“There are rules about the west door, the lower archive, the old basins, the faculty corridor and the kitchens after nine, and touching anything in Aldric’s office.”
“But not about the clock tower?”
Rev shook her head, box-braids swinging. “There is no rule about the clock tower.”
I looked toward the dark corridor beyond the kitchen.
Interesting.
Unhelpful, but interesting.
“How do I get inside without Hale seeing me?”
Rev sighed like my survival had become one more chore assigned to her without proper notice.
“Narrow side door behind the tapestry of some dead Council man pointing at a star.”
“Specific.”
“He looks like he just ate a sour lemon. You’ll know him.”
“Thank you.”
“If you fall down the stairs and die, don’t come back and haunt my kitchen.”
I didn’t answer. I was already headed for the clock tower.
The halls were mostly empty when I left. A few voices camefrom behind closed doors. Somewhere below, a bell marked the half hour.
No one stepped into the corridor to stop me.
Wherever Hale was, he wasn’t here now.
The tower stair was behind the tapestry exactly where Rev had said it would be. The painted Council man did, in fact, have quite the sour puss.
The handle had no lock, the door no sign, nothing official enough to quote if someone wanted to punish me for entering it.
I turned the handle, and it opened.
The stairway behind the door went up, narrow and dark, the stone worn down the center. Empty brackets marked where sconces had once been, and a thin gray light came from somewhere above.
I climbed with one hand on the wall.
Halfway up, the stone under my palm changed.
Warm.
I stopped.
Another hand settled on the wall above mine.
It hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“Slow,” a voice said. Above me, just above me. “The next step is shorter than the others. You’ll roll an ankle.”
“Kieran?”
“Hello, Astra.”
