22. Kira
Chapter 22
Kira
IT HAS TO BE HERE
“ O kay,” I mutter under my breath. “Amulet.”
I glance suspiciously at the cat curled on the end of the bed. Sure, he looks like a normal, ragged tomcat, but maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s something magical. With a sigh, I lean over and give him a scratch behind one of his battered ears. Magical or not, it looks like he’s led a rough life.
“Tell me the truth, Xavier,” I ask him. “Are you magical?”
The tip of his gray tail twitches in an annoyed way. I can’t tell if that’s an answer to my question or not. I glance at the windows, as if Reznyk might be peeking in, just waiting to catch me in the act of interrogating his cat. There’s nothing out there but a beautiful morning.
“Gods, this is stupid,” I mutter under my breath.
I stand up, wipe my hands on my pants, and close my eyes. Tholious said that much magic would be impossible to hide. He said I’d be able to sense the amulet. I take a deep breath, inhaling lingering smoke from the fire mixed with tea and the aroma of vegetable stew that really was better this morning.
Nothing here feels special. I open my eyes and stare at the cabin, realizing too late that I have no idea what the amulet looks like. Maybe I should have asked Tholious to sketch it for me.
Frowning, I turn toward the door. I searched the cabin as soon as I woke up, turning over every mug, pressing on each floorboard, and running my fingers along each dusty rafter. I didn’t find anything, aside from a few spiderwebs in the rafters. My eyes rest on the crumbling stone tower where I spent the night with Tholious and the mercenaries.
It has to be there. And I have to find it before Reznyk comes back.
But now the morning is fading into gloriously sunny midday, and I’ve found absolutely nothing.
I mean, sure, there’s a bunch of crap in here. The second floor has a collapsed wall with a trail of rubble that ends in the grass beside Reznyk’s garden, and so much junk it would take me a lifetime to sort through it. The third floor only had a beaten-down desk and one lonely-looking chair in the middle of the room.
And the fourth floor has a door. I stop in front of the rough wooden door, hold my breath, and close my eyes. The air is cold in the keep. It smells like dust and things that have been forgotten. Wind sings across the stone as I reach for the door.
Something sharp jumps into my skin when I touch the knob. I pull back, shaking my fingers. It’s not uncommon, of course, that bite of lightning that sometimes jumps out of metal. But was that normal? Or was it magic?
And, damn it, shouldn’t I be able to tell the difference? Both of my parents were Exemplars, after all. If the amulet is behind that door, I should know.
I huff, sink to my knees, and stare at the lock. It looks simple, like the original locks on the orphanage pantry. Hells, I could probably pick this in my sleep. Unless it’s a trap, and some kind of magic that I can’t sense is going to kill me if I try.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
I am here to find the amulet, damn it. Find it, bring it back to Silver City, and learn the truth about who my parents were and what happened to them.
I reach for the pocket I sewed into the lining of my vest, pull out my lockpick set, and select what I’m going to need. I clench my jaw when I bring the pick and tumbler to the lock, but there are no further sparks, no bursts of deadly magic. Just the soft click of the lock yielding to the right kind of pressure. And then the door swings open. I pack my kit, hold my breath, and cross the threshold.
Nothing happens.
This room is the weirdest of all. My gasp echoes off the stone walls. My own reflection stares back at me from every surface.
Mirrors. Reznyk hung mirrors on each of the four stone walls, massive ones and tiny ones, high against the ceiling and resting on the floor. I count seven of them, with two polished pot lids propped against the south wall.
It’s like he’s created a room solely to admire his own reflection, although the angles are all wrong. Each mirror gives a shattered, distorted glimpse of my body; my boots in the potlids, the top of my head from the mirror against the rafters. None of them are hung in a way that would help Reznyk decide if his cloak matches his pants.
Gods, it’s creepy. Still, I suppress my shiver and search every mirror, running my hands along the sides and peering at the stone behind it. Nothing.
Finally, I tiptoe backward out of the room, watching the mirrors like I’m a child afraid of my own reflection. I pull the door closed behind me. The lock settles into place with a click. For a heartbeat, I fool myself into thinking the Godkiller will never know I was here.
Right. I haven’t been caught snooping around the Towers, but I’m a Guard. Guards go everywhere. Here, I’m an unwanted guest who was supposed to stay put. As I walk down the stairs, the children’s story about the pirate’s wife unfurls behind me. Open any door you want, the pirate told her. Just don’t go to the top of the tower.
“Shit,” I hiss.
By the time I emerge in the open room where I first spent the night, my heart is hammering a marching tune and my ankle throbs.
I went to the top of the tower. I broke into the only locked door in the place. I didn’t find the bones of all Reznyk’s previous wives, not like the pirate’s wife in the story, but I sure as the nine hells went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to go.
My gaze settles on something by the open door. It’s my pack, still hunched against the wall where I dumped it yesterday. I press my hand against my chest as my mind sorts through my options.
Reznyk doesn’t want me here. He said as much this morning when he told me I can’t stay. I haven’t found the amulet, but I did find a creepy room filled with mirrors. That doesn’t mean anything to me, but it might mean something to the Towers.
I bite my lip, then glance back over my shoulder like I’m expecting Reznyk to come running down the mountain behind me. The thought makes me shiver, and not entirely with fear.
Which is another reason to leave. I know who he is and what he did, but I still can’t make myself hate Reznyk. Not after last night. Not even if he did kill the last old god in the world. And I’m here to rob him, damn it.
But I don’t have to rob him. I could go back to the Towers without the amulet. I’ll tell the Exemplars everything I found. Hells, I’ll tell them he doesn’t have the amulet. Maybe then they’ll leave him alone, and they’ll let me go back to my life in the Guard and my nocturnal snooping around the Archives.
I cross the room, pick up my pack, and swing it over my shoulders. My ankle pulses in protest, but I clench my jaw and ignore it. This dull ache is a lot better than the screaming pain of yesterday. Besides, it’s only a day’s walk to the hunting lodge.
If I’m fast, I’ll make it by tonight.