I knew he was still following, though at a greater distance. I entered my room and slammed the door shut behind me. It startled Trina, who was on her knees in a corner of the room. Only one purpose would place her there. She was searching for secret hideaways in my room. It was no longer safe to hide the silver key behind the wall panel. Sooner or later, she would find it.
She stood, forcing an expression of innocence on her face so laughable that a child would see her guilt. "You're later than I expected. How was the supper?"
No, we weren't going to chat, or pretend to get along, and we both knew I'd just caught her invading what little privacy I still had. "Can you help me into my nightclothes? I'd do it myself, if I could. But this dress--"
"It buttons up the back." She smiled and walked over to me. "I'll help you, but as a friend, not as a servant."
"You're going to kill me if I don't do what you want. We're not friends, Trina."
That stopped her in her tracks, though she recovered quickly enough. Her mouth pinched into a tight line as she walked forward again to unbutton my dress.
I knew it was unkind, the way I had just spoken to her. But between her and Simon, I was having a hard time finding air of my own to breathe.
When she finished, she backed up, cocking her head away from me. "Do the rest yourself, then. I'm going to sleep here in the room with you. And since I have the only weapon, I'm taking the bed."
"Fine." She'd sleep more comfortably there, more deeply. As soon as I was certain she was asleep for the night, I was sneaking out.
The biggest trick of the evening was silently changing from my nightclothes into a tunic and trousers. Fortunately, they had been a little large on me three years ago, so although they were tight now, I could still move in them better than I would in a nightdress. Or in any dress, for that matter. They were also dark in color, so I could blend into the walls.
Trina had stirred while I changed, but she was undoubtedly exhausted from the previous couple of days, an advantage I was happy to exploit. I removed the silver key from its hiding place behind the loose panel, and tucked it in a pocket of my trousers. Then I entered the corridor with caution, expecting Simon to be watching the door, but he wasn't there. That was a surprise, and a relief.
I had two purposes for leaving. The first was to find a knife. I was used to having one hidden on me at all times, and I hadn't liked the feeling of its absence. This wasn't particularly difficult to do. Extra weapons were always kept hidden at Woodcourt in the event of an attack. The one I found was behind a hutch in the music room, at the bottom of the stairs from my room. Two knives were there, in fact. The first was longer and had an exquisite silver handle with inset quartz lines. But I didn't need a beautiful knife, I wanted a sharp one. So I took the second knife, ivory-handled with the Dallisor name carved into it, as most of our knives had. If I bothered to stab someone in the next several hours, I might as well do it right. After I returned to my room, the knife would go into the garter on my leg. For now, I tucked it in the waist at the back of my trousers. Darrow always kept his knives in the waistline of his trousers too. Not for the first time, I wished he was here.
From there, I crossed the vestibule into the east wing of the home, to the master apartments. My father's were to the left, and he was probably in there for the night. My mother's rooms were to the right, at the rear of the house. I listened for several minutes to be certain all was quiet. If I was caught, I had an excuse ready, but I didn't want to tell any more lies involving her. My mother wasn't like the other Dallisors. As it was for me, marriage had been planned for her, and I'd always felt a part of her resented that.
It was possible that after her death, my mother's things had been removed from her apartments. If so, then coming here was an unnecessary risk and a waste of time. Yet I couldn't sleep with so many unresolved questions in my mind. After my rescue from the Banished, everything had happened in a blur before I was sent away. And if I found the Olden Blade for Simon and Trina, I'd never be allowed back here. I'd lose every connection with my mother.
Lily Dallisor had been feminine, soft-spoken, and infinitely kind. For most of my life, I had never understood how she could have produced a child like me. Perhaps I took after my father, a thought that pierced my heart. Was that why he constantly rejected me, because he saw the worst of himself in my eyes? If I had been anything like my mother, maybe he would have loved me more.
Loved me at all.
Coming back home from my kidnapping four days later, with a father who resented me and no mother to comfort me, had been devastating. It was a relief to be sent away to the Lava Fields. I wished I was still there.
At least when I entered the apartments, I noticed everything of hers was exactly as I remembered it, which was little surprise. For as poorly as my father thought of me, he'd always worshipped my mother, and this was her sanctuary, still holy to him. Proof of that was in the gold ribbon trim around her bedding. My father had defied Lord Endrick to preserve her memory. Beyond that, her gowns were still in her wardrobe, her bed had the same quilts piled on top, and near it, a silver tea set was at her writing desk, as if she might call for more tea at any time. The room smelled faintly of her, though that had to be my imagination. She wasn't here.
I swallowed that aching thought and set to work exploring the room, careful not to disturb anything and especially careful not to make noise. The more involved I got in the search, the more difficult my lie would be if I was caught. It was one thing to be in her room--I could always say I missed her and had just wanted to see it. But how would I explain why I had come here in trousers rather than my nightclothes? And why I was on my back beneath her bed, searching between the boards and mattress? The answer to that question would absolutely require a lie, one I had yet to invent.
What I was looking for was simple: a blanket she'd knitted in anticipation of my birth. However, what I really wanted was far more complicated.
Darrow and I had planned for this search from the moment I'd been summoned home. Or, rather, we had gotten into a fight about this search after he heard I intended to do it, with or without his help.
"Woodcourt is not a place where you should go about digging for secrets," he said. "There will be consequences for any answers you find."
"And what is the alternative?" I'd argued. "A lifetime of ignorance? I accept the consequences, whatever they are."
"You cannot possibly know what you are accepting. But if you insist on doing it, I'll be there with you, and answer whatever questions I can."
"The blanket will be there." I'd spoken forcefully, believing enough willpower might make my hopes true. "You'll see, Darrow, it's there."
But maybe it wasn't.
I searched as carefully as I could, tears welling in my eyes as it became increasingly obvious that no amount of wishing could make the blanket real. How many times had I begged to see it when I was younger, to see the gift her fingers had lovingly and carefully created for me? Hundreds of times, at least, but her answer was always the same.
"It's kept safe beneath my bed," she'd whisper. "Safe where our enemies will never find it."
Also, too difficult to access while she was in her elaborate gowns, she assured me. The problem was, she was always in those beautiful dresses. Words do not exist for how much I had wanted to see that blanket over the past three years. It was proof that I was hers and she was mine. Just once, I needed to see it, to imagine her holding it, holding me in her arms.
But the blanket was not here.