In the process, I learn the overall layout of the monastery. The building is four stories high, though that much I knew from the outside. It’s ancient, not as old as the wall, but shows its age with patches of fresh brick and mortar. Much like the wall, it seems to have been made from a handful of combined towers. There are walkways that lead to nowhere, closed off as it’s beenbuilt on over time, or barred by locked doors, winding inner corridors, and new structures wedged where they fit. There are stairs that dead-end in dusty storerooms filled with nonsensical things like massive casks that could fit a person, rows of empty weapon racks, or crates that have all been nailed shut and bolted together—probably filled with ritual supplies we don’t need to be getting into. There are more prayer rooms than I can count, each bearing tiny tokens on the walls of the five tenets of the Creed. I quickly search them all but find nothing.
The chapter house and library are in one of the connected towers, physical training and combat arenas in another, then residence hall, gardens, workshops for artifice and renewing, and myriad other rooms whose original purposes seem lost to time. I find myself turned around more than once, but I eventually begin to navigate by memory.
Yet, for all my exploring, I don’t find a single key. But I do spot Lucan several more times and immediately strike out in the opposite direction. He’s following me, no doubt at the vicar’s direction, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of even acknowledging his existence. I ignore him repeatedly, until he eventually gives up, wandering back toward the central atrium as I search high and low. Backtrack. Double-check every nook and cranny.
I remain empty-handed as dusk turns the sky orange. I glance over my shoulder, half expecting to find the vicar’s watchdog lurking in the shadows again, but I’m alone, which is…irritating? And that irritates me even more.
It’s not like I wanted him to complete this challenge for me… But I’d be lying if I said at this point I wouldn’t appreciate it.
Defeated, I take a deep breath and head for the residence hall stairs. Every step of the climb to the fourth floor feels like a funeral procession. If Saipha didn’t manage to find a key…we’ll both be at the whim of the inquisitors tonight. And, based onhow tight my skin feels, I’m not sure if I’ll survive it.
11
Saipha is waiting for me on the fourth floor, a key in her hand held triumphantly aloft. “Got one!”
I hug her so fiercely it’s practically a tackle. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“They let me pick the room, too. Exchanged the key I found for one to a room of my choosing—I picked the one up here.”
I lean away, beaming. “You are brilliant.”
“I take it you didn’t get one?” She pats my back.
“No.” I release her with a sigh. “Where was it?”
“I noticed all the keys people found were in or around something related to dragons,” she says.
And here I am, too scared to even look at the statue, much less stick my hand in its mouth and rummage around. I’ve never admitted to my friend how dragons make me freeze up. Part of me has always been afraid of what she’d think.
So instead of mentioning it now, I just say, “I’m glad you noticed. I only ever saw one person with a key.”
No sooner have my words left my mouth than the copper box on the wall pops to life with a sizzle of Etherlight. “All supplicants with a key are to report to the residence hall. Only one supplicant is permitted per room. Those without a key may continue searching into the night to find their refuge.”
Our gazes meet, and her eyes widen with guilt. “Isola, I—”
“Don’t worry about it. You got your key on your own. You earned a good night’s rest. I’ll be fine.” The words leave a foul taste on my tongue, soured with how wrong they are.
“Yes, you will.” Saipha nods and takes a few steps back, then opens the second door from the top of the stairs. We share a last look before she closes it behind her.
As the lock on her door engages, the confident smile I wasgiving her falls. I’m reminded of just how exposed I am. I look to the window at the far end of the hall. The city is vanishing in the quickly fading light. My heart shudders. I lose a breath and a beat at the same time.
I could wait out the night holed up in a defensible location, or I could keep searching for a key. I know what a Mercy Knight would do.
I walk down the stairs again and out to the central atrium, then stop mid-step. All the exits to different stairwells and hallways are closed. I check the nearest door, jiggling the handle. It doesn’t budge. I try the next. Locked. Every single one refuses to open.
The idea of being locked inthisroom has me dragging my eyes to the statue and tapestries. Every dragon seems more realistic as night falls, their eyes shining as if they could come to life at any moment. The individual stitches glisten in the fading light like they’re about to leap off the fabric.
Daring to approach the blue one, I scan the threads that perfectly depict large shards of ice coming off the monster’s claws. Maybe they locked this room to force me to check here. I try to warm myself up to the idea of getting closer to dragons than my body wants to allow. Yet, as I draw closer, my skin prickles and my throat feels hot. I massage my neck.Is it bulging more than normal? Hotter than normal?
Another set of footsteps draws my attention back to the residence hall. My eyes meet Lucan’s, and my heart beats harder as I remember what Cindel said earlier:You get to be Valorandhave him.
Gross, I think in reply.
No, my heart is beating like this because I am relieved not to be alone in a room of dragon imagery—even if not being alone means being near him. Definitely not beating hard because I’m alone with a boy, and this might be the first time ever in my lifewhen that’s happened.
Determined to not let him see my nerves, I fold my arms, mirroring how he was last night with Mum and me in that cell. I wonder if he catches it.
“You didn’t get a key, either?” he asks. His voice is low and soft, meant for cloistered halls and prayer studies. But there’s a hard edge under its almost gentle hum.That’swhat I don’t trust. That rougher part of him that his put-together, holier-than-thou facade hides. But I know it’s there—he wouldn’t be the vicar’s son without it.
