Chapter Seventeen #2
Once the spots disappear from my vision, I take a deep breath and keep going.
Magic. This place has magic—it must have been created by meigas. How long ago? How many years before they were all wiped from the Kingdom?
I come to the eastern edge of the labyrinth, and below the letter E are more words. I brace myself this time before saying, “Blood for Ruthlessness, I yield thee.”
My blood turns to lava, and I bite back a scream. I grit my teeth as the pain recedes and force myself onward.
When I reach the southern end, I don’t let myself hesitate. Waiting will only make it worse.
“Breath for Fidelity, I yield thee.”
My lungs fill with fire and a sensation like I’m drowning has my hands flying to my throat as I desperately try to inhale. I feel lightheaded and nearly stumble.
The breath abruptly returns to my lungs, and I can’t help it. I gasp.
The figure that is Roze jerks forward, breaking ranks with the rest of the Grimmstones.
“Wait—who are you?” he demands.
“Initiates aren’t allowed to speak on the labyrinth. You know that.” That sounded like Fletcher.
I continue on, my legs now trembling, and I can feel Roze’s eyes on me the entire time. I finally reach the western edge of the labyrinth.
“Bite for Ambition, I yield thee.”
Pain like needles pierces my gums, pushing at my teeth. I’m certain for a moment that my teeth have all simultaneously fallen from my mouth. I clap a hand over my lips … and I scream. I couldn’t hold back my voice if I wanted to, and I nearly stumble to my knees.
“Sinclair!” Roze’s voice sounds furious. He nearly charges toward me, but one of them holds him back with a hand on his shoulder.
Roze turns, his attention now on the other Grimmstones. “Which one of you bastards brought her here?”
“It doesn’t matter now. She’s here. She has to finish,” says a voice I don’t recognize.
“No. No, this can’t—she can’t—”
“There are rules.”
“Damn the rules.”
“Calm down, or we’ll expel you from this meeting. She’s almost done.”
My eyes water, and I try to focus on breathing as the pain recedes.
There’s just one more stretch of the path, and I follow it to the center of the room where the robed figures stand.
Roze moves toward me, but one of the larger boys holds him back as the figure I think is Ed (I’ve lost track) hands me a small scrap of paper and an elegant fountain pen.
“Write your dearest secret, but be careful. The Crypt will know if you’re lying.”
I stare down at the small scrap, still breathing heavily and shaking slightly from enduring the pain of the labyrinth.
My dearest secret. I’m not sure what I should write.
Whatever it is, I certainly don’t want Roze and the others to know about it.
But who knows what the room will do if I’m not entirely honest?
I set the pen to the paper and close my eyes.
I think of Roze in my room just an hour ago, the fractured look in his eyes as he admitted his truth—that he isn’t entirely real, that he’s stuck between is and isn’t, that he cannot touch a living soul.
And I scorned him for it. I condemned him for killing the Queen and holding me to this bargain … even though in doing so he saved my life.
He would hate me if he knew the truth. Of that, I’m certain.
I open my eyes and stare down at the paper. There is no way back. Only forward. And that means baring this truth I have tucked away in my soul.
I scrawl the words I am afraid of myself, fold the paper, and hand it to Ed.
He hands it to Roze, whose shoulders are slumped, like he’s given up this fight. He slowly lets his cloak drop to the floor, removes one of his gloves, and places the paper in his bare hand. He closes his fist over it and brings it to his lips. I barely hear the words he whispers to it.
“When the darkness comes.”
He pulls his face away, and in his palm the scrap of paper has transformed. The crease in the paper is now a small hairy body, and the flaps are wings. A moth.
It’s large and beautiful—its muddy gray wings almost sparkle with magic. Roze holds its body between his thumb and forefinger and draws a needle from within his cloak.
He approaches me, and his eyes finally meet mine through the mask. A silent conversation passes between us in the course of a heartbeat.
You betrayed me.
I did it for you.
Let me protect you.
Let me save you.
It’s too late for that.
“Remove your cloak,” he says.
I don’t know what’s coming, but I obey, unclasping it at the neck and letting it fall to the ground.
I’m still wearing the gown he bought me underneath.
He breaks eye contact and lets his gaze travel over me.
He paces around me, examining me, speaking in a low, contemplative tone.
“We could do your hand—you do enough writing. But it’s too conspicuous. ”
“Shoulder?” Ed suggests. “She’s got an arm on her.”
Roze glares at him through his mask and turns back to me. “Not shoulder. Back isn’t quite right either.” He circles me completely, looking me in the face. “If I had it my way, I’d do it right over that mouth of yours.”
