WHAT GREW IN THE CORRIDOR

Isabella

I returned from the tower before dawn and the corridor was not quiet.

A palace guard was slumped outside my chamber door. He was wrapped from throat to ankle in silver vines that had burst through the stone floor. The vines were thick and bright even in the dark corridor.

"He is unconscious," I said when I saw him.

Two of the night watch stood back against the far wall. They did not come close to him.

"Miss Isabella, do not touch him," one of the watch said. He whispered even though there was no one sleeping nearby. "It is witchcraft. We have never seen vines like that inside the castle."

"What happened to him?" I asked.

"We found him like this when we came for patrol," the second watch said. "A knife lies beside his hand. He was holding it when the vines took him."

I looked down and saw the knife. It was a plain steel knife, the kind the palace guards used. It lay beside his right hand, just outside the wrap of vines.

"The tips of the vines pulse faintly," I said softly.

"Like a sleeping animal's breath," the first watch said, and his voice shook.

The mark on my collarbone throbbed under my dress. It was a dull ache that grew stronger with each step I took toward my door.

"I think the palace itself has been protecting me while I was upstairs with James," I said to my wolf.

"How can stone protect you?" my wolf asked.

"I do not know," I said. "But I was upstairs with James all night and these vines grew here while I was gone."

I took one step closer to the guard. The vines reacted.

"Look," the second watch said. "They moved."

My steps brought the vines to life, and they leaned toward me and then drew back. They did not try to grab me. They leaned toward my collarbone and then pulled away, as if they recognized me and then remembered their task.

"They know you," the first watch whispered.

"They left something," I said.

They had left a single silver bloom on the floorboards, right in front of my door. It was small and closed, no bigger than a coin.

"What is that?" the second watch asked.

"I do not know," I said.

I knelt down to look at it. The mark on my collarbone throbbed harder.

"It hums," I told my wolf. "Do you hear it?"

"I hear it," my wolf said. "It hums like a voice."

The bloom opened while I watched it. It did not open like a normal flower. It opened slowly, petal by petal, and the hum grew louder.

And then the voice that came out of it was one I had never heard but I recognized at once, soft and tired and warm.

"Who are you?" I whispered to the bloom, but I did not let the guards hear me.

The bloom did not answer with words at first. It sang.

It sang the third verse of the lullaby. The verse my mother had stopped singing the night she left. The verse Vanya refused to speak inside these walls.

"What does it say?" my wolf asked.

I hid my reaction from the guards, but the words lodged in my memory whole, each word clear and perfect, as if someone had written them directly inside my head.

"A silver door beneath the roses, where the frost never thaws," the voice sang. It was a woman's voice. It sounded like my mother, but younger.

"A silver door beneath the roses," I repeated inside my head.

"What does it mean?" my wolf asked.

"I do not know yet," I said.

The bloom closed again after it finished the verse. The hum stopped.

"What was that?" the first watch asked. He had stepped closer now. "Did you hear something?"

"I heard nothing," I said quickly. I kept my face calm even though my heart beat fast. "It was just wind in the corridor."

"It did not sound like wind," the second watch said.

"It was wind," I said again. "Please, call someone to move the guard. He needs help."

The guards looked at each other and then nodded.

"We will call the dungeon master," the first watch said. "He will take the assassin to the cells."

"Is he an assassin?" I asked.

"He had a knife outside your door," the second watch said. "What else would he be?"

They dragged the guard away after cutting the vines with a sword. The vines did not resist. They fell to the floor and turned to ash as soon as the guard was removed.

Later that morning, news came that the assassin died in the dungeon before he could be questioned.

"He died from poison in a hollow tooth," a maid told me when she brought my breakfast. "The guards said he bit down on it when they locked the cell."

"Did he say anything before he died?" I asked.

"He said nothing," the maid said. "He died quickly."

When I went to the tower to tell James what I found, he was sitting by the window with his arm wrapped.

"I found a guard outside my door this morning," I told him as soon as I entered. "He was wrapped in silver vines that came through the stone floor. He had a knife."

"Was he sent to hurt you?" James asked.

"The night watch called him an assassin," I said. "He had a knife beside his hand."

"Are you hurt?" James asked. He stood up quickly.

"I am not hurt," I said. "The vines stopped him before he could enter. The palace itself protected me while I was upstairs with you."

"The palace?" James said. He frowned.

"My steps brought the vines to life," I said. "They leaned toward me and then drew back. They left a bloom on the floor."

"What kind of bloom?" James asked.

"A silver bloom," I said. "It hummed and it sang the third verse of my mother's lullaby. It said a silver door beneath the roses, where the frost never thaws."

James stared at me for a long time.

"I had nothing to do with it," he said quietly. "Since I was with you all night, I could not have grown vines outside your door."

"I know you had nothing to do with it," I said. "I know you were with me all night."

"The vines are far older than my family's rule," he said. "My father told me once that the castle was built around something that was already here. The silver vines were here before the stones."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means the castle does not belong to my family as much as my family likes to think it does," he said. "It means something older chose to protect you today."

I sat down beside him and held the memory of the verse in my head.

"A silver door beneath the roses," I said out loud. "Where the frost never thaws."

"What do you think it means?" James asked.

"The roses can only mean the garden where the beast came over the wall," I said. "There are no other roses in the castle that grow near a wall that high."

"You think the door is in that garden?" James asked.

"I remember kneeling beside the fallen creature and noticing one small patch of ground where the frost had not thawed even when the sun climbed the walls."

I remember kneeling beside the fallen creature and noticing one small patch of ground where the frost had not thawed even when the sun climbed the walls.