Pandora's Box

Chapter 8: Part III

The House of Sunsets looked entirely different covered under a thick blanket of nightfall than it had by daylight. The towering columns guarding the front of the mausoleum seemed even taller and the sweeping arches and sculptured molding harbored thick clouds of blackened nothing between them. The ambiance fared little better on the ground where shadows scurried around the dozens of warding statues.

"Careful, Pandora," Malachai said, offering a hand to the princess as the pair ascended the stone steps. "If I'm seen carrying you inside the castle because you've twisted an ankle after curfew, we'll both have some serious explaining to do."

Without the benefit of torchlight, Malachai navigated the darkened stairs with only fragments of moonlight splintered by the trees lining the mausoleum's approach. At the last second, he had convinced Pandora to change clothing from her billowing funeral attire to a more sensible riding outfit of rich brown leathers. He had traded the formal whites of his uniform for a stealthier watchman's uniform of dark greys. The ceremonial dagger, his only link to the Fallen, was sheathed in secret at the small of his back.

"I'd be more worried about having to explain this," Pandora replied. She tugged the thin strap of her satchel.

Malachai nodded. He shuddered to think exactly what the penalty would have been if the truth of the box had been revealed. He suspected what it was the first time he had laid eyes on it... two months prior. The Fallen had shown him the secret grove of dead trees then, and revealed the existence of the cursed treasure within. Patience had been the lesson that day; patience to let the larger, darker scheme play themselves out.

"On that we agree. For you a tower. For me—well I'd rather not consider it," Malachai replied. He spotted the edge of an approaching torch's flickering yellow sphere. "Quickly."

A pair of well-polished statues with eroded features was the only cover to be had. Malachai pointed to the closest and Pandora hurriedly dropped to a crouch in the slanting shadow by the old stone king's foot. Malachai let his modest training come to life, tracked the pattern of the swaying light, and then silently rolled into the shadow opposite Pandora's hiding place.

A burly guardsman with a bushy moustache ambled past, gut hanging over his weapon belt, lantern dangling from an outstretched arm. Malachai pressed a finger to his lips, then froze still as the stone he crouched beside. Pandora gave only the slightest nod. A moment later, the guard disappeared around a corner.

Malachai noticed pallid hue of Pandora's face and smirked. "Well it wouldn't be any fun otherwise."

"I didn't sneak out during the night watch to have fun." Pandora scowled. Malachai paid the meager expression no mind. He could hear the bounding of the princess's heart deep in his thoughts and knew beyond a doubt she had shared in the thrill. She'd see things through. He was certain of it.

The ceremonial entrance to the House of Sunsets was a pair of sixteen foot doors heavily worked with iron bracings. The various crests of previous royal families decorated the wood, each side displaying half of the kingdom's timeline in elaborate etchings painted in golddust. In the moonlight the crests reflected a soft gleam as though they possessed some forgotten arcane touch.

The more heavily trafficked caretaker's door was another story.

Malachai slipped a pewter key ring from a pouch on his weapon belt and gently eased it into the rickety old door's lock. Pandora cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Tt took you an hour to change clothes," Malachai protested. "It only took me ten minutes to change and lift the caretaker's keys from his quarters.

Pandora shrugged and gestured for Malachai to open the door. He shouldered it open, praying to every dark deity he could think of that the hinges remained asleep.

Success.

Once inside, Malachai softly closed the door behind them. Each took a moment to catch their bearings. Skylights at the cardinal compass points allowed the passage of what little moonlight the cloud-twisted sky had to offer. Squinting, Malachai saw high walls covered in the engraved placards that marked the individual crypts of the deceased royals. Some had letters worn to soft nubs by the passing ages, others the blankets of dust and cobwebs secured through decades of peaceful slumber. One such crypt's gaping blackness stood out among its siblings. Beneath it rest a glass casket awaiting final inspection by royal clerics the following sunrise.

King Drake.

"Is that him?" Pandora asked. "I can't see..."

Malachai heard the sudden tremble in Pandora's voice and acted quickly to secure his mission's ultimate goal.

"Yes, Highness. You're father is waiting. Go to him. Bring him home."