41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

T he next few days are a blur of meetings and responsibilities. Luc doesn't discourage me from attending, but mostly I get the feeling that is because he thinks I don't understand the complexities of court or the issues at hand. He may be right.

We travel into the city for lunches and dinners, each time greeted warmly and enthusiastically by Luc's people. Some women sob and reach out to touch him as we pass through the crowd. Was his father really that bad? One particular time, a woman hands Luc her child, begging him to bless the squirming, squalling babe. Luc kisses the baby on the head and hands it back to the mother.

"The Prophet is coming in for the crowning ceremony tonight," Luc says while staring out the carriage window. "But rest assured, I have not told anyone what you are. I will protect you." He glances at me and frowns, glancing at my necklace with bloodshot eyes. "I don't know why you insist on wearing that. It doesn't match any of your dresses." He sighs. "Nevertheless, I'm glad you've stepped up to the plate. It's been nice conversing with you about future policy."

I nod and twirl my necklace. It's easy to stay on Luc's good side when I stay mostly quiet or agree with whatever he says. However, I'm not going to attend that ceremony tonight. I don't think I ever want to see the Prophet again.

"Actually, I'm feeling quite unwell."

"Oh." He leans away slightly. The carriage stops, and the coachman opens the door. Luc climbs out a little quicker than usual. "Well, you should lie down. Hopefully, you're feeling up to it by this evening."

Something white plops on his shoulder, and Luc jumps back. "Ah, disgusting!" He looks frantically at the sky at the black raven that dips into the trees. He pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket and pats his shoulder.

***

I pull the covers tightly around my neck as Cirrus flies through the window. He lands near my head and croaks, tapping the top of my head with his beak.

"I'm fine." I shake my head, shooing him. "I'm pretending."

A knock at the door, and it cracks open. Luc steps in, appearing larger in full Helios regalia. He's magnificent in a tailored ivory and gold suit and white fur cloak. Decorative robes and sashes adorn his body, as well as several medals and jewels.

"Still not feeling well? That's a shame. My love will be here tonight. I was hoping you could meet her." He steps in, and I roll away from him and groan. I slip my finger into my mouth and tickle the back of my throat until I gag loudly. Jumping out of bed my feet slap the floor, and he steps back.

"Washroom." I run past him to the bathing chamber and slam the door. I shove my finger back in my mouth until I vomit on the floor.

I crack the door. "I didn't make it."

His eyes widen at my mess on the floor, and he steps back into the hall. "You should stay here. Send for the herbalist if you want anything to aid your sleep."

If my assumption is correct, parts of the castle should be fairly unoccupied tonight during the festivities. I clean up my mess and change into the servant's uniform I stole from the laundry facilities earlier.

I walk the entire second and third floors of the north wing and find nothing but a large ballroom and several unoccupied suites with white sheets thrown over all the furniture. I wind my way down the spiral staircase to the first floor, and I'm beginning to lose hope. The first floor, like the other floors, looks ordinary. However, there's a notable lack of foot traffic. I wipe a finger along the rim of a portrait, leaving a clean trail in the dust. They're not cleaning regularly over here. Why?

I continue my thorough investigation, opening each door and walking through the abandoned rooms until I find an old study in which books have long since been removed. I pick up a gold-plated lamp. "I wonder if they would even notice if someone came in here and took some of this stuff," I speak to Cirrus on my shoulder, but he doesn't respond. I place the lamp carefully back into the dustless ring it left on the desk.

Footsteps echo in the hall, and a long shadow passes the door frame. That part of my brain that activates while I'm on a mission takes over, and I move without thought. I creep silently to the door and peer around the frame. The tall, thin man with the grey goatee stands near one of the portraits. He looks over his shoulder, and as he scans this way, I duck back out of sight.

As I peer back around the door frame, the man tips the portrait properly back into place. There's a faint sound of gears clinking and then a soft thud. Several marble tiles in the hallway shift, creating a stairway leading out of sight below. With each step the man takes down the stairs, my heart pounds harder. Should I follow? Remembering Razenna's words, ‘You're not helpless,' I jump into action.

Crouching low, I move swiftly to the stairway, which is already moving back into its previous position.

I attempt to pull the portrait away from the wall, but it doesn't budge. I try lifting, twisting, and even cursing at it before I notice the small dustless patch near the upper right corner. I have to stand on my tiptoes to press into the frame.

I celebrate inwardly as the raised design on the frame recesses with a click, and the portrait juts away from the wall. I look under the frame and spot a hidden lever, which I twist. My heart races at the soft sound of gears and the low thud. I quickly press the portrait back into place.

The marble floor moves, and I glance around, making sure I am still alone. The last step falls into place. Quickly , my darkness says to me. I don't hesitate, emboldened by her voice. I reach the dirt floor at the bottom of the stairs just as they begin to shift upward back into place. The last step snaps into place above, leaving me in darkness, and I realize I have absolutely no idea how to get back out of here. What have I done?

I stumble backward, and my back hits a wall. My breathing is erratic, and I feel light-headed. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and slow my breathing, remembering the tips Eoin gave me: ‘Slow down. Find a clear head so you can make a plan.' His voice and his words bring me comfort, and I slowly open my eyes back up.

Faint light glows ahead on the path to the left. Instinctively, I reach for the dagger at my thigh, but I've neglected to wear it. When did I get out of the habit of wearing it? I scold myself inwardly and move forward.

I peer around the bend before turning left. The long tunnel is empty but faintly illuminated by a thin glass tube that runs along the ceiling. Radiant wavering light runs through it, rippling like water moving rapidly down the hall. The end of the hall opens up to a round room with many tunnel openings, each with rippling light tubes traveling through them. All of the glass tubes conjoin at the center of the ceiling above me, emptying into a larger glass tube.

