“This is where Taryn wanted to meet,” I say. “I didn’t think she even knew the place.”
“She doesn’t,” Cardan says.
The polished wood door is still carved with an enormous and sinister face, still flanked with lanterns, but sprites no longer fly in desperate circles within. A soft glow of magic emanates instead.
“My king,” the door says fondly, its eyes opening.
Cardan smiles in return. “My door,” he says with a slight hitch in his voice, as though perhaps everything about returning here feels strange.
“Hail and welcome,” it says, and swings wide.
“Is there a girl like this one inside?” he asks, indicating me.
“Yes,” says the door. “Very like. She’s below, with the other.”
“Below?” I say as we walk into the echoing hall.
“There are dungeons,” Cardan says. “Most Folk thought they were merely decorative. Alas, they were not.”
“Why would Taryn be down there?” I ask, but to that, he has no answer. We go down, the royal guard ahead of me. The basement smells strongly of earth. The room we enter contains little, only some furniture that seems unsuitable for sitting upon and chains. Big braziers burn brightly enough to heat my cheeks.
Taryn sits beside an oubliette. She is dressed simply, a cloak over her shift, and without the grandeur of clothes and hair, she looks young. It frightens me to think I might look that young, too.
When she sees Cardan, she pushes herself to her feet, one hand moving to her belly protectively. She sinks into a low curtsy.
“Taryn?” he says.
“He came looking for you,” she tells me. “When he saw me in your rooms, he said I had to restrain him because Madoc had given him more commands. He told me about the dungeons and I brought him here. It seemed like a place no one would look.”
Walking over to the hole, I peer down into the pit. The Ghost sits perhaps twelve feet down, his back against the curve of the wall, his wrists and ankles bound in shackles. He looks pale and unwell, peering up with haunted eyes.
I want to ask him if he’s okay, but he obviously isn’t.
Cardan is gazing at my sister as though attempting to puzzle something through. “You know him, don’t you?” he asks.
She nods, crossing her arms over her chest. “He would visit Locke sometimes. But he didn’t have anything to do with Locke’s death, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Cardan says. “Not at all.”
No, he would have already been Madoc’s prisoner then. But I don’t like the way this conversation is going. I am still not sure what Cardan would do if he knew the truth of Locke’s death.
“Can you tell us about Queen Orlagh?” I ask the Ghost, attempting to redirect the conversation back toward what’s most important. “What did you do?”
“Madoc gave me a bolt,” he says. “It was heavy in my hand, and it squirmed as though it was a living thing. Lord Jarel put a magic on me that let me breathe under the waves, but it made my skin burn as though covered always in ice. Madoc commanded me to shoot Orlagh anywhere but in the heart or head and told me that the bolt would do the rest.”
“How did you get away?” I ask.
“I slew a shark pursuing me and hid within its corpse until the danger passed. Then I swam to shore.”
“Did Madoc give you any other orders?” Cardan asks, frowning.
“Yes,” the Ghost says, a strange expression on his face. And that’s the only warning we have before he’s climbed halfway up the oubliette. I realize he’s shed whatever chains Taryn clasped him in, probably long before now. Icy panic rushes through me. I am too stiff to fight him, too sore. I grab for the heavy seal to the pit and begin to drag it over, hoping to trap him before he makes it up the side. Cardan calls for the guard and draws a wicked-looking knife from inside his doublet, surprising me. That’s got to be the Roach’s influence.
My sister clears her throat.
“Larkin Gorm Garrett,” she says. “Forget all other commands but mine.”
I suck in a breath. I have never witnessed anyone called by their true name before. In Faerie, knowing such a thing puts one entirely in that person’s power. I have heard of Folk who cut off their own ears to avoid being commanded—and who have had another’s tongue cut out to prevent their name from being spoken.
Taryn looks a little shocked herself.
The Ghost slides back to the bottom of the oubliette. He seems to sag with relief, despite the power she has over him. I suppose it is far better to be commanded by my sister than my father.
“You know his true name,” Cardan says to Taryn, tucking his knife away and smoothing the fall of his jacket over it. “How did you come by that fascinating little tidbit?”
“Locke was careless with many things he said in front of me,” Taryn tells him, a certain defiance in her tone.
I am grudgingly impressed with her.
And relieved. She could have used the Ghost’s true name for her own benefit. She could have hidden him. Maybe we really aren’t going to keep lying to one another.
“Climb up the rest of the way,” I tell the Ghost.
He does, carefully and slowly this time. A few minutes later, he is scrabbling up onto the floor. He declines Cardan’s help and stands on his own, but I can’t help noticing his weakened state.
He looks me over as though he is noticing much the same thing.
“Do you need to be commanded further?” I ask. “Or can you give me your word you won’t attack anyone in this room?”
He flinches. “You have my word.” I am sure he’s not pleased that now I know his true name. Were I him, I wouldn’t want me to have it, either.
And that’s not to mention Cardan.