The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2) (27 page)

If he failed on all those counts, maybe he could find a code book, a list of names, or a map that would help him infiltrate her spy ring.

All the guest rooms in the north wing had the same layout: a small sitting room with two adjoining bedrooms, one for nobility and one for attendants. Dom crossed the plush carpet between the desk and the door on quiet feet, pausing to listen for voices on the other side.

Silence. Perfect.

He started under the bed—it seemed like a good place to hide things—and he was right. A half dozen daggers were driven into the bed frame within easy reach of Maribelle’s pillow. She could slip her arm between the mattress and the headboard, snag one, and take out an intruder without worrying about stabbing herself in her sleep.

It was a good idea, he admitted grudgingly.

The chest of drawers held only silken underthings, which he felt guilty pawing through. It was one thing to imagine her wearing them, and something entirely different to touch them without her consent.

Her box of jewelry held an enormous amount of baubles, but no secrets. And the only thing under the rug was dust.

Frustrated, but not surprised, Dom moved to the closet. The smell was noteworthy. Instead of the powerful fragrance of lavender that scented the rest of the room, the confined space had a musty, almost animal aroma. It reminded him of the rabbit he and Rafi had kept as children.

Would Maribelle hide a rabbit in her closet?

The space was overrun with dresses and skirts, but there was a careful sense of order. Blues next to purples, pinks and reds side by side. All hung from a series of hooks on the wall, with matching slippers below. There was an obscene number of boots and shoes, sometimes three or four pairs in the same exact color and style, which didn’t seem at all logical. Maribelle wasn’t the kind of person to wear the same dress twice, let alone enough times to warrant an extra pair of matching shoes.

A large trunk, perhaps waist-high and as wide as Dom’s arms outstretched, was pressed against the rear wall of the closet. Leather bands, held in place with nailheads, wrapped around the frame, and a large iron lock held it shut.

The back of the closet was dark. He wouldn’t be able to pry open the lock without a candle or at least a bit more light. So he opened the door wide, letting the dim moonlight and fire illuminate the space. It also brought the sound of whispering voices. Someone was in the sitting room.

Low and hurried, the tone was significantly less giddy than Dom was used to hearing from Maribelle’s attendants. He couldn’t catch every word that was being said through the wall, but gathered that it had something to do with the man who’d been selected as the new captain.

A third voice added to the mix. Maribelle was back from wherever she’d gone. Dom cursed silently and closed the closet door partway. The lock on the room’s outer door clicked open, and Maribelle came in, still carrying on a conversation with the women in the sitting room.

“As far as I can tell, the water in the well is fine,” Maribelle said, undressing as she moved. “There are too many access points, and the soldiers are stretched too thin to guard all the wells in the township.”

“Could it be something else? Something other than the wells?” one woman asked. “The message was unclear, and I think it’s a key word instead of a code.”

“Why are we doing this, anyway?” The voice was softer than the previous one but had a similar cadence. “We should go home. We’re wasting time here while our friends die in ill-planned attacks against your father’s troops. If Sapo’s away from Maringa, then we’re missing an opportunity to take over while your father’s greatest weapon is elsewhere.”

Dom pressed himself into the first row of dresses, watching through the narrow gap. Maribelle had shared a few tidbits about the strange people who worked for her father, but it wasn’t enough. She was, obviously, keeping him in the dark about some things.

“You’re too attached to Lord Dom,” the first voice said. At least, Dom thought it was the first voice; Maribelle’s attendants all sounded alike to him. “You aren’t looking at this objectively anymore. You’ve forgotten our goal.”

“Don’t you dare,” Maribelle said as she stepped out of her skirt. She wadded up the material and tossed it toward the closet. “This has been my plan, my goal, since the very beginning. I’ve fought for this. I’ve
suffered
for this.”

Standing in nothing but a blouse that clung to her damply, Maribelle shouldn’t have been intimidating, but her tone shut the other women’s mouths.

“I know what I’m doing,” she continued. “We need the united powers of Impreza and Santiago to help us defeat my father’s troops. We can’t expect Duke Fernando’s and the DeSilvas’ help if they’re waging a war against Belem.”

