by Kayleigh Sky
Uriah strode forward. “Fuck.”
“The tunnels look exactly the same,” said Anin.
The same dimensions, the same chips around the rims, as though the same master carver had made them from a mold. Each one glowed with distant lights. Rune closed his eyes and mentally retraced their steps. “We’ve already been circling around. We’re getting closer to Celestine but coming from underneath. One of the tunnels will take us there, and the others will lead us away.”
“Which tunnel?” Isaac asked. “Can you tell?”
Rune chuckled. “I have no idea. Let’s rest. I want to look at the map again.”
Camiel dropped his pack and sat on it. He stared at the tunnels and recited the cipher. “The broken knot lets loose a web of deceit. Beware the endless descent into fire, the way of no return, the false promise of victory. Carelessness burns, confuses, and corrupts.” He tipped his head back with a grin. “Fuck this up and die.”
Rune grinned back. “I don’t intend to die.”
Isaac stretched on the ground, pack under his head, and closed his eyes. Rune sat near Isaac with the pieces of the map and leaned back against the wall. Anin paced in front of the tunnels, occasionally glancing at Camiel, who watched him with a bland expression. His gaze followed Anin’s path, back and forth. It was rhythmic, never varying.
The witch hadn’t been of much use. Why was he here? Rune sighed as he stared at the map. When he found the lightning bolt he closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Celestine in relation to the Alta portal. The rock behind his head cushioned him like a pillow. He drifted and imagined himself in Kolnadia, days away from Celestine, sitting in the gathering hall, his mother’s friends surrounding him. Tunnels had spread out like the spokes on a wheel. Five of them in a circle. He opened his eyes on Abadi’s smiling face, the flicker of hate in their depths not fading fast enough. He’d been shocked to think it had been for him, though he’d had no other explanation, and he’d been afraid of her, not sure she wouldn’t murder him and do away with her enemy’s heir. But now, he recalled the slant in her gaze. She’d been studying something behind him.
Studying someone.
The light bearer. Her lover.
She’d hated him.
Camiel stood. “This isn’t the knot. Anin. Come here.”
Anin frowned but approached him. Uriah approached too. “What are you doing?”
Camiel circled his finger in the air. “Turn around.”
Anin looked at Rune. He nodded. Stirring beside him, Isaac opened his eyes, blinked, and pushed up onto a palm. Camiel pulled Anin’s hair from its bun, ran his fingers through it, and separated it into three pieces. “I always screw up my own braid. It ends up knotted in the wrong places.” Smoothing the pieces of Anin’s hair, he wove one hank over and under another. “When you braid, the right side goes to the middle, the middle becomes the right, and the left becomes the middle. Over and over until the braid becomes one. All three strands end in the same place.”
“It doesn’t matter which tunnel we take,” said Rune.
“The knot is where it all comes together.” Camiel braided Anin’s hair into a crooked twist. “Unless, like me, you screw it up.”
“And if we can get to it,” Rune added.
Camiel nodded. “And live.”
40
Ratfink
The cold seeped into his bones. Bronny’s memories of Onoppiel were like cardboard—not exactly flimsy, but dry and lifeless. No texture. No scents. He could be fond of something that didn’t freeze him or assail him with dust and the odor of mold and… death. Like something from a crypt.
Home held no allure for him. And they weren’t anywhere near Onoppiel anyway.
But he wasn’t going to piss off Solomon any more than he already had. The vampire had some of the longest fangs Bronny had ever seen. Wicked curved like Ryzoks. “You waited a day to tell me they’d gone into the cities?”
Solomon had met him at Comity House in the room where he’d murdered Wen. Which Bronwen hadn’t known for sure until that moment.
“I ought to do you like your brother.”
“M-my… Wen?”
That was when the fangs had flashed, and Bronwen’s gums had throbbed. The pain of the tiny pricks against his lip had woken the terror of having his jugular ripped out, and he’d clenched his other teeth, keeping his mouth shut tight. The breath carrying Solomon’s hiss had hit him in the face. He’d flinched but hadn’t backed up.
