Chapter 87

Abby

The room smelled like dust, cedar, and old paper.

Vincent turned on two lamps.

Warm light spread across shelves packed with books, wooden boxes, rolled maps, and objects I couldn’t identify.

It looked less like an archive and more like generations of people had hidden things there whenever they didn’t know what else to do with them.

Portraits covered the far wall.

Most were turned inward.

Facing the stone.

That was unsettling.

“Why are those backward?”

Vincent closed the door behind us.

“Tradition.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No.”

He walked past me.

“Blackridge had periods when certain histories were considered dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?”

“Politically. Magically. Sometimes simply embarrassing.”

Kade looked toward the hidden portraits.

“And the Moonsilver line was one?”

“Yes.”

Vincent stopped before the largest portrait.

Its back faced us.