“What about Sapo?”

“What about him?” Maribelle snapped. “He’s got goals of his own, and all the recent reports suggest he’s hunting this lost princess. While he’s busy, we will destroy Belem, unite with Impreza and Santiago, and take Maringa. Sapo will never stand a chance against all four states. And he’ll never, ever help my father hurt us again.”

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her hands clenched at her sides. Maribelle played the beautiful coquette perfectly, but she was every bit as deadly and devious as her father. Dom wanted to be suspicious of her. He’d come to her room hoping to find proof of her duplicity, and instead he’d caught her in an unguarded moment, speaking without restraint to her closest confidants, and showing all the colors of an ally.

The varying facets of her personality were both confusing and interesting. What had turned a pampered duke’s daughter into a scheming rebel? It was one thing to harbor hatred toward an abusive parent, and something entirely different to work toward that parent’s destruction. What were her motivations? Power, greed, or maybe vengeance? He didn’t know, but he was determined to find out. Until he understood her, he wasn’t positive he should trust her.

“Was there anything else?” Maribelle asked as she shrugged out of her blouse, leaving her in nothing but a thin, thigh-length camisole.

Dom looked away and then looked back, afraid of missing something important in her body language.

“The stable hand is out again tonight. Cintia is on him.”

Maribelle nodded. “And Brynn?”

“In her room with Michael.”

“Who has been following the boy?” Maribelle asked, rubbing her temple.

There was silence except for the shifting of material.

“Michael loves Dom,” piped up one of the attendants.

“And he’s eight.”

Michael?
Dom held his breath.

“Age means nothing. Children are perfect spies. They’re often overlooked and forgotten. He may not even know he’s providing information to the other side.” Maribelle took a deep breath. “Eva, please follow him tomorrow.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” Maribelle shooed them out of the room. “Get some rest. We won’t have any downtime till this is all over.” The door clicked shut after them, and she let out a deep sigh.

Cintia and Eva . . . wait.

Dom mentally replayed the conversation. Two ladies were with Maribelle, and another was out watching the stable hand.

Three attendants? But Maribelle had brought only two with her. Both attractive, one was a half head taller than Maribelle, and the other was closer to Maribelle’s size but with lighter hair and fairer skin. Who was the third?

Footsteps came closer, and Dom had to make a decision to try to hide or be noticed or . . .

The closet door swung open completely and Dom lunged at Maribelle, clamping a hand over her mouth and stifling her gasp of surprise. He looped an arm across her body, trapping her arms at her sides, and pinned her face-first against the door’s frame. She struggled, bringing her heel up and nearly catching him in the groin. He shifted, and the blow landed on his thigh instead.

“Stop,” he whispered. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

He felt her teeth against his palm, but she couldn’t get much skin. “If you quit trying to bite me and promise not to yell, I’ll take away my hand.” She gave a sharp nod in acquiescence.

As soon as his hand moved, she started talking. “I don’t know why I assumed you had a hint of that DeSilva honor, but no one who lurks in my closet, watching me undress, has any integrity at all.”

“Don’t pretend you’re upset about that.”

“Of course I am,” she said, writhing against his grip.

“No. You’re more upset that I listened to your conversation and stumbled onto some of your secrets.”

She froze.

“How many of my servants are working for you?”

No answer.

“Was everything you said to your ladies true? What’s this about the wells?”

“Release me,” she said, stomping on his foot. “I think you enjoy interrogating me far too much. I still have bruises from the last time.”

He had to give her credit: She knew exactly what to say to make him feel like a horrible person, and he released her. “Maribelle, I am sorry—” His words cut off when he caught a sharp elbow to the gut and grunted.

“I thought I made it clear,” she said, hurrying to the bedroom door and locking them in. “I’m on your side. I said as much.”

“
But
,” he said, giving up on his apology. “You gave Belem an exact report of my weapons stash, and my weaponsmaster died an hour after you last saw him alive. Why would I believe you’re telling me the truth about anything?”

