Chapter 48
“Where are we supposed to sleep?” Daisy asks the inquisitors, who line the edges of the room. I’m amazed she still thinks they care.
The copper box springs to life in answer.
“As outlined in the lecture from Commander Salvis, there are supplies now spread across the monastery.” It’s the prelate.
“There are enough supplies for approximately five supplicants to live very comfortably until the next test. Or enough for fifteen supplicants to sustain without issue. Or…should you all share the supplies evenly and ration them well, for all supplicants to at least survive.”
“All of us to at least survive,” Lucan says skeptically. “They say that like it’s not a given.”
“After the last—” I pause, thinking. “What are we at? Eighteen days?”
“Seventeen, I think?” Saipha corrects, but she doesn’t sound sure, either. Time became blurry during the depths of hunger.
“Either way, I doubt it is enough for the three or four days we have remaining. Especially not going into it as weak as we all are.” It occurs to me that the remnants of the pantry we managed to build is still up in Saipha’s room.
Which is now blocked off. I wonder if they’ll find it hidden in her lockbox.
I assume they will…which means they’ll figure out we have a way into the kitchens, so I doubt we’ll be able to get in that way again.
The other supplicants are already beginning to cast wary, suspicious looks at one another.
Outright animosity is beginning to fill the air like the sour aroma from green dragon acid.
First, they took our safety by making us earn the keys to our rooms. Then they took our food away.
Now it looks like they’re taking both after just one good meal, and I can’t help wondering why they’re focusing so much on our resources.
The Creed teaches that dragon cursed are those more susceptible to Ethershade, and the dragon is brought forth when Ethershade builds up enough in someone’s body to trigger the transformation.
By their logic, the sundering pits made sense—expose us to Ethershade to see if anyone reaches saturation.
I can make sense of the Font in their minds, to see if the Ethershade revolted and drew forth like a protective mechanism against the Etherlight.
Protective. If they think the transformation can happen to protect the host body, then it would also happen to save someone from starvation or exposure. It seems rational based on the Creed’s teachings. But the word sticks on my mind like a crossbow bolt to a target.
I am my mother’s daughter, and I don’t believe the dragons are beings of Ethershade. I believe they’re beings of Etherlight. And Etherlight is the force of life. Which means it would make sense if it did protect.
My heart thunders in my chest as my mind races.
But, then, if Etherlight is what fuels the transformation, and it’s a survival mechanism, why did the yellow dragon on the rooftop almost seem like it was wavering from mindless beast to sentient in the presence of more Etherlight as I drew it between us?
Wouldn’t the Etherlight just make it stronger?
Mum could help me figure this out. As soon as I’m out of here, I’m sharing this theory with her. It’s not quite there. I’m missing something…something important. But I’m on the right track. I know it as clearly as I can now feel the flow of Etherlight in me.
I turn to Lucan on instinct to tell him, and the movement startles me.
I turned to Lucan, not Saipha. All my life, I’ve been turning to my best friend, my only confidant—and it’s not that I wouldn’t want to tell her, I do.
But, for the first time ever, I have someone else to turn to.
The number of people I can trust has doubled.
Lucan’s expression washes all the racing thoughts from my mind like a storm. He looks borderline murderous.
“I suspected something was coming, but not this. This could’ve been a challenging exercise to find supply caches, not a fight for our lives—pitted against each other.” Lucan throws an inquisitor a not-so-subtle glare. If the inquisitor notices, he doesn’t react.
“Breathing in Vinguard means fighting for your life.” I paraphrase the familiar refrain from those who’ve survived the Tribunal. My stomach twists painfully. Is this what they all must think to justify what was done to them, what’s being done to their children?
“We should find a place to claim as our own. Somewhere safe and warm.” Saipha wraps her arms around herself, rubbing them. “Then we can find supplies and hunt for the caches. Maybe the little shed in the greenhouse?”
“Everyone will be going there.” Lucan’s tone suggests he’s not interested in even trying that option.
“The study rooms, then?” Saipha suggests.
