Lucille
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Iluscelered to the library, knowing I was late. Still, I paused outside the doors.
They showed the female in the dungeons. Unlike the timid way she had hidden in her shadows, whispering apologies, she gripped the cell bars with both hands and shoved her face between them.
Her long black hair and dress dangled through the gaps as she pressed herself close, her mouth open on an angry scream.
Goosebumps prickled my skin, and something screamed in my head not to look away.
There was something to this mosaic.
There was something these images were telling me.
My body practically vibrated with the need to know.
I walked inside the library, and Cato stood at the entry with a dry expression that bordered on annoyance.
“You’re—”
“Late. I know.” I jumped straight into my studies.
I needed to get this over with so I could write down my thoughts on the doors.
“Inviso is a type of dream-walking that allows us to invade the body of another and witness the past through them. Like Intraverso, you need to ground yourself, but not in the past—in the person.”
I’d read that last night, and it made me question the female who had ripped me from my dream-walk. She gave me a list about Miriam. She knew I’d need it for Intraverso, which again begged the question: who was she? And why did she want me to travel to Miriam’s past?
“And?” Cato prompted, clasping his hands together beneath his billowing sleeves.
“And I tried to dream-walk into Miriam’s body.”
His shrewd eyes twitched, and a subtle crease lined his brows.
“But it didn’t work,” I said slowly.
The barely perceptible frown line smoothed over.
“Why?”
“Intraverso is difficult if you don’t know the person. If you’re not grounded well enough, or your question isn’t specific enough, it won’t work. I tried and failed three times.”
His flat expression that bordered on a scowl lifted to what I wouldn’t classify as a smile, but regarding Cato, it was.
He nodded. “Good.”
Good? That I practiced and failed?
It didn’t feel good.
In fact, it enraged me.
I wanted to get to the last chapter. I needed a way to change my mom’s fate. But I was bogged down by thoughts of Ronen and Aspen. And I had come to a conclusion that scared me—a conclusion I’d have to deal with.
“Are we done then?”
He scrutinized me.
“Do you have more pressing matters to attend to?”
That felt like a trick question.
“The doors are showing me things I need to understand.”
Cato inclined his head toward my table of books. “Very well.”
I got off that easy?
“Thrones are scholars. Research is commendable in our line of work,” he explained after I hesitated to move.
I gave him a small smile. “Great. Oh, and do you have something I can write on—”
He gestured toward the quill and a few sheets of paper sitting next to my books.
“How—”
I turned back to his spot to find it empty.
“Sneaky Throne,” I muttered, hurrying to my table.
I started at the beginning, two months ago, with the doors’ first image—Ni.
At the thought of her, I wanted to smack myself. I was supposed to ask Ronen to let Ichi see her. It would have to wait until later, along with telling him about the prophecy.
For now, I wrote down every detail of Ni being bitten. From the blond male and his curling horns to what I’d been thinking that day and before I saw the doors, or at least from what I could remember.
I did the same with the image of Michael torturing me, Ni’s bite mark, the symbol I never deciphered before we rescued Aspen, and Michael with his dagger near my exposed back.
Then, on a separate sheet of paper, I wrote down the newest images: the scrolling rune, Hell’s gates, the rune again, my scars, and the prisoner.
I jotted down anything and everything related to those instances and the events that transpired. I needed to find a connection. Something that could help me understand why they showed what they did, when they did.
At first, I tried to make sense of them in relation to each other.
But it didn’t work.
Then I tried to make sense of them through the thoughts I’d been having as I approached the doors, like they were a Magic 8-Ball answering my questions.
But not all my thoughts aligned with their images.
I tilted my head toward the skylight and heaved a heavy sigh, scrunching the paper in my grip.
There had to be something!
“You’re going to be late for training.”
I snapped my attention to Cato.
He looked over my shoulder at my messy notes.
“I need to figure this out.”
He panned between the three sheets of paper. Then he frowned at the words Magic 8-Ball.
“The doors are ancient, sentient magic. Do not think you can simplify them into something so mundane. How does your father use them?”
Were we really going to get into another lesson?
I slumped back in my chair.
“He uses their ability to see the past, present, and future to judge souls. But he said he can’t see the images I see, and I think they respond to me differently.”
“What is their basic function?”
“To judge souls?”
His thinly pressed lips somehow became thinner.
“Basic.”
That was basic.
“To… help?”
He dipped his head. “If he is in need of their guidance, they help him.”
