The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [75]
Travis clamped his jaw shut, and Jay started pulling him across the park after Marty. Sparkman waved after them, then took a bite of his bagel and bent his head over the receiver.
“Put a move on it,” Jay snapped. “I can't believe we wasted so much time talking to Sparky. All of that thinking puts me in a bad mood.”
“It makes me hungry,” Marty said.
Jay punched his arm. “Everything makes you hungry.”
20.
Dawn was still an hour off, and the castle was silent as Grace made her way down empty corridors. Cold poured off the stone walls, and she had thrown only a shawl over her nightgown before stealing from her chamber.
This is stupid, Doctor. How are you supposed to lead an army if you catch pneumonia?
She was to ride forth from Calavere later that morning to begin the journey north to Gravenfist Keep. Behind her would follow the woefully small force that had come in answer to Boreas's call for war. As if Grace knew the first thing about commanding an army.
Maybe it's better so few answered the call to muster, Grace. At least this way you're only leading five hundred men to certain death, rather than five thousand.
All night she had lain awake in bed, and she had thought it simply fear of the task that lay before her that made sleep an impossibility. However, as gray light seeped beneath the shutters, she realized it was something else that weighed on her mind, something that had to do with her trek into Gloaming Wood three days ago. Then, as the light changed from gray to silver, it came to her.
You seek a key, do you not, the forest queen had said, one that can aid you in the war you must fight? Sit in the chair that is forbidden to all others, and the key shall be revealed to you. . . .
She had slipped from the bed, careful not to wake Tira, who was curled in a tight ball under the covers, and without making a sound had opened then shut the chamber door.
Now she padded through the castle's entry hall and down a passage until she reached an enormous oaken door carved with the crest of Calavere: a pair of swords crossed beneath a crown with nine points. Only the crown shouldn't have nine points anymore, it occurred to Grace. Two of the castle's towers were gone, fallen to rubble. Would there ever be a time to repair them?
There wouldn't be if she didn't do this. Grace pushed against the door and opened it just enough to slip into the space beyond. Once in, she leaned against the door to shut it, grateful that some servant must have oiled the hinges in the recent past.
Enough light came through the high windows to let her make out the rows of raised seats that ringed the chamber, as well as the circular table that dominated the center. This was the place where the Council of Kings had been held over a year ago. The space had been used little since then, and the air was frigid and musty. Grace hurried to the table, then glanced over her shoulder. She felt like a teenager sneaking into school after hours.
That's ridiculous, Grace. If the forest queen was right, then you belong here.
She walked around the table. Inlaid in the center was the rune of hope, which Travis had bound there after he broke the rune of peace. Eight ornate wooden chairs surrounded the table, royal crests carved into the back of each one. There was Chair Calavan next to Chair Toloria, and chairs for the rest of the seven Dominions.
Grace came to a halt behind the final chair. It was newer in appearance than the others, glossier. But then, over the centuries, it had never been sat in, had it? Legend told that a witch had cast a spell on this chair, and that only the true heir to the throne of Malachor might dare sit in it, for one who was false would surely be struck dead.
Mad mirth bubbled up inside Grace. Falken and the others were absolutely convinced she was the last descendant of the royal house of Malachor. What if she sat in this seat and ended up getting fried to a crisp?
“That would certainly show them, wouldn't it?” she murmured, and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
Grace brushed the