Fear was not a good idea.
“Cross me, an’ I won’t have any fucking need of you.”
“I offered to serve you.”
“You serve yourself, Wrythin. Crawl all you want, you will never rise without me.”
“I’m on your side.” He’d kept his voice low, soft, in keeping with the luxury of the room. And his position, which had to be higher than Solomon’s. Bronwen was royal after all. “We have similar goals.”
“You are a turd.”
Bronwen had gaped, his words flittering away in shock. What the—?
“I-I-I—”
Solomon had rolled his eyes. “Just come with me.”
Now they sank into the earth, following narrow tunnels. Were they headed to Celestine? Bronwen wasn’t sure. They had to duck and weave around cave-ins, crawl through splinter tunnels and back out again, and Bronny remembered the feature that had made Celestine so popular. The ceilings, stories high, as lofty as cathedrals. Even the tunnels were said to be spacious. Soon he bent, shoulders itching at the weight of the rock over his head. The silence broke with a faint ping-ping of metal striking metal. Were they close now? The tunnel twisted and dipped, and Bronwen fell pell-mell down a slope and off a ledge. Terror flared then fled as something soft broke his fall. Solomon’s laughter boomed above him. “Are you dead?”
He gnashed his teeth. “No!”
“Get up here.”
Right. He rolled off the pile of dirt he’d landed on, scrambled for a grip on the ledge above his head and closed his fingers on a band of material poking from the dirt wall. Solomon grabbed his wrist and yanked him up. He bellowed another laugh at him. “Idiot.”
Bronny clenched his fists and staggered down the slope. He had no time to look at the object in his hand. Every time he slowed, Solomon pushed him. A mile, another mile and green light glowed brighter below. The tunnel opened, and he stepped on level ground, a gasp on his lips.
Was that…?
A castle? Or what was left of one.
Solomon emerged behind him and threw back his head. Bronwen cringed at the rocking, booming explosion of sound. The ululation ricocheted off the walls of the miles-wide space. Within seconds, vampires emerged from the shadowy rocks, some with picks and some with swords. Coming up to Solomon, they dipped their chins and touched his shoulders.
Was Bronwen wrong? Was it really Solomon the Adi ’el Lumi followed?
Their faces lit with smiles. Some laughed. “Cousin,” said others.
Solomon clapped several on the back of the neck and gave one a shake. “Jaan.”
The one called Jaan stepped back. Bronny trailed Solomon as he made his way through the crowd, which grew, ululations rising and thrumming in the space. Though one of them technically, Bronny shivered at the sound. He’d been thirteen at the time of the Upheaval, but none of this place matched his memory of Onoppiel. They hadn’t been rich or well-placed but far above these filthy-faced creatures. Nerves crawled up his spine and over his scalp.
Lotises.
So it was true. An army of them had stayed underground or had returned over the years.
Yet, the castle. The lake. It dragged at his memory. It wasn’t Lotis territory.
The sight of a human one of them dragged through a castle door and threw at Solomon’s feet froze him to the stones beneath him. Solomon fisted the girl’s hair and slowly twisted his neck, his gaze coming round to lock on Bronny’s. His fangs emerged again. Roars and hisses boomed. “Bronwen,” Solomon said. “You are our guest. The ho
nor is yours.”
Solomon didn’t approach him. He pulled the girl’s neck back until her throat arched. Vague thoughts raced through the back of Bronny’s mind—you can’t smell her blood, can’t hear it racing, you aren’t one of them… Run! Run!
But his feet wouldn’t budge. He was nailed in place. He wasn’t going to drink from her either. This wasn’t the same as a pleasant, luxurious room where he’d ultimately pay the creature who fed him. Even if he wanted to do that.
Even if…
For god’s sake, Wen, what did you get us into?
He swallowed and shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
Solomon roared with laughter, and the room erupted in more hisses. “He’s not hungry. He’s not hungry.” Solomon released the girl, and she staggered back into arms that swept her away. “Then let’s get to business. Come.”
