Starling (129 page)

She collapsed back against the wall, her slender frame sliding
down the front of the wooden panel. “You’re right,” she whispered.
“Siena wouldn’t have wanted you to die. Either of you. She loved you
both.” She looked up at Cass, broken, miserable. “What have I
done?”
“Feliciana,” Cass said firmly. “Listen to me. You’ve done nothing.
I’m fine. Help us open this door and you’ll be free of Joseph Dubois
forever.”
“But then where will I go?” Feliciana asked. She looked so afraid,
younger, almost like Siena.
Cass heard shouts through the bedroom window. Soldiers. They
were close. “You can come with us,” she said hurriedly. “If you would
like.”
Both Luca and Feliciana looked shocked. “You would do that for
me, after I betrayed you?” Feliciana asked.
“I know what it’s like to have your emotions guide you into a
storm.” Cass met Luca’s gaze. “I also know what it’s like to be rescued
from that storm, to be forgiven.”
Tentatively, Feliciana took a step forward. “And you’re certain
Dubois
will
be arrested?”
“Yes,” Cass said. There was not a whisper of doubt in her mind.
She turned back to the wooden panel, her fingers stroking each of the
six petals. “Can we hack through the wood?” she wondered aloud.
“Let’s find out.” Luca drew his sword.
“No.” Feliciana reached out to touch Luca’s arm. “I know Joseph.
He’ll have set a trap for thieves. If you try to break in, you’ll probably get stabbed with a wooden stake or have acid sprayed in your
eyes.”
“She’s right.” Pounding her fist against the center of the door in
frustration, Cass tried to imagine other words that Dubois might use.
Feliciana studied the letters inside each petal. She bit her lip in
concentration. “Have you tried the word etched into the griffin’s
sword?” When Cass furrowed her brow, Feliciana continued. “The
griffin on the Dubois crest?”
“Victory,” Luca said.
“Good idea.” Cass’s heart hammered against her rib cage. Could
it be that easy? She had a good feeling. Holding her breath, she
pressed the petals that corresponded to the letters in the word
victory.
But nothing happened. And then she remembered the word on
the crest was French, like Dubois. Of course! She pressed the petals
again.
V-I-C-T-O-I-R-E.
The door still didn’t budge. Cass fought the urge to kick something. It had felt right. So right. Her eyes searched the room desperately, looking at the bed, the armoire, the painted murals, anything
that might hold a clue.
Wait. The murals: Dionysus, Athena, and Nike.
Nike, the Greek goddess of victory.
Cass turned back to the wooden panel and pressed the petals that
corresponded with
N-I-K-E.
With a soft rumble, the panel slid back to reveal an opening in the
wall.
Finally. Cass prayed the secret enclosure held the Book of the
Eternal Rose. It had to. She stepped inside and swallowed back a
gasp. The chamber was about the same size as a tomb and laid out
similarly, with shelves on either side of a narrow center passage. Only