The boards propping up the mattress had shifted last night. They shouldn't have. The weight of the mattress would hold the boards in place ... unless there was a gap between the mattress and the boards. A false bottom perhaps?
I squirmed into place beneath the center of the bed and took a deep breath before raising my arms. To be sure, the consequences of failing here were grim.
But the consequences of success terrified me.
I pushed on the first board, which easily slid aside. Dustball tufts came down with the shift, falling on my face and no doubt dirtying my dress, but I brushed it all aside and pushed on the second board.
When this one separated, something fell on the floor behind me, landing with a heavy thud. Still on my back, I froze, certain all of Woodcourt must have heard it too. I had warmed a clearstone in the room, but beneath the bed there were only shadows. I did observe the fallen object was wrapped in a burlap sack and was about the length of my arm from elbow to fingertip.
The Olden Blade.
I already knew it was, but the absolute simplicity of having found it so easily astounded me. For seventeen years, the Dominion had been seeking this dagger, searching endlessly for any clues as to its whereabouts. They would have interviewed every person who came into the remotest contact with Risha and Anaya. They would have bored holes into the floors of the dungeons, carved into the rock walls, and sent servants to search every crevice on pain of death if they didn't come back with the Blade in their hands.
I'd merely crawled under my mother's bed and shifted around a few boards. It had taken me less than three minutes. Of course, I'd had an advantage: the diary. If the situation were not so serious, I would have laughed at the absurdity of it all.
I
f Trina were here, she'd probably faint with joy, wrap me in a hug, and pledge eternal friendship to me. Simon ... I didn't know how he'd react. Nor would I ever find out, I supposed. Not if I stuck to my plans.
I lay there for longer than I should have, listening to the pounding of my heart and the sound of blood rushing past my ears. The consequences of any decision I made now would change everything. What was the right answer? What choice might keep me alive? Or free Darrow? What would save Antora?
I genuinely didn't know.
A cock crowed outside, warning me that time was passing too quickly, and that it couldn't be much longer before a guard would come to ensure I was in my room. If I was found here, everything would be lost. Starting with my life.
I dragged the burlap bundle out from beneath the bed and then sat up, leaving it on the floor directly in front of me. After a few deep breaths to find my courage, I carefully untied the twine that held it together, unfolding each layer of burlap until the Olden Blade revealed itself.
It wasn't nearly as exotic as I would have expected and, in fact, didn't look much different from the knife I'd left behind in the music room last night or any of a dozen others one could buy in the finer shops of Highwyn. It was longer than a regular knife, though now that it was unwrapped of all its layers, the Olden Blade was smaller than it had seemed to be before. The Blade was made of Dirilium, a metal often mistaken for steel but with the strength of diamonds. The handle was highly polished and caught the light from every angle at which I studied it, and it was dotted with violet amethysts that seemed to glow with the magic inside them.
This had been Lord Endrick's prime weapon, and remained the source of his immortality. Risha once threatened that immortality, but she was gone. Antora needed a new Infidante, someone to challenge Endrick. Risha Halderian's heir.
I didn't know who that would be, but the list of who I didn't want was long and growing.
None of the Halderians who had tried to kill me three years ago. That was unacceptable.
Nor any of the Halderians who had let it happen. They'd been cowards.
Not Tenger, if he belonged to their clan. A streak of cruelty ran through him that bothered me.
Not me.
Me.
I immediately brushed that thought aside, wondering how such an idea had even entered my mind. I was not a Halderian. I couldn't wield the Blade. I couldn't even touch it.
But I wanted to.
I stared at it, unable to look away as treasonous thoughts swirled in my head. Thoughts I should not dare to have. But that I did.
Lying before me, the Blade became a beacon, suddenly like air for the suffocating, or bread for the starving. It was the only thing I wanted to touch because it was the one thing I could not touch, should not touch. But the idea was filling my mind, this sudden obsession, this desperate question of what if?
What if I could?
A flush of heat swept over me. What if I returned to my room, holding the Olden Blade in my hand, announcing to Simon and Trina that their search for the dagger had ended with me? What would they do? What would they say?
I smiled. Trina's head would probably split apart.
But then I'd be declared the Infidante, tasked with thrusting the Blade into Endrick's heart, killing him. The idea of such a quest horrified me. Even for the right reasons, I couldn't do that.