian’s cloak tighter. The air here was damp and smelled of cold earth and untouched stone.

“Do not fear the dark,” Torian murmured. His voice was low and intimate, meant only for me. His free hand came up to rest on mine, easing the tension in my grip. “This is one of the oldest passages, and can only be opened by a Drakemoor.”

As he spoke, a faint blue light began to emanate from his center. It grew slowly, enveloping us in a soft, cold glow. The light revealed the rough-hewn, winding stone of the ancient staircase.

“Elemental light,” he explained without me having to ask. He must’ve noticed my surprise, even without seeing my face. “A useful ancestral gift. Follow me, Anya. The steps are uneven.”

I nodded, grateful for the light that dissolved the terror of absolute darkness. Though I was keenly aware of this sudden reliance on him.

“If Valerius’s agents are already searching the cloakroom…did Morwyn happen to see where the nutcracker landed?”

Torian paused on a step, looking back at me. “Morwyn’s sight is…thematic. A little…theatrical. Not geographic. She often sees why things happen, but not always where. Your knowledge of the artifact is to our advantage. We are heading to the oldest wing of the Royal Archives. We must understand the full lore of the Clockwork Gates before we attempt to find the key itself. I will send a Shadow Guardian though to see what can be recovered.”

As we reached a small landing, Torian stopped. He placed two fingers against his temple, eyes distant. I heard nothing, but I knew he was communicating with the invisible guardian he had mentioned. His expression hardened with every passing second. He lowered his hand and sighed, the sound heavy with frustration.

“Report?” I prompted.

“Worse than expected,” he confirmed. “My shadow guardian checked the cloakroom. Valerius’s agents were there moments after we left the ballroom. They searched the floor, the racks, the trunks. They found your tunic, Anya.” My brows furrowed for a moment until I realized he must have been referring to my sweater. Morwyn must have secured my clothes in the cloakroom after she had me change.

“They know a mortal was here,” he continued. “Not just a traitorous elven lady, but that is not the worst. The guardian also found an enchantment placed on the spot where you landed. It was not a trap to capture the key, but a scrying enchantment designed to tag anyone who returned looking for a misplaced item.”

“A sensor,” I murmured, the curator in me grasping the technicality of the threat. “So if I’d gone back there looking for the nutcracker…”

“You would have immediately been flagged and tracked.” The implication of his rescue was heavy between us. He looked at me, a long, searching gaze that held gratitude, protectiveness, and something infinitely deeper, framed by the cold light of his magic. “Valerius knows the key is here, and he knows its holder is mortal,” he concluded, his voice dropping to a stark whisper. “The hunt is on.”