“There was nothing mere about them,” the matriarch bit back. Her spine straightened, making her look more like the formidable woman Evangeline had first met. “Honora and Wolfric Valor were the first king and queen of the North, and they were extraordinary rulers.”
The matriarch’s eyes took on a faraway, glassy look, and Evangeline feared she might not say more, that as with so many other Northern tales, this story was cursed in a way that made people forget. But then the woman went on. “Wolfric Valor was a warrior who could not be bested in battle, and Honora Valor was a gifted healer who could mend or cure almost anyone with life left in them. All their children possessed abilities as well. Their daughter, Vesper, had foresight, their second-eldest son could shift form, and when multiple Valors combined their powers, it was said they could infuse magic into inanimate objects and places.”
“Of course,” Jacks cut in smoothly, “like all gifted rulers, the Valors became too powerful, and their subjects turned on them. They cut off their heads, and then they went to war against what remained of their magic.”
“That wasn’t how it happened,” the matriarch volleyed back. The words were quick and sure, but then her jaw hung wide as if the next words she wanted to say would not come out. It seemed the story was cursed after all.
Jacks’s mouth curved as the matriarch struggled, until she finally looked at Evangeline and found her words again. But she was telling a different part of the story now. “The arches were one of the most incredible things that the Valors created. They can serve as portals to faraway and unreachable places, and as doors they are impenetrable. Once locked, an arch can only be opened with the proper type of key. If a sealed arch is destroyed, there’s no finding what’s on the other side.”
“However,” Jacks added, “the main reason the Valors built the arches was so that they could use them to travel anywhere in the North. Some, like this one, may have been given as gifts. But even those have secret back doors built inside them that only the Valors could use, allowing them access to anywhere in possession of an arch.”
“Those are lies.” The matriarch snorted. “People made up those stories to take away power from the Great Houses. They condemned the arches, requiring they be destroyed, except for the royal ones, because the Valors are gone and they are not returning. You’ll see, Evangeline, it’s completely harmless.” The matriarch stepped closer to the arch and held an upturned palm toward Jacks. “If you wouldn’t mind, young man.”
“Not at all.” Jacks retrieved the jeweled knife he’d used in the carriage and flicked it across the woman’s palm.
“By my gifted blood, I seek entry for my friends and myself.” The matriarch pressed her bleeding hand to the stone, and it pulsed like a heartbeat. Throb, throb, throb. The stones came alive before Evangeline’s eyes, turning a shimmering blue touched with green as the dried moss refreshed and dripped with dew.
“See, dear?” The matriarch dropped her bleeding hand, and the arch’s empty center filled in with a shining oak door that smelled of fresh-cut wood and ancient magic. “This can only be opened by freely given blood, straight from the hand of the head of House Fortuna.”
“Making it impossible to break into,” mocked Jacks, right as he opened the newly appeared door.
Evangeline approached, and just like with all the other arches, another rasping whisper came from the stones: You could have unlocked me as well.
Evangeline jumped at the words. Then she went corpse-still, surprised and unnerved to see that Jacks was watching her instead of the vault he’d so desperately wanted to enter.
“What is it, Little Fox?” His voice was friendly. She didn’t like it, didn’t trust it. Jacks was many things, but he was not friendly.
“Nothing.” She wasn’t even sure it was a lie. The arches probably whispered different things to everyone, and if they didn’t, she was not about to let Jacks know they had been talking to her.
Silently, they continued into the vault. She’d expected it to be hiding something illicit or awful, but at first, it looked like a rather strange kitchen. Lots of cauldrons, and bottles and dangling wooden spoons labeled with things like Only Stir Clockwise and Never Use After Dark.
“Here is my family collection of recipes for our Fantastically Flavored Waters,” the matriarch announced, pointing to a wall of thick tomes bound with a variety of ribbons and ropes and a few chains.
Evangeline vigilantly watched Jacks, noting if anything caught his attention. She expected him to be at least mildly intrigued by the shackled volumes. But he didn’t spare them more than a cursory glance. Not that she thought he was after a recipe book.