I wince. “Not exactly. But I know a servants’ hall that runs right along it. We might be able to find a door or a weak spot in the wall or?—”
A boom from the door to the passageway thunders so loudly that all the crockery in the kitchen trembles, and I swear the ground beneath me shakes.
“What are the chances,” Nyatrix asks, not reacting toanyof it, “that one of these could get us in?” She digs into her blouse, under her breast band, and pulls out something gold and glimmering.
When I realize what it is, my mouth drops open in surprise. A High Ecclesian’s chatelaine ring sits in the palm of her hand, dripping with jewel-like keys. The Mysterium hums gently.
“I’m not sure if we’ll actually be able to use them,” I warn her. “There’s no telling what kinds of Blessings are on these.”
Another boom echoes from the passageway, and this time the butcher’s block island slides forward, creating a gap. Nyatrix turns, looking over her shoulder. A gold-gauntleted hand slips through the crack, the metal points of the fingers gripping the frame in a slow, spider-like dance. My heart plummets into my stomach.
“We’re running out of options,” she says, turning back to me. “Take us to the Crypta, little dove.”
Chapter 23
The heavy iron-worked door closes behind us with a sigh, shutting out the mayhem unfolding in the Spine. Nyatrix sets me down with the same incongruent tenderness as before, her eyes keen and focused as the Mysterium-Blessed sconces begin to flicker to life.
“That should tell you a lot about your God,” she says, though only half of her attention is on me. “Only bothered to spell Their keys against use for peoplewithMysterium.”
I frown, my gaze sweeping out across the seemingly endless chamber. There are cabinets along the walls, low tables down the center, and absolutely no organization. At least, not that I can immediately identify—and such things are normally well within my abilities. Granted, I’m still breathless and reeling from our journey to the Crypta’s doors, the Lupa Nox dodging Holy Guard and Host Knights like a shadow, all while cradling me close to her chest.
“I don’t understand,” I manage to say, moving forward despite the pain sinking its jaws into my body. As I take a closer look, I realize the towering cabinets are mostly filled with scrolls. My heart flips inside my chest. I thought all the papyri of Lumendei were in the Libris Sanctum, not stored away in a placeonly a sacred few can enter. Perhaps they’re just duplicates, kept safe in case of a disaster. We know disaster well, after all.
“That’s how little your Church thinks of anyone without Mysterium,” the knight clarifies, stalking around to walk ahead of me, her brow furrowed, eyes searching. “You’re not just unworthy of the Mysteries, of your God’s favor. You’re not even worthy of being seen as a possible threat. And yet, here we are, aren’t we?”
Her words drip with condescension and barely contained outrage. In truth, I simply do not have the fortitude to consider the implications of what Nyatrix is saying. Not right now, while I try to find her a weapon so she can escape—and a way to explain why I helped her once she’s gone.
Can I say she bewitched me, the way men often claim? Will that absolve me of all my guilt, like it did for Sergio? I think I know the answer, and my fingers tighten around the handle of my cane.
I keep walking, knowing that the High Ecclesia could burst into this chamber at any moment. There’s a false sense of safety here—the familiar sight of scrolls carefully stowed away, the silence, the dust motes dancing in the air, the scent of old leather and even older paper. Just past those heavy doors, I know, is utter mayhem, alarm bells ringing loudly enough to shake the masonry walls. It won’t be long until they discover where we’ve gone.
We keep searching, Nyatrix growing more frenzied, yanking out the lower drawers of cabinets as if they might contain some Mysterium-Blessed dagger wrapped up in velvet. But even though I led her here—trappedher here, possibly—she throws no insults my way. Her hitched shoulders, the scowl upon her mouth . . . I know she is angry. But she holds it within her own body, makes it only her own responsibility.
“I’m sorry,” I say anyway. “This is no trick. I swear it. I just thought—I justhopedthere might be something.”
“Worry not, little dove,” Nyatrix murmurs, her eyes sliding to meet mine across the low tables lining the center of the chamber. “Thereissomething here. I cannot explain it, but...it’s like something is calling to me. Singing a song I didn’t even realize I knew.”
Gooseflesh races across my skin at her description. I have no idea what she means, or if she’s even telling the truth, but I have no other choice. I will follow her into the depths of the Crypta. Perhaps she will find something to help herself get out, or perhaps she will not.
The only light I’ll see again is the fire of the stake, anyway. It matters little to me. I should be afraid, maybe. But it is hard to fear death when I see nothing in my future, when pain already strokes my limbs as surely as any flame, when my vast, violent sea of sorrow may well drown me.
I follow the Lupa Nox, my fingers trailing along the dusty edges of massive shelves piled with papyri. There is no wonder or magic to this space, not the kind I find nearly everywhere else in Lumendei. The floors are bare, no embroidered banners winking with beads and gold thread hanging from the walls, and the sconces are wrought from simple black iron.
“Perhaps I should have more caution,” Nyatrix says, breaking the silence. “Following this song is precisely how I was captured in the first place.”
I glance at her in surprise, nearly tripping over my cane. “What?” I demand in a hoarse voice, my thoughts racing.
She only looks away from me and offers a grim nod. “Heard it out near the battlements,” she murmurs. “Ihadto follow it. I snuck into the city and unfortunately had a run-in with twenty or so Host Knights. Whatever it is, it’s not a Curse. Not Mysterium at all. Something else. Something I swear I already know.”
Fear courses through me, hot and sharp. The very thing that captured the great Lupa Nox, that set off everything, is what we are now seeking in hopes it might save us.
The back wall of the Crypta comes into view through the dim light. My stomach twists. I see no door, no secondary exit. Perhaps my life will end here, in this very place, choking on dust, looking at the manuscripts I’ll never read. That I was neverpermittedto read.
But then, I watch Nyatrix’s step break into something hungry just as I spot a dais in the distance. I push myself forward at the same moment a bone-rattling shriek echoes through the chamber. My throat constricts, and I turn to look over my shoulder.
The Crypta’s massive doors are now thrown open wide. The High Ecclesia is framed within the arch, backlit by the beeswax glow I once found so comforting. A phantom wind tugs at Their vestments, and the bronze armor of the Holy Guard shimmers behind Them, mirage-like.
“Nyatrix,” I say, my voice a strangled scream. I break into a limping run, my lungs burning. Up ahead, the knight stands on the raised, circular platform made of marble. The moment I’m within a few strides of the dais, the hum of Mysterium overtakes me. The closer I get, the stronger it is—just as powerful as what I felt back in the Devorarium before the High Ecclesia attacked Nyatrix. It makes my hair stand on end, like the thrum has entered my body and shaken me from the inside.
