“Yes, I do remember him being exceptionally unpleasant.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she scoffs.

I can’t imagine how dreadful Lester was behind closed doors. I shake my head, remembering their father. Lachlan’s nervous disposition undoubtedly springs from Lester’s mistreatment. I snap out of my memories and turn my attention back to her.

“So, what exactly are we doing in here?” I say briskly. “Do you want me to try and burn it down or deface some of these hideous portraits?”

She snaps her fingers and gestures for me to move closer. She points down. “There,” she says. “Just by the crack in the stone. Do you see?”

I lean forward and squint; I can just make out a slight crevice. “So, the floor has cracked. Really, Theodore, all castles age.”

“Watch, will you?!” She hisses and drops to her knees. Reaching into a pocket, she pulls out a curved pin connected to a length of fine wire. She slides the pin into the crack, and it clanks softly against something metal.

“What is that?” I whisper and wonder if Lester’s ghost haunts us at this very moment.

She doesn’t respond, only lowers herself further towards the floor and keeps fishing for whatever lies beneath.

“Almost have it,” she says between gritted teeth. “There!” She gathers the fine wire until a small key appears. She jumps to her feet and bounces onto the bed. Balancing on the pillows, she pushes the key into the frame of a portrait. Besides watching her succeed in whatever plan she's concocted, I’ve no idea why I’m here. A click, and the entire portrait gently swings away from the wall.

“Remember when I asked if you still picked locks?”

“Yes, but it seems you don’t need me to. You have the key.”

“Wrong. I have one key. I need two. My father was a very secretive man.” She pushes the frame back further, and I see a safe built into the wall. A gold lock seals its hasp shut.

“What in the Guard’s name…” I murmur as I climb on the bed. “A double-locked safe? What’s hiding in there?”

Theodore flings herself onto the mattress and crosses her ankles. “Triple-locked, technically,” she says. “First, I had to find the key to his room, then the key to the portrait.”

“Why don’t we look for the third key?” I ask, fiddling with the metal. “This looks like no easy task.”

“I know it isn’t. I’ve tried many times myself. As for the third key, my father had it buried with him. So, unless you want to go to the guard-infested King’s cemetery and unearth my father’s corpse, this is our only chance.”

“Only chance for what?” I ask, still contemplating just how hard this lock will be to pick.