“I’ll give you the book when we are out of here.”
“We?” she asked, confused.
“I can’t decode it.” He sheathed his weapon but still held the book to the torch. “But you can. Youwillcome with me.”
Sage glanced at Brother Nicolas.
He shook his head, signaling for her not to go.
She might be able to decode the book...if she knew how to read. Her eyes lifted to the book hungrily. She wanted that book. She wanted to learn its mysteries. She wanted to prove to everyone, even herself, that she could break the code. Resolved, she re-sheathed her sword and agreed with a nod.
Marcus grinned again, one side of his lips turning up. He withdrew the book from the flames and tucked it into his robe.
Nicolas lowered his forehead to the desk in defeat.
Marcus moved past Sage to the doorway.
Sage took the parchment page Brother Nicolas had been working on from the desk and tucked it inside her leather armor. She cast one last glance at Nicolas. He was seated, with his head resting on the desk. She wished she could help him, but the red blood dripped through his fingers. She had seen enough death to know that the wound was severe, and he had no chance of surviving. She regretted bringing the book to him and involving him in all of this. And still, the book beckoned to her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Nicolas before departing the room.
She followed Marcus into the hallway, wondering for a brief moment if she could tackle him and take the book. In the end, she discarded the idea. She didn’t want to chance that the book might be torn or damaged in the struggle. She would fight if she had to, but she didn’t have to battle him right now. There would be a time, but this was not it.
She glanced toward the stairs. Where were her sisters? If they could get up the stairs, perhaps she would run into them.
Marcus turned to her, his gaze sweeping over her. “Give me your sword sheath.”
She straightened in reluctance.
He cocked his head to the side and a grin formed on his lips. “I can’t let you keep it.”
She ground her teeth and unbuckled the belt. Without her sword around her waist, she suddenly felt vulnerable. She faltered.
He held his hand out.
Was the book worth this? Should she run? Should she make her escape? But she couldn’t. She had to have the book. She had to know why. Finally, she slapped the belt into his hand.
He slung it over his shoulder. “This way.” He led her down the corridor, deeper into the catacombs and away from the stairs.
“But the exit is that way,” Sage said, hesitantly trailing him. Part of her plan had been to get him to try to escape through the main chateau in hope of seeing other monks or, better yet, Raven and Willow.
“There’s a better way,” he said. And he continued down the hallway.
He didn’t even look back to make sure she was close, and this angered Sage. He knew she would follow like a little dog. And, of course, she would. She wanted that book.
They walked down the hallway lit by torches ensconced on the wall, moving past empty rooms carved from the surrounding ground and fortified by stones. The air was muggy and thick here. Sage imagined they were deep underground. Her mind began churning. How could she get the book and escape? Escape? She wasn’t a bound prisoner. She could make her escape at any time; it would just be without the book. She would never do that. She couldn’t. She didn’t want him to have that book. Then, how could she get it?
Finally, he ducked into one of the side rooms. Stacked crates lined the walls, and a tapestry depicting monks praying to a cross hung on the far side. There was no way out here. Was he going to kill her? She had to be on guard. She didn’t think he would kill her, as he’d said he needed her.
Marcus walked over to the tapestry and eased it aside to reveal a grate. He bent over and wrapped his fingers around the metal slats.
Sage scanned the room. A few candles lay atop some of the crates, and a large iron bowl was on another. She could hit him over the head and disable him.
He pulled at the grate and groaned as she inched her way over to the side of the room where the bowl was. She reached out and touched the bowl.
A creaking, squeaking sound echoed through the room as he pulled the grate open.
He stood, grunting as if out of breath, and turned to her, sweeping his hand toward the opening behind the grate. She quickly withdrew her hand from the bowl as he beckoned, “After you.”
