He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small book with a silver lock around it. "This is what you came for."
I caught my breath in my throat. The binding was beautiful, covered in faded pink satin and sewn with maroon thread in the shape of roses.
"Risha's diary?" I breathed.
He arched a brow, curious. "As far as we know, Risha never kept a diary, nor her Endrean servant."
"Then whose is that?"
"See for yourself. It was hidden beneath Sir Henry's desk in the library, and unless you want both of us to follow in Risha's footsteps, you will return it there by morning." He held it out to me. "I am risking my life to give this to you, Kestra, in hopes that you are the person I believe you to be. Do not disappoint me."
"Who do you believe me to be?" I asked.
"It's not what I believe about you, it's what I know." He stood and gave me a deep bow. "My lady, you are the only one who can play the traitor's game, and win."
I shook my head. "I don't understand."
"I suspect you will, after you read that book. I am telling you again, this must be back in its place before anyone discovers its absence. Our lives depend on that."
I clutched the book to my chest while I waited for him to leave. Once he did, I studied it more carefully. The silver band extended entirely around the book, and an etching on the front noted that if the lock was broken, ink would leak into the book, destroying anything written there. A key was needed to open it.
I had that key, in my pocket. This was what the Halderians had tried to give me at the inn, what I had taken from Simon's satchel. But if this was not Risha's diary, whose was it?
I pulled the key from my pocket and stuck it into the lock. It was stiff, but it did turn, and then the lock separated. I was in.
I opened the pages of my mother's diary. Her name was printed in neat handwriting right on the first page. "Lily Dallisor."
Page one began this way: "This is the only place I will ever be able to tell the truth ..."
I didn't shut my eyes all night, except when I paused from my reading to sob silently into my hands.
"What I have done for Kestra will have eternal consequences," the diary had begun. "Just as a mother's love should."
A few pages farther. "If Henry knew the full truth about Kestra, he would not want her. The blue-faced guard from the dungeons recommended a man named Darrow to protect her, but I know nothing about him. Still, I fear for Kestra's life. She's all I have."
Then several pages more. "The older she becomes, the more Henry pushes her away. He wishes to marry her to some king's son in Reddengrad. She's still a child! But I wonder if leaving Antora would be better. Darrow asks to take her into hiding, but what of his bloodline? The Halderians know about her. They will try to find her. This terrifies me."
And on the final page of the book. "This sickness overwhelms me. I have begged for Kestra to come to my side, but they fear I will make her sick too. What does that matter? If I die, Henry will no longer protect her from Lord Endrick. My daughter is in danger."
I cried again, hot, bitter tears that did nothing but sting my eyes and envelop me in the darkness of the tower where I had read the diary by the light of a single candle. Each word of the diary had bored itself deeper into my heart, revealing lies that cut like knives, and truths I would have traded my soul to forget. It was cruel of Gerald to have given this to me.
Cruel, but necessary. I blew out the candle and was distressed to realize I no longer needed it. Dawn had come.
I wiped my eyes, wondering how red they were, how swollen. Anyone who gave me more than a passing glance would know I had been crying. I was still in the tunic and trousers, and certain that back in my room, Trina was already awake and aware of my absence. More importantly, I had to return the diary to the library. But dressed as I was, I could not be seen by any servants. They'd surely report me.
I rushed down the tower stairs, which deposited me in the entry vestibule. Servants were already bustling through the corridors and living areas, stoking fires from what had become ash overnight, delivering warm water where it was needed, and preparing Woodcourt for a new day. My timing had to be impeccable to miss them. Fortunately, this was not my first time sneaking around. The routines hadn't changed much, or, at least, I hoped they hadn't. If I could do this, Darrow would be proud of me.
Darrow. I desperately needed his advice, for the night had given me far more questions than answers. He had been shot more than a day and a half ago. More than ever, I was determined to find
the Olden Blade and earn his life back.
I continued hurrying toward my room, barely missing an oncoming servant who was dusting or doing some other useless job. Time was running out!
A hand went around my mouth, and before I could scream into it, Simon turned me around to face him, then shoved me into my room, shutting the door behind us. Beside him was Trina, and from the looks of them, their combined anger could ignite fire on rainwater.
"Thank the heavens you're back! We've been searching everywhere!" Trina began. "Where have you--"
"I need your dress," I said. "Give it to me."