Free The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3) by Michael Foster Page A

the ledge was easy, making him question the effectiveness of his supposed security. Anyone intending to harm him could just as easily sneak inside—assuming they were as adventurous and nimble as he.
    He stretched his leg across the short gap to the neighbouring building and clambered down the latticework towards the hallway passage he had spied from his room. From there he stole inside, free to wander unhindered. No one had noticed his entry, and when he passed people in the hall—servants and finely garbed women and children—they gave him no mind. The occasional guard passed him by. Judging from this, they did not fear newcomers wandering their halls.
    He followed the brightly lit passageways, peering into various rooms. The place was cluttered. Store rooms overflowed and objects were piled one atop another. Furniture and equipment were strewn across floors; paintings and sculptures stacked haphazardly. Everything was hoarded away as if awaiting a time to be put back into use, but for now, it only gathered dust.
    In one room hung a great portrait, a grand leader in a jacket and tight fitting pants, with a tall, decorated hat. The artist had captured the man perfectly, for he seemed entirely lifelike, ready to leap from the frame. He looked menacing, a savage glint in his eye. Despite that, the fellow retained a regal air; a king or lord of some description. Judging from the size of the painting and the fact it had been selected over the others to be displayed, he was someone of importance. Leopold did not recognise him, but his attention was repeatedly drawn to those eyes. They reminded him of someone—of his father, he realised—but there the similarity ended.
    He browsed through more of the paintings that leant against the wall; all featured the same man. In some he was alone, in others different women stood by his side—dressed regally with crowns and magnificent jewellery. As Leopold flicked through the portraits, one caught his eye. He stopped, jamming his hand in to prevent the picture from flipping past. What he saw overwhelmed him, and his mind struggled to explain.
    In this particular depiction the woman standing beside the royal gentleman was his mother. She stood close to the man, white-gloved hands clasped in front. She looked much younger, but her features were unmistakable.
    Leopold gazed over the painting, wondering how she had come to be there with the strange man. She looked so young and the fellow so old. Was it her father perhaps or some other relative? If Leopold’s father was indeed the Emperor, then it made sense that his mother was once an empress. But a substantial problem remained: why were there no pictures of his father?
    The only one who might know the answer was Samuel. Leopold grimaced as he realised he would have to ask the magician.
    He moved on, re-entering the passage and following it around the girth of the building. It ended at a large sitting room, elegantly decorated with large cushioned chairs and splendid rugs. Peeping through the doorway, he found it inhabited by half a dozen aristocratic looking women, passing their time in conversation and handcraft while their children played at their feet.
    ‘Can I help you, young sir?’
    The voice startled him.
    A young woman was standing behind Leopold in the hall, dressed in a striking blue gown, tight fitting at her waist and puffy about her bust and shoulders, accentuating her hourglass figure. Her long brown hair was impressively braided and coiled upon her head. She was a few years older and Leopold felt immediately nervous to answer, caught in the act of sneaking about as he was.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he stammered. ‘I must have wandered the wrong way.’
    ‘Oh?’ she said, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘I have never seen you in Seakeep before.’
    ‘I just arrived,’ he said.
    The woman looked down the passage and Leopold thought she may be about to call the guards. Instead, she turned back