“We need somewhere that isn’t so obvious.” Lucan casts a wary gaze toward Cindel and her group. They all shoot us daggers with their eyes before trudging off. “We won’t sleep at night if we feel like we’ll be jumped any second.”
“We can take rotations like before,” she counters. “We just need something to barricade a door with.”
I’m silent as they speak, thoughts whirring again but in a totally different way. Safe. Saipha’s choice of words sticks with me. A safe hiding place is behind the crossbow rack. Callon’s first tip was essential. Maybe this one will be, too.
“Let’s go to the artificer tower,” I say low so only Saipha and Lucan can hear. Others are shuffling toward the different areas of the monastery, casting wary looks at other supplicants.
There’s a tautness in the air, like a bow being pulled back. We’re all quivering, waiting to shoot in different directions.
And when the first person begins to run, we all do.
After slowly starving us, the inquisitors have successfully conditioned us to expect the worst. Elbows are thrown, people are pushed down the stairs.
I pull Saipha and Lucan into a side hall, wanting to get out of the main flow as quickly as possible.
The fact that Cindel wandered off first and I now don’t know where she is fills my veins with dread.
We take the back passages that loop along the outer walls of the various towers and wings that compose the monastery. It’s a longer route to get there, but it’s safer.
“Why the artificer tower?” Lucan asks. “You have something in mind. I can tell.”
“A hunch,” I say between heavy breaths as we start on the final length of stairs. From my search on the first day, I remember the various rooms in this tower—one had the supplies to make crossbows. It’s the only place I can think of that might have a crossbow rack.
My stomach sinks when we enter the room. There are no bows at all, just shelves. I scan once and then scan again. The first clue Callon gave was precisely right—even if they changed something, like stair colors, the fundamental guidelines have been helpful. I refuse to give up so easily.
I press my lips together and focus, knowing our lives depend on figuring this out. Did they move the rack, or is there another meaning to what he said? Either is possible.
“What are we looking for?” Lucan steps in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. I hadn’t even realized I’d been pacing between the shelves. “Tell us so we can help you.”
“A crossbow rack,” I say.
“A crossbow rack?” Saipha repeats. “The only place that has enough weapons to warrant a rack is the training area, but now that I think about it, the bows are all on hooks.”
“I know…that’s why I came here, hoping there might be a rack next to where you could make one.”
“I know where one is,” Lucan blurts.
“You do?” I turn at the same time as Saipha, my voice pitching up with excitement.
“I saw one when I was looking for a quiet place to practice with the sigil I discovered inside the dragon statue that first night. This way.” Lucan leads us out of the room and back down the stairs.
He takes another quiet, dimly lit hallway and comes to a stop before a rack for a single crossbow mounted on the wall.
“Here. Is this what you’re looking for?”
A replica of a crossbow has been cast completely in steel. A wide wooden panel surrounds it, embellished with carvings of flying dragons impaled with bolts. A steel placard is mounted at the top. It reads, In honor of the first Mercy Kill.
“It hardly qualifies as a rack.” The disappointment is obvious in my voice.
“But technically it is,” Lucan points out.
“How is this going to help us?” Saipha glances over her shoulder and down the hall. “At any second, someone could sneak up and trounce us. We need more than a decorative crossbow—we need the real deal, at the very least.”
“I’m not looking to fight people,” I say.
“I’ll fight if that’s what it takes…” Saipha murmurs, her voice trailing off.
I focus on the silvered crossbow. The weapon is firmly welded to the wooden panel. But the panel itself doesn’t have obvious hooks, nails, or screws attaching it to the wall. Curious… Gripping it, I give it a firm tug. It doesn’t budge.
“It’s just a replica. What good will it do?” Saipha is being pushy today. Not that I blame her. More days of starving and fearing other supplicants is hardly appealing.
Lucan inspects the crossbow and its mount. “Try turning it.”
I twist, and the crossbow swings easily on a hidden pivot. There’s a click deep in the wall. I pull, and the whole placard swings open like a door, revealing a hidden room.
“What the…” Saipha whispers. “How did you know this was here?” She grabs my shoulder and half-turns me, looking me dead in the eyes. “Isola, are you cheating?”