Focus.
Aim for the door. Only for the door.
My hand burns so hot it starts to feel numb. Light erupts from it and the door bursts open. I leap back, expecting something more in the aftermath, some explosion or flame, but there’s nothing, other than the broken door and cracked doorframe. I look down at my hand. It’s unharmed.
It worked. I controlled the power.
But this isn’t the time to revel in it.
Behind me, Eban slices through the guard’s leg and knocks him to the ground. Blood spreads onto his uniform.
“Eban!” I wave him toward me.
He sees me standing next to the opened door and runs for it. The guard tries to get up, but is unable. His wounded leg collapses beneath him when he attempts to stand. But now the fire is everywhere. Eban reaches me as the fire claims the guard. I watch his clothes combust and he thrashes around, trying to put it out. I look away. I don’t want the memory of that horror, even if he was about to slaughter us for sport.
We dart through the doorway together, heat and crackling flames following closely behind. Eban kicks the door closed behind us. Though it won’t shut all the way, it’s a temporary stopgap from the fire at least. I still feel the heat on the other side.
“Come on!” Eban grabs my hand and the two of us take off through a dark passageway, away from the smell of smoke and encroaching fire.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREEEBAN
The passage is lit only by a sliver of light from the burning pandemonium behind us. Once we turn the corner, that light is cut off, and it’s pitch black. But the air is cooler. I can tell we’re moving to the perimeter of the building. Surviving is one thing, but we’re here for something more important. Of course, I’d rather we pulled off this heist without hundreds of Blackcoats hunting for us, swarming the estate and searching high and low for the interlopers who’d spoiled their gruesome party. But maybe that will work to our advantage, since thanks to Gin there are literally too many fires to put out at once. And for now we’re hidden and safe.
I run my hand along the walls, trying to get a sense of direction. This passage continues on and on, winding around underneath the palace. I worry we’ll eventually end up circling back to where we began. I pay careful attention to the temperature. If it seems like we’re getting back to the fire, we’ll have to turn around. But I’m hoping my instincts are right, that this tunnel we’ve found leads ever downward. We’ve got to find the relics and retrieve them.
But another thought nags at me. Where was Darius during the so-called tournament? Did he know he was sending us to the arena? Why would he want to get rid of us? I’ve never trusted the man, but I don’t understand what he’s trying to do. He’s the leader of the Lashing, the last free Ophir colony. A colony, I realize, that’s often under attack, often raided by the very people he’s supposed to protect them from. Plus, he often does business in Lacon—to make sure he knows what the enemy is doing, he says—so he can move one step ahead. But what if…
“Eban, I think I found a door,” Gin says. “But it doesn’t open. Here,” she says, and guides my hand to what feels like the outline of a door. She’s right, there’s no handle or doorknob.
I feel around the door’s perimeter and remember something similar. “I think I know how to open it,” I say. “There’s a merchant repository in Lacon with doors like this. It’s built to trap thieves from being able to escape, but the owners installed a secret latch for themselves that allows them to exit if needed.” I run my fingers down the sides of the doorframe. “There it is.” There’s a small indent on each side, at shoulder height, with a tiny latch inside. I release both latches at the same time, and push.
There’s a screeching sound. Metal bending and scraping. I did it. The door opens. Light streams in. Though it’s dim and yellow, after we’ve been drenched in darkness for so long, it seems as bright as the sun.
Gin slips through the door. I follow closely behind.
We’re in some kind of storage room, where wooden crates are stacked haphazardly near large spools of rope and various pipes and piles of wood. Small, narrow windows near the ceiling provide some light.
Our footsteps are loud in the quiet room. We try to tread lightly, in case someone hears us, but there’s no indication that anyone else is around.
A banging noise. We both freeze. Then nothing. “Just a pipe in the walls,” I whisper.
Without responding, Gin continues creeping through the room, headed for the door on the opposite side. Like the last one, it’s closed, but there’s a handle, and a sliver of light visible from the crack between the bottom of the door and the ground.
When we reach it, we place our ears to the door and listen. “I don’t hear anything, do you?” I ask Gin.
She closes her eyes and leans closer against the door, straining for sound on the other side. Then she opens her eyes and straightens up. “No one’s there,” she says.
We try the handle. It opens easily.
We’re in another hallway. This estate is a maze unlike any other. At least this hall is lit by a succession of oil lamps all along the walls. But we have to choose a fork in the tunnel: Should we go to the left, or the right?
Gin’s eyes close and I can tell she’s talking to her spirit. “This way.” She heads right, walking quickly.
The hall curves around. When we turn the corner, there’s a large open room at the end of the hall. We both come to a skidding halt and step backward, returning around the corner.
“Now what?”
Gin shrugs. She peeks back around the curve to the open space. “Tadhana says we have to go through there.”
