“Can you summon flame?” I ask.
“The smallest one.”
“Why don’t I try the keys while you hold a light close?”
The weight surprises me when she passes the thick, cool ring into my hands. I grope for a proper grasp. Then Lila snaps.
The sound claps through the silence, bounces off the stones. My spine goes rigid, my breath held. We listen for the sound of footsteps. None come—and neither does a flame from her skin.
“Shit,” she mutters. “Okay, we’re only going to try that once more.”
She snaps again and this time, there’s a spark from her fingertips, the smallest bud of a flame. Crouching, Lila levels it with the lock. I examine the brass keyhole, select a large ring that’s turned green.
It doesn’t fit. I try the next bronze ring, then another. Glancing at the keys, I determine that there must be at least ten of them.
“What was that?” Lila whispers next to me, a hand on the wall. Her light begins to fade, the lock and keys slipping into the dimness once more.
“What was what?”
“The screaming.”
I drop the keys. They clatter to the ground, and Lila’s light goes out. Blood pounds in my ears, and I force myself to breathe until my heart calms. The only noise that greets us is a faint drip-drip-drip deeper in the Pith.
After a moment, she mumbles: “I thought I heard screaming. I’m sorry.”
“Could’ve been the quaking. Maybe we should leave and try again.”
“When will we have another chance such as this? With Maxian distracted and you here to help me?”
She’s not wrong. It’s been almost a moon since I started working in Reign, and while we have another together before I temporarily return to Illusion, when will Maxian be once again occupied?
So I pat around for the keys. My fingers find dirt and the ridge of a small leaf, peeking through a crevice in the structure. I suck in a breath. How is it possible? In a dark place with no room to grow, no rich soil, and still, a little life has begun to flourish.
I find the keys. By feel, I eliminate several we’ve already tried. Lila and I determine that the sound of the snap isn’t worth so little light, so instead, I guide a new key into the lock. Something clicks.
Moving aside, I hear her grasp the key and whisper, “Etoles.”
The entrance creaks open, a high-pitched whine, as if a creature has been resurrected against its will. Lila grapples for my arm; her touch is damp with sweat, as is mine.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Never.”
Together, we wander into the abandoned bedroom.
The smell greets me first, musky and full. The scent of abandonment. Twinkling lights scatter across the floor like faerie lights. Not powerful, but plentiful, and it’s enough to illuminate the room.
I bend down, seeking to brush one with my finger. But my shadow descends, and that’s when I understand that the lights are not embedded in the floor. In fact, they’re not tangible at all.
“Look up,” Lila says.
When I do, my breath stops. The room itself is three levels tall, with no windows on any of the walls. Yet the entire ceiling is made of glass, displaying the brilliant, speckled night sky above us. It gives the illusion that we stand at the bottom of some giant well.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It always was,” my friend replies, gaze scanning the chambers.
I survey the space, a rectangular bedroom with tapestries, a four-poster bed in its center, a desk pushed up on the far wall, anempty weapon rack on the other. Across from where we entered is another egress, a passageway to another chamber.
