Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [75]
“Good,” he grunted.
Slumping to the floor, he sat against the back of the wardrobe and braced his feet on the door. Drawing his knees in, he kicked out hard and felt it give a little, with a satisfying sound. He kicked again, and a third time, before the door splintered and burst outward, hanging crazily by one hinge. Galen clambered to his feet and stepped out.
He was in Angier’s bedchamber, which he’d previously glimpsed through the sitting room door. A chime drew Galen’s attention to an ornate wooden clock on the wall. It was just striking half-past midnight. Galen realized that it was the chime that had awakened him, and cursed. Half-past midnight! Rose and her sisters had been trapped below for a full day now. And Angier was not in bed, sleeping the sleep of the just and holy. Where had he gone?
Galen ran out of the bedroom and into the sitting room beyond. On the table with the books and diary were his weapons and the contents of his satchel.
Galen hastily put the goblet, twigs, handkerchief of sand, and the woolen chain in the satchel, then his powder and shot. He sheathed his knives, checked and holstered his pistols, and fixed his bayonet to his rifle. Then he took up the satchel and the long knife, hung the cape over one shoulder, and headed for the door.
Angier’s sitting room had been locked from the outside, but that didn’t stop Galen for long. His head still ached, but his thoughts were clear. If he didn’t solve this tonight, Rose would die. He broke the lock on the door with one kick and stepped into the hallway.
In the princesses’ sitting room, the rug was in place and the maids snored in their chairs. Galen knelt beside the golden maze pattern and put his hand on it. He traced the pattern with a fingertip as he had seen Lily do and said a prayer.
Nothing.
Was he too late, or would it simply not work for him?
He reached into his satchel to take out one of the silver twigs, thinking that the blessed silver might help. As he did so, the handkerchief tumbled out and grains of glittering black sand scattered across the rug. They sparkled in the light from the candles. The golden maze pattern glowed and the fibers fused together into gold bars, but they did not sink into the floor. Galen sprinkled on a little more sand, but it had no effect. He put the handkerchief away and gripped a silver twig in his right hand. Uttering another prayer, he traced the pattern with the gleaming twig.
The sand sparkled even brighter, and the golden lines widened and sank into the floor. The twig itself dissolved, and Galen drew back just in time to avoid falling headfirst down the spiral staircase. He got to his feet and ran down the stairs, reaching the bottom only seconds after the last rung settled into place.
The pearl and silver gate swung open at his touch and he passed into the forest, pausing only to fasten his purple cape. Running down the path, he felt his blood drumming in his ears. Rose, Rose, Rose, his pulse seemed to say. Save her, save her, save her.
But the lake posed another problem. There was no golden boat in which to ride, no tall prince to row him across. Galen could swim, but it would ruin his rifle and pistols, and he wasn’t sure that the black liquid filling the lake was even water. He crouched down and touched a careful finger to it, and his skin began to burn. Galen had to spit on his finger to stop the burning.
“No swimming, then,” Galen said aloud.
He pulled out another of the silver twigs, and cast it on the water, praying for a bridge of some sort.
No bridge formed. The twig sank into the black waves and Galen kicked the sand in rage. He started to walk along the edge of the shore, the black castle always looming in the corner of his eye. To the right, a few of the silver trees had sprung up right