From behind the broad frame of his lover, Midnight watched as Voltaire drew out and played once more with a strange set of keys; skeleton keys he’d called them.
“Don’t worry.” Tresilian leaned back, close enough to whisper directly into Midnight’s ear. “Voltaire is an expert cracksman. He’d put more than a few burglars to shame with his lock-picking skills. So long as the ladies ensure those guards are led away long enough for the weapons to be taken. That’s the bigger concern.”
“I think it was wise of Voltaire to leave investigating the tunnels under the palace to another time.” Midnight leaned into his lover. “I feel we’re all doing so much, that one more thing might just make everything collapse like a house of cards.”
“Shh!” Tresilian placed a finger over Midnight’s mouth. “Here they come.”