The stairs wound up a narrow tower. Here, however, the ceiling had collapsed in places. As in the Great Hall, the elements had overcome most rooms. Snow fell gently in the solar, where an ornately carved fireplace crackled. Its light danced on tapestries of magical beasts and beautiful women—each of their eyes seemed to follow us as we passed. I swore one even craned her elegant neck.

“This room is for Morgane’s personal use.” Lou pointed to the wooden desk in the corner. A peacock-feather quill scratched at parchment of its own volition. The falling snow didn’t mar the paper, nor the carpets or tapestries. It didn’t stain the decorative woodwork. It simply melted into nothing in the warm, balmy air. In the corner, a harp plucked itself gently.

The entire scene was eerie.

“Her bedchamber is also in this tower.” She gestured to a room beyond the harp. “And her oratory. She forbade me from entering this part of the castle, but I snuck in anyway.”

“And the treasury?” Jean Luc asked.

“Directly above us.” Shuffling to the bookcase beside the desk, she studied the tomes there. Her silver brows furrowed in concentration. “The door is somewhere . . .” Her fingers stilled on an ancient book bound in black cloth. On its spine, letters had been stamped in gold: L’argent n’a pas d’odeur. She tapped it with a wicked grin. “Here.”

When she pulled the book toward her, the entire wall groaned. Gears clanked. And the bookcase—it swung open. Beyond it, a steep, narrow staircase disappeared into the dark. She bowed slightly, still grinning, and snapped her fingers. The scent of magic burst around us—fresher than before—and a torch on the wall in the stairwell sprang to life. “After you.”

Beau removed the torch warily. A shadow bearing light. The unnatural sight of it lifted the hair on my arms. My neck. “You didn’t tell us the treasury was in her personal chambers.”

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Oh, yes.” Tentative, Beau stepped onto the first plank. It creaked under his weight. “The shadows, wraiths, and murderous witches would’ve paled in comparison to Morgane’s bed.” He hesitated and glanced back. “Unless—do you think she’ll be returning soon?”

Coco followed before the coward could reconsider. “I think she’s busy plotting the end of the world.”

“This place . . .” Célie stared longingly over her shoulder as she too ascended. Her eyes lingered on the peacock quill before settling on the harp. Its golden strings. Her body swayed slightly to the haunting melody. “It’s so beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes. “You almost died outside, Célie.”