The cold grey fog of dawn was still clinging to the stone foundations when I slipped out of my cell. Moving like a shadow, my bare feet making no sound against the freezing flagstones, I navigated the narrow, forgotten passages behind the lower wine vaults until I reached the heavy iron-bound door of the lower archives.
I didn't knock. I pressed my weight against the wood and slipped inside.
The archive room smelled of dry parchment, old leather, and faint lavender oil. Gerald was sitting at a heavy oak desk, a flickering tallow candle casting long, dancing shadows across his weathered face.
The moment the door clicked shut behind me, he whirled around, his hand instinctively reaching for a heavy iron letter opener. When his eyes landed on my face, the dark, brutal swelling on my left c
