“Shall we?” I ask, and hold out the lantern.
He takes it with an amused smile, and my fingers slide against his gloves briefly. “After you,” he says.
Cobwebs brush against my face as I head down the tunnel. It’s clear this passage hasn’t been used in a while, but I’m still careful to keep my footsteps light, just in case there is someone up ahead. Even Dorian’s sneakers barely make a sound as he follows close behind me. The glow from the light makes the shadows on the walls shift, and for a moment, it’s easy to think we’re disappearing into the belly of the underworld, walking into unknown danger.
“If we’re caught, what do we say?” I whisper.
“You sound like you’ve got an idea.”
“We were kidnapped? Thrown into this dungeon against our will?”
I can hear the amusement in Dorian’s voice. “You really think that’d work?”
I whip around, making him stop in his tracks. “Or we can lie and tell them we were making out.”
“Good lie.” He lets out a laugh and his white, perfectly straight teeth peek out for only a moment. He’s so pretty, it makes my heart ache. “But let’s just plan on no one catching us,” he says, nudging me onward with his gloved hand.
I exhale.
The tunnel opens up into a massive space. Even the light from the lantern can’t reach the farthest end. We’re standing on a high platform, and stone stairs in front of us wind downward, disappearing into lower tunnels, spiraling into the blackness below us. Wooden beams crisscross each other to hold up the structures around us, and ropes dangle from pulleys and wheels. Faces carved into rock decorate the walls, their stony eyes watching over the cavern like guardians. Ominous.
“Whoa,” says Dorian, too amazed to keep his voice down. It echoes in the cavern, multiplying as it fades. The sound of running water comes from far below us, maybe an underground river of some kind. A person could get lost in here if they didn’t know where to go. Suddenly I’m thankful for the map.
We plunge deeper into the bowels of the labyrinth, the light from the lantern illuminating our path. We follow the map, trudging through more tunnels, more stairs, more ramps. My knees are shaking when we reach the door to the archive.
Dorian takes out the key, but when he puts it in the lock, he pauses.
“It’s already open,” he says.
Something is wrong.
Dorian douses the lamp before he opens the door. The lights in the room are off, save for a fire roaring in the fireplace. Raven mentioned it might be magicked, to preserve the books, so I’m not surprised it’s still burning. In any case, the magical fireplace is not the most impressive element of the room. There are thousandsupon thousands of books packed into towering shelves. Dorian gazes upward, taking in the scene with a kind of slack-jawed amazement. I, too, stand in awe. A place like this, hidden underground, only accessible to the elite? What a waste.
Where do we even start? I’m paralyzed with choice.
But before either Dorian or I can start browsing, footsteps echo in the distance.
There’s someone here.
Dorian and I stare at each other, frozen in fear, then he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me around the corner. Desperate, we search for somewhere to hide as the footsteps draw closer.
Hurry,I mouth to him.
He grimaces, but then his eyes go to the fireplace, and he pulls me toward it. There’s a small opening, a gap behind it just barely wide enough for us to slip through. It must be where the attendants go to check the fire. It’s just big enough for the both of us to hide.
A shadow passes in front of the opening, the footsteps growing louder. Dorian and I are pressed up against each other, chest to chest. I don’t breathe. We stand frozen, watching, waiting. Then a person appears. His iconic ruby earring glints in the firelight.
“That’s Warden Stone,” I whisper. “We are so fucked.”
“Shh,” says Dorian. “I don’t think he can hear us. Just stay calm.”
“What’s he doing here this late?”
Dorian shrugs. His guess is as good as mine. “Warden things? Must be why the door was unlocked. Guess we’re stuck here until he leaves.”
Warden Stone looks tired, weathered and aged like a crumpled-up piece of paper, as if he never went to bed in the first place. Whatever work he’s doing, it must be important.
“We might be here for a while,” I say.
