“Where do you think we are?” Saipha asks.
“I don’t know, maybe—”
We hear the voices at the same time. Both of us rush to press against the wall, but the muffled sounds don’t change. We dare to continue slowly, crouched on instinct. There’s only one way to get up, and we’re risking whatever’s around the bend because we’re certainly not going back down there.
Around the next corner, the streak of orange underneath the crack of a door ahead is almost blinding. It’s where this narrow passageway ends. And behind that door is where the voices are coming from.
I glance at Saipha. She nods encouragingly. We creep forward until we’re close enough to listen through the thick wood.
“…too soon. We’ll need to do more things that involve all ofthem. Push them as a group to weed out prospects—look for any signs of weakness that might be attributed to the curse. The major tests will be a good opportunity for that.”It’s the woman who left me on the roof last night, I realize. Given how she’s speaking, she really is in charge. “I expect plans for the first test with the dawn.”
“Could it be a false alarm, prelate?” one of the other inquisitors asks.
“No, the dragon curse alarm was made by High Curate Kassin Thaz himself.”
Father?A chill sweeps through me from the top of my head to my feet.
“Could we run it again?”
“Unfortunately, the prototype was unstable and broke under the strain. Kassin says that he won’t have the proper supplies to make repairs for several months.”
Broke?My father’s inventions don’t break. Unless he was forced to make it in a rush? Even then… The notion is like a shoe on the wrong foot. It can’t be right.
“Even if we could fix it, it uses too much Etherlight,” the prelate continues. “The Creed doesn’t want us drawing on the Font like that. Besides, we don’t need any sort of alarm. We have the same tried-and-true methods that have been used in the Tribunal for centuries. You all saw it when the supplicants first convened. Its signal was clear—” She pauses before confirming the truth churning in my belly. “At least one of the supplicants this year is cursed.”
19
Saipha and I ease away from the door and share a look that has a thousand words wrapped up in it, though both of us keep our mouths pressed shut to prevent them from slipping out. Still, our worried expressions speak volumes.
At least one of the supplicants this year is cursed.
That sentence is going to haunt me the rest of my time here. It’s already consuming my thoughts as we slink away. It’s whittling at my hollow optimism and false hope. We pick up the pace as we gain some distance, forced to backtrack and hope that there was some way we missed.
Just around the bend from where we started—but in the opposite direction from where we went, of course—is a door with a lever embedded into the wall at its side. I glance to Saipha. She shrugs.Not like we have any other options, is what I’m sure we’re both thinking. As she pulls the lever, we brace ourselves.
The door slides open sideways, into the wall, and we emerge into a familiar staircase. As soon as Saipha releases the lever, the gears start to turn, and the door begins shuddering back into place. She slips through with a side-step just before it seals shut.
“A hidden passage…” she murmurs, keeping her voice low.
The doorway is now nothing more than a tall painting on the side of a staircase landing.
“There must be more of them. Remember how the vicar said people could be watching us even if we didn’t see them?” I run my fingers along the picture frame, looking for what mechanism might trigger the opening on this side. Whatever it is, it isn’t immediately obvious, and Saipha cuts my search short. I reluctantly agree that we should go before any inquisitors notice where we ended up.
We might have managed to give them the slip. For all they know, we’re still stumbling around in that dark room, screaming until our voices give out. Which means we might have a shot at getting to the greenhouse before they can manage to trap us in that horrible basement again. Or worse.
Ice coats my spine as we emerge into the familiar greenhouse. Its lush greenery and soft, filtered moonlight feel at odds with the fear coursing in my veins.One of us is cursed. It’s the only thought I can think. Over and over and over…
“Do you think we’ll be safe here?” Saipha asks, eyeing the walls.
“I don’t think we’re ‘safe’ anywhere. But I think sometimes you have to pretend the monsters aren’t real to be able to sleep.” I sound braver than I feel, and I guide us to the back, holding my breath as I pull open the door to the shed. It looks the same as yesterday, with all the pots and shelves appearing untouched.
“I doubt either of us is getting any sleep tonight.” Saipha steps inside, stumbling to the very back and collapsing with a huff.
My gaze flickers from the small table to the bags of fertilizer to a few tools for digging. I was hoping the little bowl Lucan mixed that poultice in might still be here. But it’s not. Did he take it with him to smudge the other sigils? Did he clean it up so no one else could use it? Did an inquisitor remove it?
I realize that I don’t actually know what happened to Lucan after I was gone, and that has something shifting uncomfortably within me. I spent the day in Saipha’s room only to come out as night fell. Did he get a key? What if the inquisitors got him? Or worse?
No, I am not going to worry about him. I imagine him casually walking away after handing me over to the inquisitors without so much as a blink to then make it a point to screw over any advantage I could have. Whatever compassion I was feeling for him evaporates like water off hot stones.
