Page 51 of Last Rites

“Never knew this was here,” Thoma said while I hefted the door open and eased it down onto the stone floor.

“That’s the point,” I said. “I was here for twelve years before I ran, and my father was the Right Hand. Not even I knew about this until I became Shroud Warden.”

I divvied up the hammers and chisels between the three of us, and Thoma handed out the farrier’s rasps. Our pockets and belts heavy-laden with tools, I led the way down the steps and into the tunnel.

“It’s a tight squeeze, so we’ll have to go single file,” I called back.

Ahead of me, the inky darkness was barely lit by the lantern Thoma held aloft at my back. “It also means that this is going to be hard to manage if we don’t want to bury ourselves. So, pick where you’re chiseling carefully.”

We lapsed into silence as we made our way far enough down the tunnel to hopefully not be overheard by anyone in Ashpoint. When we found a suitable spot, we readied our tools and made a plan.

Thoma held the lantern while we identified existing cracks and fissures to exploit, and then, using the points on the farrier’s rasps as pry-bars, we got to work. When there were no more cracks, we made more with chisel and hammer, picking away bit by bit and tossing the debris farther down the tunnel out of our way. It was exhausting work. We were all soaked in sweat within minutes, and my muscles were screaming long before we saw any progress.

It took several hours of work to carve out a sizable hunk of stone. Just when I was getting ready to call it so we had a chance of getting home before Ashpoint awoke, a series of loud cracks echoed overhead.

Thoma lurched back, knocking Penny into the wall. The lantern slipped from Thoma’s grip, hit the floor, and sputtered, but didn’t go out. I scrambled toward them as the ceiling above me splintered and came crashing down, narrowly missing taking me down with it.

Dust plumed, turning the air thick as soup and making it hard to breathe. I squinted against it to see the passageway fully blocked by the tumble of rocks.

“Kit, are you okay?” Penny asked, his voice muffled.

When I looked over, he was pressed against the wall and had his shirt tugged up over his nose and mouth to filter out the grit floating around us.

“All in one piece,” I assured him. I swiped my arm across my eyes to clear some of the grime from my eyelashes. “You good, Thoma?”

He bent to retrieve the lantern and nodded. “I’m fine. I think it’s time we got out of here, though.”

We gathered up the tools we’d brought and hurried down the tunnel. We paused at the base of the stairs to dust ourselves off before emerging into the ritual room, careful not to leave traces behind while we closed the trapdoor. After passing through the atrium and scurrying down the hall, I hefted the door open again, and we all slipped out. It was still mostly dark, but the barest hint of sunrise colored the eastern sky beyond the top of the cliff.

We were cutting it close.

With more effort than it took to pry the door open, I lined up the hinges, and Thoma tapped the pins back in.

None of us spoke when we headed back into the heart of the square. At the forge, Thoma left us with a single resolute nod and continued on toward the stables. I was quick to duck inside and return the hammers and chisels to their rightful places so I could slide my hand into Penny’s and hurry us both back home.

To a bath. Maybe a few hours of sleep. And a private celebration of a job well done.

19

Kit

Two hours of sleep after the grueling work in the tunnel overnight was not enough. My eyelids felt weighed down with iron, and my entire body ached. It took an equally exhausted Penny plying me with three cups of coffee before breakfast to perk me up enough to actually get dressed.

I finally forced myself out of the house, somehow still on time, and made the trudge across town to the Ossuary. Above me, storm clouds gathered, low and dark against the side of the mountain, and promised a rain-soaked day ahead. Thunder grumbled from far behind me, chased by a flash of lightning. The scent of petrichor edged the wind that swept up from farther down the mountainside and over the cliffs, and I was grateful that the threatening downpour hadn’t arrived by the time I made it inside.

I was across the atrium and halfway down the hall before the buzz of hushed conversations registered. I pushed through the door into the ritual room and found it full of workers, clustered about and clearly waiting for further instructions.

Merrick stood atop the dais, facing the tunnel door and a handcart full of rocks, surrounded by four people in ceremonial Sentinel robes. At last count, the Death Watch had been down to two members, which meant Merrick had taken it upon himself to replace Otis and Anders without my input.

I recognized Klaus and Matina, and even though she was facing away from me, I knew the third was Violette from the thick red braid that hung down her back. She was no surprise, at least, since Anders had mentioned her taking Otis’s place. But the fourth was a man I didn’t know.

At my approach, the Sentinels scattered, though Vi caught my eye and her lips curled in a self-satisfied smirk. She tapped the single finger bone on a cord around her neck as she passed, bumping her shoulder into mine. A declaration that she still felt she had power over me. That she held Merrick’s favor and I did not.

As if that was something to brag about.

Merrick faced me when I stepped up beside him.

“When did we name the replacements for the Death Watch?” I asked.