“What has telling the truth brought me? You attacking me in a barn and now in my bedroom?” She put her hands on her hips, and the already short camisole pulled up even higher, revealing more of her legs.

Dom couldn’t help but notice.

“Do I meet your approval?”

“I’ve never complained about the way you look.” That was putting it lightly. Her dresses never left much to his imagination, but he couldn’t have imagined her like this.

Which is why Brynn is marrying the butcher’s son, you heartless bastard. You can’t keep your thoughts focused on one girl even when you’re trying.

He gave himself a mental slap. “What’s your endgame? You want to bring down your father, but then what?”

She shook her head, eyeing him in stony silence.

“You’ve got to give me a reason to trust you.”

“You heard what I just said. I was protecting your water supply.” She pointed to the wet skirt piled near his feet. “Why would I do that—in a downpour, I might add—if I wasn’t trying to save your state?”

He didn’t have an answer to that. “You think someone was trying to poison the wells?”

“That might be the goal, but if so, no one has taken action yet.”

If it wouldn’t have brought her attendants running, he would have screamed in frustration. Instead he said, “I’ll have everyone lay out extra barrels to catch rainwater. It will provide a small backup.”

“It’s always good to think ahead.”

A smile forced its way onto his mouth. “I’ll never outdistance you.”

“You’ll never even catch up.”

They stood for a moment, battling with their gazes, her expression giving nothing away. Not embarrassment from standing there in her underclothes, not anger from his intrusion, not annoyance at his constant mistrust.

Light, she was tough, and he respected her for it.

He gave in first, offering a mocking bow. “Good night, Maribelle.” He walked past her, heading for the door, but she reached out and touched his arm.

“Birds.”

“What?” He looked down at her hand, against his forearm.

“I want you to trust me, Dominic. So I’m telling you that I keep birds in my closet.” Her fingers glided down his sleeve till they rested on the back of his hand. “You forbade me from using the pigeons on the roof, so I bought two ravens. They aren’t as reliable over long distances, but they ferry notes to a contact in town, and he sends the messages on.”

“Who in the township?”

She tilted her head to one side. “I told you that your brother was in Camaçari. I helped you narrow down the list of possible spies in your household. You don’t expect me to give up all my secrets, do you?”

Dom’s eyes traced down her body, making his perusal obvious. “I don’t think you have that much left to hide.”

Leaning forward, she pressed a lingering kiss against his cheek. “Haven’t you learned anything yet?” Her whisper made the hairs on his neck rise. “I’ve always got something to hide.”

Dom left Maribelle’s room via the window and clambered onto the slick tile roof. The rain had turned from a sprinkle to a deluge, and he lost his footing more times than he dared to count. Once, a tile crumbled under his boot, sending him careening into a stone-sided chimney. He clung to it for a moment, catching his breath and cursing Maribelle under it.

The rocks that ringed the chimney were dry. Raindrops fell but evaporated quickly.

It gave him an idea—a crazy, dangerous idea.

Instead of heading back to his room, Dom climbed to a lower part of the roof and dropped to the ground, startling the guard standing near the kitchen’s outer door.

“Get four men and meet me at the washhouse,” Dom said as the young soldier slid his sword back into its scabbard.

“The washhouse, sir? But why?”

“If I wanted you to know, I’d tell you,” Dom said, a hint of DeSilva temper lacing his tone.

The washhouse was a small, separate building tucked behind the main house. It had a large cement floor, an enormous fireplace, two huge brick basins for wash and rinse water, and underground access to the cellars.

It was perfect for Dom’s plan.

Whoever had poured salt water into the cannon powder had known exactly what they were doing. No one would have noticed that the powder was wet if the influx of supplies hadn’t overrun the cellar. If the servants hadn’t been forced to stack boxes and crates of food in the tunnels where the powder had been stored, the soldiers would have carried up a few barrels the night before the battle and been shocked when it wouldn’t ignite.

It would have been a disaster.

Or a bigger disaster,
Dom thought as he studied the first cask’s stopper. Marks marred the cork. It hadn’t been some kind of fluke or accident. Each cask had been opened, soaked, and sealed.