Directly across from us lies a dark passageway. The wide, rounded arch becomes a doorway into obscurity. Fire flickers on either side of the entrance, but only just. There’s a hollowness to it… I can’t say why, but this passage feels like it isn’t often traveled, and when it is, it’s with heavy hearts.
Something inexplicable calls to me from within. As if the castle itself wants me to find whatever’s down there.
That’s absurd, I reason. The castle isn’tsentient, for Christ’s sake.
I quickly catch up to Bes.
“Who decorated this place, the knights of the Crusades?”
He places his hands behind his back casually. “Ah yes, in between praying, and converting and murdering innocents in the name of God, they took up interior decorating.”
I grin. “It’s nice to have a hobby. Although I imagine the praying and the maiming kept them busy.”
He lowers his voice. “This place operates far too close to the Catholic church than anyone here would ever admit.”
I force my next breath to be calm, the urge to run more acute now than it was before, when I had a chance.
“It might shock you to learn that this doesn’t reassure me.”
His smile is strained. “Why do you think I’ve done all I can to stay away?”
Picking up the pace, we make our way down a few sets of short, stone stairwells. I’d hoped we’d be going up, but, alas, I may have seen the sun for the last time. My curiosity has a spotty past when it comes to getting me into trouble; I have no idea where I’m going to land this time, but I’m hoping on the side where I get to live.
I can tell we’re getting close to our destination when I hear voices. They rush along the walls like a swollen creek after a storm, awakening my wariness. How many people live in this underground stronghold? Bes’s uncle’s network of spies is much larger than I first surmised.
Turning the corner, Anders stands alone, waiting beside a looming stone entryway.Where’d Cec run off to?
Bes, however, doesn’t appear to have the same concern about his cousin. With no time to look for him, I allow Anders to lead us through the deep threshold. The murmuring swells into full-on conversations, though I can’t parse out what any one person is saying.
I straighten.I’m going to march up right to Arturo—Ansaldo—whoever—and demand he tell me who he thinks he is and what he can tell me about the amulet. I’m tired of being pulled this way and that. It’s time to get some answers.
The moment we enter the huge hall on the other side, the murmuring dies down until it stops altogether. Dozens of people fill this hall, seated at long, wooden tables.This is certainly not a small operation.Not even close.
This is Bes and Cec’s greatest lie yet.
All eyes land on the three of us before focusing on me: an outsider, the one among them who doesn’t belong here. They don’t have to say it aloud—I feel it in the way their gazes linger, in the quiet judgment of their furrowed brows and clenched hands.
In an instant, my bearings leave me and my pulse pounds loudly in my ears, my vision almost blurring. The weight of my pack and the suitcase in my hand disappears as heat radiates out from my chest and neck, threatening to spread to my cheeks. Facing death at the hands of the God Men, I can handle; facing a room full of strangers giving me their undivided attention is my worst nightmare.
What I wouldn’t give right now for the gift of invisibility the Amulet of Amun promises.
Don’t let them intimidate you, nipotina, Nonna often reminds me whenever I have to make a presentation at school.They’re more frightened of who you are and what you can do than you are of their judgment.
Tears threaten to prick the back of my eyes. She always knows what to say. Even when she’s not around to say it in person. It’s why I keep her in my heart always.
I desperately hope she hasn’t been keeping the truth of all this from me.
Bes leans in without breaking his stride. “Don’t let them frighten you,” he says, practically parroting Nonna’s words.
I’d nearly forgotten he was there, silently supporting me simply by being at my side. Which is more than I can say for Cec.I take slow, deliberate breaths until every one of my worries washes away into an ocean of unintelligible faces. I raise my chin and refuse to meet their eyes. They can think whatever they like about me.
No longer flustered, I take in the hall around me, fortified with wide pillars carved meticulously from the same light stone as the walls. Half a dozen low-hanging candlelit chandeliers illuminate the intricate artwork spanning the entire ceiling. It’s cracked and faded, but colorful. Like what Michelangelo did inside the Sistine Chapel, but bloodier. War and suffering poison this room, raw and horrific—the longer I look at it, the more uncomfortable I become.
How can the ceiling possibly be so tall when we’re still underground? Admittedly, I never actually got to see the castle itself, so I have no idea how high up the ground floor is.High enough you wouldn’t be able to hear anyone scream down here, I’m sure. A sobering thought.
From the silence, a deep voice bellows from the other end of the hall.
“Bes Belzoni, as I live and breathe.”