He pushed through the crowd. Leering faces swept close to Bronwen’s as he passed, moving by rote, as though Solomon had attached strings to him.
They entered the door the others had brought the girl through. The smell of food wafted to him. Real food. The cacophony behind him faded.
Solomon glanced back. “This was a grand place before the humans destroyed it.”
“Where are we?”
“Not my city. So little is left.”
The corridor they traversed was wide and extended far into the structure. Many doors opened off it. Children darted to and fro. Bronwen’s eyes barely adjusted to the dark inside, but he swept his gaze over the massive tapestries hanging on either side of him. Solomon paused at a wall of rubble that blocked off the rest of the corridor. “This way.”
They turned into a shorter, narrow corridor. Vampires stood in deep niches, as still as stone.
Enforcers. My god.
Ryzoks hung on their belts beside guns. Bronwen’s gaze skittered away, and his breathing came faster. What were they doing here?
Solomon’s chuckle floated back to him.
“We’re in the right place, Bronwen Wrythin. You are in the right place. I have a role. You have a role. You will assist us greatly, have no doubt.”
Bronwen doubted his own sanity. He ached for his home, his servants, his job, however pedestrian it might be. He didn’t need riches. What had he been thinking?
“Your loyalty to the Ellowyn way of life is rare nowadays.” Solomon clucked. “Shame the sacrifices we must make.”
What the hell did that mean?
But Solomon was quiet now. The lights brightened from dark agate to bright peridot to darker agate. The murmur of water reached him, followed by a faint whistle as though a wind blew through cracks in the rock. They descended a flight of stairs into a spacious room with tall, narrow windows overlooking a lake. Tiles paved the floor underneath him. Tables under the window were cluttered with various items: glassware, jewelry, bright mirrors. His steps slowed. A structure in the back drew his gaze. A massive chair. A… throne?
Solomon turned and grabbed his nape. His voice was harsh and sibilant. “Do you feel it?”
Bronwen made an attempt to nod, though terror clawed at him. He swallowed in a dry mouth. Solomon dragged him across the floor.
Water splashed down the wall behind the chair. Vampires—enforcers—stood at attention in front of the stone. They parted, and Solomon smacked the back of Bronwen’s head, forcing his chin down before he spoke.
“I have news. They are here.”
A gruff voice rasped. “Where?”
“They came through the Alta portal. Bronwen saw them and reported to me. Bronwen is the last prince of the Wrythin family. His brother was my servant and honored me until his failure.”
“The last family.”
The strange voice barely deepened beyond a whisper. Bronwen pushed against Solomon’s hand only to flinch at the clench of his fingers. “The last of his line,” Solomon added.
“Are there no cousins?”
Nothing else was said. Solomon shook him. “Well?”
At first Bronwen’s mind failed him. He fumbled in a murky fog, groping for sense in the surreal. But then he understood. “I have cousins.”
“You are lucky” came the odd whisper. “My family is no more.”
Bronwen shivered. “I grieve your loss.”
“It is an old one.”
“I… Why am I here?”
Now a laugh laced through the hoarse voice. Solomon released him, and Bronwen raised his head but saw nothing but red eyes. A second later, Solomon slammed him between the shoulder blades, and he sprawled onto his knees, the thing he’d grabbed in the tunnel flying from his numb fingers. He looked up in horror.
“You are my sacrifice.”
41
Camiel’s Secret
Well, they were lost. So much for Cammy’s braid analogy. The tunnel they followed twisted and turned into another, but none met in any kind of knot, broken or otherwise.
Rune ran his hands through his hair. They’d been going at this for several hours now. He turned back to the others. “Rest. I’m going to look ahead.”
“No,” said Isaac. “We stick together. Remember?”
Sweat streaked through the dust on his face. His breath came in fast puffs through his parted lips.
Without Isaac maybe they wouldn’t have gotten this far, though there was no way that dead vampire had intended to give Isaac the map. That still gnawed at him like a splinter under the skin. But if not Isaac, who? Essie?