I peer into an adjoining hallway and take a few steps, not sure if this is the way he went or not. The light dims as fewer and fewer tubes run across the ceiling, and I freeze against the wall as a guard crosses the tunnel ahead, dragging a manacled prisoner. The scrape of a rusty metal cell door echoes through the tunnel, and I turn around.

I slip back to the large round room, and I follow the larger, brighter tube down the tunnel, curiosity peaked.

Cirrus flies ahead, and as we approach the end of the hallway, I notice several other small glass tubes coming down the walls, all heading in the same direction. There's enough light emanating from the now multiple radiating tubes that I can walk forward at a comfortable, confident pace.

A faint pulsing hum grows louder with each step. The rippling light that runs through the tube refracts, scattering colorful dancing waves of light throughout the dirt and stone passageway. It reminds me of swimming underwater in the gulf with Eoin.

Ahead, a black iron door stands ajar, spilling rippling iridescent light into the tunnel. The light tubes above travel through the wall into the adjacent room. I reach for the door and freeze, hearing a voice I recognize.

"That's a shame," Luc says. "I was really hoping it would be ready to test by now." His tone is dripping with disappointment and impatience. "How many are we up to now?"

"This one here will make two hundred twenty-seven." A voice I don't recognize responds to Luc. The voice is distant. Cirrus hops on my shoulder, and I lean closer to the cracked door. "Production has slowed as we've had some rainy days."

"We have a string of sunny days coming. I will declare a Sun holiday." Luc's voice grows louder. I back away from the door into the corner just as the door swings open towards me. Luc steps into the hall, hand still on the door handle and continues talking over his shoulder. "Make sure you have an abundance of glass basins available. I have to get to the ceremony. I expect to see more tomorrow."

I take slow, shallow breaths, trying to stay silent.

Luc steps past me and takes several steps before stopping. He tips his head slightly to one side and balls his gloved fists.

Help me, help me, help me. I plead with my darkness within. My focus narrows in on Luc, who slowly starts to turn back towards me. I avert my eyes remembering something that Eoin taught me. When you're hiding, it's your eyes that give you away. ‘Always look at the feet,' Eoin's voice replays in my mind.

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood; the semi-sweet, coppery taste coats my tongue. My darkness writhes within me, and I realize for the first time August wasn't giving me blood; he was giving it to her—a blood sacrifice to the deity within.

Hide me!

Quicker than ever before and just in time, shadows billow around me, covering me completely in the corner. As Luc faces me, I hold my breath. From his perspective, I'm sure it looks like a perfect shadow cast by the opened door. I've never seen my shadow take such a defined shape. I dare a glance at his face. He stares into the shadow, never meeting my eyes. The shadows under his eyes and the slight pink hue around his lash line make me wonder if he's been crying.

Tiny sparks dance across my vision, and my lungs burn. After what feels like several moments, Luc turns around and continues walking down the tunnel. I force myself to exhale slowly and quietly, eyes still fixed upon Luc's retreating form. I draw in precious air and peer around the opened door, shadows still cocooning me.

My eyes are drawn to the carriage-sized glass orb in the center of the room, half full of dazzling dancing light. Above the orb, several glass tubes intersect, dumping the strange liquid light into it. I duck into the room and tuck into another corner, shadows still folding around me. Across the room, the tall man with the grey goatee writes notes on a scroll and folds it into his satchel before exiting the room where Luc did.

I'm alone, but my shadows still surround me—protecting me. I approach the orb and raise my hand towards it. As my hand gets closer, the hair on my head stands, and bolts of light zap between my hand and the orb. Below the orb, a long, ornate gold spike pulls the light into the orb. It looks familiar. I think it's a spire.

This isn't light. This is pure raw magic pulled in from the fae outside.

I walk around the orb more cautiously now, not sure how dangerous raw magic can be. I stroll over to the table the man was taking notes at and find Luc's copy of The Tome of Thisby . I flip through pages aimlessly. The scribes did good work, copying all this text so quickly, even including drawings.

I stop. Papers rustle as I flip back several pages. I thought I saw. . .

An older fae with white hair and prominent forehead wrinkles stands in a group of males, a deep scowl on his face. It's unmistakably the Prophet. The caption ‘All but one voted to ensure Maris's tomb could only be opened by fae.'

I knew it. I glance around the room and swallow hard before tearing the page out. I knew that sneaky bastard was up to more than we thought, though I'm still not exactly sure what that is. And how the hell is he so old? Fae only live about four hundred years. This book was written almost that long ago. I roll the page up tightly, tuck it into my waistband, and my eyes catch an unusual section of bricks in the wall. Experience tells me something is hiding behind them.

I pull one of the bricks, and the section swings open, revealing a tall, narrow secret compartment. Wedged between a helmet and a shield is the replica relic sword Selene sold to Luc. Why isn't it in a locked safe? This seems far too easy to get to. A crumpled paper at the bottom of the compartment catches my eye and I grab it.

Don't trust. . .

Don't trust who? The note appears to have been written hastily, and the name is so shaky that I can't even guess what this is about. I flip it over and find a poem. This must have been written on a page ripped from a book.

A feast for thine eyes as she grips thy soul

Beware her kept twin, eyes black as coal

If ye can flee, thou best be swift

For Death is her name, and death is her gift

Release the goddess, bring chaos to order

She grants thee no mercy, and gives thee no quarter

I'm temped to take the poem with me, but Luc may notice. Across the room, I find another iron door and open it. I descend the flight of stairs and halt. The sight before me is so vast, beautiful, and frightening, all I can do is stare.

Before me, in neat rows, lie dozens and dozens of carriage-sized orbs full of the iridescent raw magic—two hundred and twenty-six, if I had to guess. What is Luc going to do with this much magic?