“The latch,” Alex said hoarsely, realizing the problem. “Whoever used it last didn’t flip the latch.”
“Alexander…，” Viktor called. “Come out, come out wherever you are…”
He paled visibly.
“You need to hide,” I whispered. “By the time I get downstairs and the lift makes its way up, he’ll be here. It’ll be too late. Find someplace safe to hide. I’ll send up the lift and try to draw him elsewhere. Listen for the lift.”
Alex shook his head. “I can’t let you take that risk. I need to—”
I grabbed him with a sudden fierceness, fingers trembling as I pressed a kiss to his lips. “I need you to stay safe. For me. For us. I love you, Alex. Hurry.”
His face muddled with contradicting emotions but then he pushed away, disappearing down the nearest corridor.
“Alex, the lift is jammed,” I said, raising my voice, making it impossible for Viktor not to hear me. “We’ll have to take the back stairwell instead.”
I raced away in the direction opposite Alex, making my progress as loud as possible. I needed Viktor to know exactly where I was.
I did find a little staircase, eventually. It was steep and narrow, coiling round and round, built to take up the smallest amount of space within the manor, not intended for a swift descent.
Halfway down the rickety thing, I tripped, smashing the back of my calves along the iron treads and landing hard against the railing. My head struck the curved metal and for a horrible second, I could picture the bolts giving way, plummeting down, as I crashed into a broken heap upon the landing.
I paused, waiting.
The railing had held.
For now.
My vision was blurry and I struggled to focus. I could feel a warm wetness trickling into my slippers but there was no time to stop and assess the damage.
I pushed forward, however shakily.
“Ver?” Viktor’s voice was at the stop of the stairwell. “That sounded like quite a tumble. I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”
“Alex, we need to hurry!” I hobbled my way down the last of the steps. My voice sounded funny and I wondered how hard I’d hit my head. When I pushed back a loose curl of hair, my scalp felt sticky with blood.
A great booming laugh rebounded down the stony walls. “Do you really think me so stupid? How on earth are you meant to be carrying the boy? On your back?”
He laughed again and I stopped on the landing, wincing. He’d seen straight through my ill-conceived plan. I could only pray the feeble attempt to divert his attention had allowed Alex enough time to find a safe hiding spot.
Viktor’s footsteps clanged down the metal steps, then stopped. I glanced up and saw him peering over the edge.
“Ver…what are you doing?” He took a step down, forcing me to retreat farther, keeping the space between us the same. “Drop the heroics. Let’s find the boy, finish him off, and be done with all this.”
“You’re mad.”
He shrugged.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because,” he answered, his tone even and reasonable. “I can. Because I want to. Because everything that boy has ever had was meant to be mine. And I want what’s mine.”
“It was meant to be Julien’s,” I said.
“He never wanted it. He was going to just hand it over to that little fool.”
“You killed him.” He snorted as if it was of little importance. “Your own brother. Your closest friend.”
“He was in the way. Now he’s not. And soon dear little Alexander will be out of your way and it will just be us.”
“There is no us,” I insisted, falling back another step as he advanced forward. “The two of us together—”
“Think of it, Ver. Think of what we can create. We will bring new gods into this world, shaping it in our image. You and me.”
“No,” I said flatly, retreating down two stairs now.
His eyes roamed over me, tangible and unwelcome. “We’ll see how you feel. After.”
“After?” I echoed, worry creeping in.
He offered out a carefree wave of his fingers before disappearing behind the railing. His footsteps were softer now, ascending the spiral.
“The lift,” I muttered to myself, setting out toward the back of the house. “Fix the lift.”
The house was strangely empty as I stumbled through it. I’d never noticed just how many servants the Laurents employed until they were all absent, stilling the manor to silence. Chauntilalie seemed bigger without them, a living thing with its eyes now fixed upon me, its sole entertainment.
I took a wrong turn, lurching down a corridor with doors on both sides and not a window to be seen. My vision swam before me and I leaned against a door, listing heavily. It pushed open, revealing Marguerite. She cowered behind a sofa, the drapes hastily drawn and the gas lamps lowered.
With enormous eyes, she peered at me in the darkened space. “Is that you, Thaumas girl?”
“We need to get out of here, Madame Laurent. There’s been a terrible…so many terrible things.”
“Dauphine,” she said, nodding, making a little sign over her heart, with three fingers raised.
“And…Gerard as well.”
She stilled. “Which one of them did it?”
“Julien, sort of— But, wait. You know about them? That they’re here now?”
She looked at me with obvious disdain. “Why do you think I’m in here, hiding in the dark, wretched girl?”
“The staff is missing—”
“I sent them away…for help,” she added as I blinked uncomprehendingly. “When I saw him here, Viktor, outside my son’s study, I sent for help. I’ve known those boys all their lives. I’ve seen what my son accomplished… Believe me when I say we’ll need all the help we can muster.”
“Alex is hiding upstairs. The lift was left down here and without Frederick, he’s been trapped.”
She tutted in dismay. “Whatever you plan on doing, those boys will stop you at every turn. Viktor is ruthless and Julien—”
“Julien is dead,” I cut in. “Viktor killed him.”
Again, she made the gesture over her heart. A ward of protection, a prayer for a departed soul.
“And you’re certain…you’re certain that my son…”
I nodded. “I’m so sorry, Madame Laurent.”
Her sigh was steeped in resignation. “He made many terrible mistakes, that son of mine. I always knew those boys would be the death of him, one way or another.” She shook her head sadly, her carefully pinned curls swaying.
I wanted to reach out and comfort her. The lines across her face seemed deeper, etched with a grief that had not yet fully emerged. As if sensing my thoughts, she pulled away, hugging her arms across her chest, a crumbling tower of solitude.
“You stay here and I’ll send the lift for Alex… Surely there’s a carriage left. We can take that and get away.”
“And how do you propose my grandson get into said carriage? Without that giant of a manservant, he’ll be just as stuck out there as he is here.”
“There’s the lift, down at the docks, to lower him to the rowboats. We’ll go out into the lake and wait till the servants return with help.”