Maybe he needed Isaac.
He shrugged against the ache that had settled there. “Let me see the map.” When Isaac passed over one half, he smiled. “Your part too.”
“The rest of the clues are on yours.”
He shook his head. “They don’t make sense.”
“Maybe that’s our problem,” said Camiel. “We’re trying to solve a puzzle.”
Rune took the other part of the map and narrowed his eyes on Camiel. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’re trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense. Maybe it’s random.”
“It’s not random. There’s a goal and a way to get there. Somebody put this together—”
“Randomly. You said it yourself. The map is a list of clues that aren’t even in order.”
For a moment, Rune said nothing. He put both pieces of the map together. “Is anything ever really random?”
Camiel cocked his head. “People think so.”
“This map is one piece of paper,” Rune mused. “We’ve been looking at it as two. Isaac’s has the first cipher on it. The portal is the first clue. My piece has the second and third cipher, and we think the second and third clue. But what if the second cipher isn’t a place. What if it’s a way of thinking?”
“So we’re in the wrong place?” Uriah asked.
“No, we’re in the right place, we’re just going about it the wrong way. Maybe there is no knot. Or it is what this says—a broken knot. I think you’re right too, Cammy. It doesn’t matter what tunnel we take. But they don’t lead to the same place. They lead out. We keep changing tunnels, trying to find where they come together. We’re the ones who are making the knot. We just need to keep going and not veer off.”
Camiel’s mouth twisted and then turned into one of his blinding grins. “I’m up for anything that gets us the fuck out of here.”
They passed nine detours before a cavern opened in front of them. The sight that met Rune’s eyes rocked shock through him. He gasped, wheeled around, and pushed Isaac back with a palm to his chest. But Isaac grabbed his wrist, a pained look that probably mirrored Rune’s own on his face.
Uriah emitted a tortured groan. “Fucking god. Anin, help me get him down.”
The two vampires strode away. Camiel leaned against the tunnel wall. “Well, this just got real.”
“I told you you didn’t belong.”
Camiel stared at him from under his brows. “You were wrong.”
Rune mouthed the words, no sound coming from his lips. “Careful,
witch.”
Though Camiel lowered his gaze, there was anger on his face now. Isaac pulled himself against Rune’s chest, then pushed him back.
“Isaac—”
“It’s like… It’s like Mateo.”
Rune wrapped an arm around him and pulled him to the wall. “Why are you looking?”
“Isn’t that what he was meant for?” Isaac whispered.
Rune glanced at Uriah and Anin, who’d cut Bronwen’s body from the hook it was hanging from. Hanging was a human invention. Vampires thought it ignoble. Decapitation was quick and bloody. Blood was everything. Rune closed his eyes against the image of Bronwen kicking at the end of a rope. Isaac broke free, and Rune let him go.
Uriah returned and stepped close to Rune. “You should see his chest. It looks like they cut him after he was dead. Took him a while to die from the looks of him. He didn’t go easy.”
Isaac’s stare probed into him uncomfortably. Was he after the treasure?
I suspect so.
Rune wanted to tell Isaac it wasn’t the treasure he was after. At least not jewels or gold or money. What treasure was worth this? What war worth a single death? But somebody had thought it made sense. Solomon? The Lotises? What would prompt an entire family to turn against their king and kill their own? It was the same bloodthirsty senselessness that had stripped Qudim’s sanity from him.
Rune reached Bronwen’s side, grateful for the dim light that hid the color of his blown pupils. But it couldn’t hide the thick protrusion of his tongue. Uriah bent and pulled aside Bronwen’s shirt. “Not much blood, so they must’ve done it after he was dead.”
What he saw stunned him. Not because he didn’t know what it meant, but because he did. Six letters. It was a name, and it was in Celes, but an ancient version used only for ceremonies and only for royals. It didn’t appear in other places anymore. Isaac pressed against him, resting a hand on Rune’s back. It was strangely settling.