“Perhaps on her forehead. She’s a brainiac, isn’t she?” the large boy suggests, chuckling.
Roze snorts. Then his eyes fall from my forehead, melting slowly over my face, my lips, down my throat, to where my chest is far more exposed in this dress than it normally is, my heart beating wildly just beneath my skin.
“Hold still,” he murmurs.
He gently places the moth over my heart, outstretched across my breastbone. It struggles against his hold, its wriggling legs and fluttering wings tickling my skin.
Silver eyes flash up to mine. “This will hurt.”
And without warning, he stabs the moth, driving the needle straight into my chest.
I gasp, convulsing slightly, and Roze’s hand on my shoulder keeps me upright. He pushes the needle in, and I’m sure he’s going to injure something important. I want to tell him to stop, that he could pierce my heart.
But then the needle disappears entirely beneath my skin, and Roze presses his gloved palm against my bare chest. I look down at his hand, feel the cool leather against my feverish flesh, and my heart slows. A new sense of calm overtakes me.
But it’s more than calm.
It’s … serenity.
Gently, he removes his hand, and I can’t hold back a gasp.
In place of the moth wings is a tattoo, one that matches the one on Roze’s neck—an enormous, beautiful moth with a skull on its body.
Gingerly, I reach up and touch it, almost expecting it to not be real.
“It’s lovely,” I say.
“Viola Sinclair,” Roze says, his tone formal, “do you pledge yourself to the Grimmstone Society and its mission evermore?”
Forever is a long, long time. But I’m ready for this—the belonging, the power, the secrets. I’m a born keeper of them.
“I do,” I say.
Roze’s gaze bores into mine, shifting between my eyes. Then he nods.
“Fiat tenebrae. Let there be darkness.”
“Fiat tenebrae,” I repeat. “Let there be darkness.”
“Fiat tenebrae,” the others shout around us. “Let there be darkness.”
The floor jolts beneath us, and I fall into Roze, clinging to his lapels.
His hands go to my waist, steadying me. The ring of flooring surrounding the labyrinth in the rotunda moves, sliding away into a hidden alcove until we’re standing on an island surrounded by a deep moat of darkness.
And then in a blink, torches light all around, not just in the room, but in the pit.
I think there’s something down there. I move to take a step closer, but Roze takes that moment to rip off his mask. His face is hard and cold as he hisses, “What have you done?”
I pull away from him, hands on my hips. “I will not be made to feel guilty after you kept me in the dark when clearly, being part of the Grimmstones is most likely what got your father killed. It’s the only path forward.
” The other boys are removing their masks and robes, looking like they aren’t sure whether to involve themselves in this argument.
I whisper, “Remember what Professor Borges said—”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, Sinclair?”
“Yes, I do. Ed and I talked.”
Roze’s eyes flash toward Ed, who is now studying the domed ceiling with great interest. “Yes, well, I’ll deal with him later.
” He looks back to me. “You’ve just painted a permanent target on your back.
” His eyes are burning. He’s so enraged, he’s almost shaking.
“Not for one moment for the rest of your life will you be able to rest easy. You will always be in danger, always be a traitor in the Crown’s eyes.
As if being a meiga weren’t bad enough.”
“And what if I don’t care?” I snap. “What if it’s worth it? Ed said—”
“It’s not Ed in here, love,” Ed chimes in.
“In here I’m known as Sailor.” He points toward Fletcher.
“I believe you know Squire.” Fletcher nods toward me.
Then Ed—Sailor—points to the others in turn.
“And then there’s Monk, Ranger, Major, Turnkey, Spinner, Sparrow, Rook, Weasel, Sculler, and—” He gestures grandly toward Roze, who scowls at him. “Reaper.”
“Of course,” I mutter, eyeing Roze.
“Speaking of which, you’ll need a Grimmstone name as well. For secrecy and, you know, added mystery.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes.
“What about Damsel?” Rook suggests.
My face sours. “That’s a little sexist.”
“Personally, I like Princess,” Ed says with a grin.
“Not Princess,” Roze says definitively, arms crossed across his chest. “Something more subtle.”
Fletcher rubs his chin. “Scrivener.”
My face brightens. “I like that.”
“Scrivener it is, then,” Ed says.
Roze huffs. “She should not be here. You all know what’s at stake, what we guard—”
“So this isn’t about keeping me safe at all,” I cut in, my frustration building. “You don’t trust me.”
“Reaper,” Fletcher interrupts, “Sailor told us what she can do. A linguist who can actually translate ancient Aragoise? You know how valuable that would be to the Grimmstones.”