"But you have some idea."
"If we were truly five when we arrived, then I'm twenty-five. Give or take." I glance up at him, curiosity getting the better of me. "How old are you?"
He huffs a laugh, but there's something hollow beneath it. "That's ... complicated."
The way he says it makes me wonder just how complicated. Centuries, he'd said. The curse has lasted three hundred years, and he's been trying to break it since the beginning.
I decide not to push.
"To answer your question," I say, "I was too young and naive to care what the texts contained. Which is probably exactly why they chose me for the task."
"Who does it now?"
"The luminaries, I think. Initiates waiting for full membership. They're too focused on proving their loyalty to question what they're carrying." I pause. "Mother relies on that. On people being too afraid of disappointing her to ask dangerous questions."
"Sounds like a High Sage."
"You've known others?"
He nods, his expression unreadable. "A few."
We turn right at a fork in the tunnel and emerge before the first burial chamber. Malachi slows to study it: marble columns flanking iron doors twice his height, the metal worked with symbols I've never been able to decipher.
"Have you ever been inside?"
"A few times." I smile despite myself. "Arlo was terrified of the hupia legend when we were children. Convinced the spirits of the dead would drag him into the crypts if he got too close. Once, I hid inside and jumped out at him." The memory surfaces, bright and warm. "I thought he was going to die of fright. Or murder me on the spot."
"Arlo." Malachi's voice is carefully neutral. "The legion guard."
"Yes." The word scrapes against my throat. "He's my best friend. Or he was." I swallow. "He was raised in Veritas with us. By the Sages."
He says nothing, but I feel his attention sharpen. Another piece of the puzzle, clicking into place in that calculating mind of his.
I keep walking. Past the other chambers. Past the stairs that spiral up to the Noxbridge Library. Toward the massive torch that burns at the end of the hall, its flame casting dancing shadows on the ancient stone.
I stop beneath the archway and study the three staves mounted on the wall. The central one burns eternally, its flame blue-white and unwavering. The flanking torches remain dark, their braziers cold.
"I've never actually opened the vaults," I admit as Malachi comes to stand beside me. His presence is warm at my back, solid and grounding. "But I understand the mechanism is similar to the doors. Fire and intention."
"Similar enough." He moves past me, close enough that I catch his scent, cedar and rain, and surveys the hall. "Which side is the Veritas vault?"
"The right." I watch him take the torch from its bracket and light it from the eternal flame. "The left was meant for the Council, but they have no access to the tunnels. Part of the treaty. Their vault is in the House of Knowledge."
"Interesting," he murmurs, and I can practically hear him filing the information away.
I watch the door, expecting a click, a groan, something. Nothing happens.
Malachi crosses to it without hesitation. He sets the torch into the cradle beside the frame and turns it, slow and deliberate, until something within the mechanism catches. Then he presses his palm flat against a dark square of stone I hadn't noticed, and holds.
The door sighs. There's no other word for it. A sound like ancient lungs releasing centuries of held breath. Then it swings inward, revealing only darkness beyond.
"How did you do that?" I whisper.
He glances back at me, firelight dancing in his eyes. "Magic."
I snort, but my heart is racing.
I follow him in. The door swings shut behind us, and the darkness is immediate and absolute. I can't see my own hand in front of my face. Jordi always told me fire was forbidden inside the vault, the risk to the texts too great, but standing here in the black, I don't know what else to do.