I thought about that. The images they showed him couldn’t be random then.
“They would show him what he needed to see when he needed to see it,” I said more to myself than to Cato.
Then I started back at the top with that thought in mind.
“They showed me Ni to warn me. They showed me Michael torturing me to…”
What?
I wanted to say torment me, but that wasn’t the purpose of the doors.
What did I need then?
I bowed my head.
“Strength,” I whispered. “And they showed me the last images for the dagger, not my abuse.”
“Or both,” Cato suggested, studying my descriptions. “The doors have a purpose with each image. Take great care to note the nuances.”
“Okay.”
I circled the symbol and the description of Michael and my exposed back. Then I stood to leave. As desperate as I was to continue, I needed to get to my squad.
Cato pointed at the symbol I circled. “That’s a Severance Rune.”
My mouth popped open for a moment. Did Cato actually give me a straight answer without me even asking for one?
“It wasn’t in the book of runes,” I finally replied.
“No. There are some Sanguis Runes I left out of the tome I gave you.”
Of course. I shouldn’t even be surprised.
“What does it do?” I asked, pushing my luck.
Cato straightened, scrutinizing me.
All my studying must’ve paid off because he gave me a sharp nod.
“It separates power into two coexisting halves. One remains accessible, while the other is sealed away to create the illusion of diluted powers.”
I scribbled down his answer with a giant smile.
I still had the newest images to figure out, but it was a start.
When I finished, he retreated with what I swore was almost a smile of his own.
I stared at the arena’s heavy wooden doors, listening to the sounds of swords clashing and warriors’ victory cries, knowing what waited for me on the other side.
“They’re never going to listen to me,” I muttered to myself.
It weighed as much on my shoulders as… well, everything.
The heavy wooden door opened, and I stepped back in surprise.
“Then make them,” Ronen said.
“Were you there the entire time?”
“No. But you’re late. I was coming to find you,” he explained.
I peered over his shoulder at my squad in dread.
“How do I make them?”
“Force them to. Threaten them.”
I scoffed.
“I tried.” Kind of.
“Do you want me to talk to them?” His shadows seeped into his eyes.
If Ronen intervened, there would be no talking.
“No.” I’d lose all leverage then. This was my problem. “Threatening them into submission isn’t going to work for me.” At least not on Matt and Dusty—not unless I showed them everything I could do. But would that even earn me their respect? “And I think there’s enough fear going around.”
“It’s our way, Hellion. Suffer—”
“Or die,” I finished for him. “I know.”
Hell had a brutal system in place for its own reasons. I didn’t entirely disagree with it or how my father and Ronen led. The circles were designed for suffering. I understood that.
But shouldn’t the Redemption Circle be more… redeeming?
Hadn’t the dead suffered enough?
I suppose that didn’t account for the blood-banded and the deals they made with my father.
I didn’t have the answers. I only knew I wasn’t like them.
Maybe that was more proof I wasn’t cut out to be a leader in Hell.
Or maybe…
“Hell needed to change,” I mumbled
“Hellion?” Ronen prompted.
“Nothing.”
I took in his puzzled face, feeling the hum of his awe and just a touch of anxiety.
Here he was, coming to search for me after I hurt him last night.
And this morning… with Aspen, then Sam and his needle, Ronen had helped me without a thought. He had held me, comforted me.
Even when he probably thought I was in Aspen’s bed.
I stepped toward Ronen.
Flutters bombarded my stomach as I raised my hand to his cheek. They worsened when he gripped my sides, pulling me in close.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, meaning it with my whole heart.
His gaze gentled. “I understand, Hellion.”
He didn’t. But he would soon.
Stepping foot into the arena, I paused.
The large, enclosed training grounds appeared almost empty. Half the squadrons were gone, and everyone left wore a Hell squadron uniform, whether they had earned it or not.
“Patrolling’s begun,” Ronen supplied as I watched MJ direct my squad. She had them split in half, fighting against each other.
She wasn’t alone either.
The other squads were performing similar drills. A Dread, in their darker uniform, stood next to each squad leader, helping them monitor, critique, and pause the fights.
“We have shifts in the city to watch and protect our citizens, shifts around the castle, and shifts to help the Dreads and Nightmares search the forests,” he continued, a touch of doubt lingering at the end of his sentence.
“You don’t think we’ll find any infected,” I said, peering up at him.
He pursed his lips, gazing out at the rest of his military.