Chapter Eleven
“What is it?” I ask even though I already know. It’s a puzzle, and there’s a part of me that yearned for this. For a puzzle I can’t immediately solve. One without a textbook to explain it to me. I’ve been searching my whole life for something I can’t unscramble, for a riddle without an answer.
Which makes me feel like a terrible person.
“Maybe nothing. Gibberish. Or a message from Avery herself.”
“Or a ransom note.”
“Why would a kidnapper put his ransom note in code? Doesn’t he want to get paid?”
Okay, that’s a good point. But this is still the best lead to where Avery has gone. The only one. “You think it’s related or you wouldn’t have shown me.”
“I told you to leave.”
“And you didn’t throw this away when it came.”
“I have no interest in games.” His words are punctuated by a crash from downstairs.
The thought of that beautiful foyer chandelier broken on the marble entry makes me wince. “Not interested in games? Then what do you call what’s happening downstairs?”
“Boredom,” he says.
I know my expression reflects my doubt at that. There was a full harem of beautiful women down there. Men, too. Does he sleep with both of them? “Aren’t you worried about what they’re breaking?”
A dark look. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” I say even though the admission feels too personal. The Den may be a bed of crime and masculine power, but it’s also the only place I felt truly safe.
He studies me as if he can see under my skin, beneath the college student and even the mathematician, all the way to the scared little girl who’s never trusted anyone but him.
With a short nod he turns away and pulls out a shiny black phone. He murmurs something I can’t make out, slipping it back into his pocket a moment later. He stares at me with those dark, fathomless eyes.
One, two, three seconds later. The beat stops.
Silence rings in my ears. My bones feel unnaturally still without the heavy bass.
“What happened?” I ask faintly.
“I told them to leave.” He says it plainly, without guilt or grandeur. It’s in that matter-of-fact tone that he admits how much my words matter. How much I matter. All I had to do is say that I didn’t want them breaking his things, and they stop.
“Does everyone listen to what you say?”
“Usually,” he says, his expression wry. “You’re an exception to the rule.”
It’s too unnerving, the way he looks at me. Taking me apart, uncovering every secret with methodical determination. That’s supposed to be my job. It would be better if he yelled at me. This subtle understanding is too much to take. “I’ll call Gabriel. Tell him about the message.”
“No.”
I pause, my hand halfway to my back pocket where my phone sits. “What?”
“What’s the point of telling him? He has no chance of figuring it out. Not until you do.”
The paper burns my fingers, everything it represents—both about Avery and about me. “This isn’t my area of study. Ciphers. Encryption. We should find someone else.”
“Is there anyone else you would trust with Avery’s life?”
Somehow I know the message is meant for me. Did Avery send this? Did she know that I would go to Damon Scott? We talked about him the night she disappeared. Could she have sent this to him knowing it would find its way to me?
And why bother putting it into code? She could have written Dear Penny at the top of a regular note. For that matter she could have scribbled something on paper when she left the hotel room.
“He has a right to know,” I say slowly. “He loves her. If she sent this—”
“If she sent this. We don’t know. What’s the point of getting his hopes up when it might be unrelated? Furthermore, she sent this to me. What if she didn’t want him to see it?”
My stomach clenches, because there are too many unknowns. “I don’t know what to do.”
A look of sympathy passes over Damon’s handsome face. “Did I give you the impression you had a choice? My apologies. You don’t need to worry. There’s nothing for you to decide.”
The certainty in his voice is a cold finger along my spine. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’ll be staying here until you solve this.”
It’s almost a relief, the pain. The end I’ve been waiting for. Waking up after a beautiful dream. “No.”
There’s a catch in my voice proving I don’t mean it. He smiles a little. “You can fight if it makes you feel better. I’ll enjoy pinning you down.”
And I realize how sometimes you end up in a web. Not through traps and trickery, but walking right through the front door. “So why don’t you?”
“I don’t have to. You want to stay. You need to know what that message means. And what’s more, you’ll get off on figuring it out. We’ll both enjoy this.”
“I won’t,” I say through clenched teeth.
A low laugh fills the large room. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and find out.”
The bed looms between us, once an innocuous piece of furniture, now a weapon. A wall. “I’m not sleeping in this bed with you.”
“Of course not,” he says, gesturing to a side door. “You’ll be in there.”
It’s too much to hope that there’s a hallway. A small little guest room with a lock I can turn on the doorknob. My feet are filled with lead as I find out.
The doorknob turns easily, revealing a very dark room. It takes me a moment to figure out what I’m looking at—not a closet. Almost as small, though. There’s a bed so thin and flat it must be a cot. And a chest of drawers. The furniture here is solid but plain, in contrast to the ornate carvings and heavy brocade in Damon’s bedroom. No other door leading out, only this one, leading in.
Beside the bed is a small bell attached to the wall. I stare at it, puzzled. And then turn to look over my shoulder. Beside Damon’s overlarge bed, there’s an old-fashioned switch.
My stomach drops as I realize what this is. Servant’s quarters.
Made for someone who serves the king.