Chapter 27 #2
Pressing myself up against a nearby marble column, I take a few deep breaths, needing much more than that to steady my heartbeat. I flip through all the information I’ve gathered so far—the Umbra, the Baron, the Captures—gods, and I’ve only been here a few minutes.
My next full inhale is cut short when an eerie silence swells around me. It’s a quiet settling that feels…unnatural.
Catching movement in my peripheral, I snap my attention to the far end of the hall, but without any candles lit and with all the curtains pulled closed, I can’t see the end of the corridor. I can see only to where the marble floors disappear into a deep black void of nothing.
A slimy, slithering feeling crawls across my skin. Like I’m being seen by someone that I can’t see.
Like I’m being watched.
I push off the column and turn, my borrowed cloak billowing out around me as I take the hall to my left instead.
Step one is to find the dungeons. Once I know where the entrance is, I can find somewhere safe nearby. This place is massive. I’m sure there’s an unoccupied room somewhere that I can set up my things and work out how I’m going to pull all of this off.
Honestly, it feels like an impossible feat right now, but it’s too early to give in to that kind of thinking. Way too early.
Captures, Greer had called them. Gods only know what they’re sick with, but I’m willing to bet that being locked in the dark for twenty years—as supernatural beings that require sunlight—is bound to come with fatal side effects.
I turn another corner, flinching when I’m met with my own reflection.
It takes a moment to kickstart my heart. Alesi’s reflection is so foreign to my own that I’m proud of myself for not screaming. Tearing my gaze away, I take in my new surroundings.
It appears to be a hall of mirrors, old and dirty, with tall marble statues placed sporadically down the corridor.
Similar to what I’ve seen so far, there’s hardly any light.
If it weren’t for the grey light shining through a few round windows high up in the ceiling, I wouldn’t be able to see a thing.
Turning back to the mirror beside me, I take advantage of the chance to check my illusion for any flaws. I might not have ever seen Alesi alive, but I think I’ve done a damn good job.
Moving closer to the mirror, I lift my hand to my face, brushing my fingers across the throbbing skin of my cheek. It’s hot beneath the illusion, and I’m certain there’s a handprint there.
A set of voices comes from the end of the corridor, seconds from rounding the corner into the hall.
I panic, darting away from my reflection and pressing myself up behind a column in the corner. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, piercing skin to keep any sound from escaping.
“Ready the suite in the west wing and tell the Umbra to add an extra setting at dinner,” a woman orders, her accent polished and refined.
Their footsteps near, and I force myself further behind the column, lungs burning with the breath I’m denying them.
“Yes, Your Highness.” A man replies, a raspy shake to his voice.
“And notify me at once when my father responds to my letter,” the woman demands as they pass right by me. “The King better have a good explanation for this.”
Certain that they’re headed in the other direction, I peer around the side of the column, catching their backs as they move down the hall.
The man is short and round, his footsteps fast as he tries to keep up with her, muttering another, “Yes, your Highness,” as they go.
And the woman… She’s tall. Taller than The Umbra. Limbs lithe, onyx hair cascading down the dark purple robes that fly out behind her.
When she turns her head to look at the man, revealing her profile, there’s a spindly black crown set across her forehead.
Your Highness. The Countess.
My father better have a good explanation for this.
Alaric’s daughter.
It took me all day to find the entrance to the dungeons.
I must have walked through nearly every hall, which is just as well—I needed a basic layout of the Estate. I got turned around more than once, but by the time night had fallen, it was starting to make sense.
A few servants came out earlier to open the curtains, allowing pale moonlight into the halls. It’s the only light I have to navigate through.
Most of the day, I spent eavesdropping on passing conversations, trying to blend in and not get caught.
It just so happened that the last group of Rogue men I’d been spying on mentioned needing to switch guard posts with someone.
There’s plenty of guards stationed around the Estate, so it could have been any post, but being that it was the only lead I had, I decided to pursue it.
I followed the Rogue down long and dark hallways, slipping into a broom closet when he came to an abrupt stop in front of a small black door. The polished floor around the entrance was dirty and cracked, singe marks burnt into the wooden frame.
The Rogue bumped fists with the guard on the right side of the entrance. They exchanged a few words that were too quiet to hear, and then the guard shrugged some kind of black armor off his shoulders and switched places with the man I had followed.
Given the many staircases he took to get down to this level, I’m confident I’ve found the entrance to the dungeons.
My eyes narrow on the Rogue guard now, still in the same position. He was on high alert when he first took his shift, but his attention is drifting. He’s been shifting more on his feet, and a few seconds ago I saw him yawn.
I’m supposed to have already signaled to Callan that I’m safe, but I don’t want to give him an update until I have something worth sharing. I certainly have a lot to report, but the Captures… I need to see them with my own eyes. I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with here.
A few minutes later, I watch the guard drag a chair to his post and plop down onto it with a grunt. Not long after that, his head is propped against the wall, arms folded across his chest, and when his eyes drift shut, a burst of adrenaline snaps my spine straight.
I give it some more time, waiting as his light inhales deepen, and soon, his snore echoes through the empty hall.
Carefully shutting the door to the broom closet, I turn and rifle through my things, grabbing a few mender pills out of my bag and tucking a knife into my waistband. I shove my bag behind a small wooden cabinet, flex the magic in my veins, and drape myself in Alesi’s appearance.
The illusion is strong, and it’s becoming easier to maintain, requiring less and less focus each time I conjure it.
Confident in my appearance, I mentally slip into Alesi. Recalling all the things Nix told me about her, I school my expression into that bored expression he described her to have, and gently push open the door to the closet.
I take a quiet step into the hall, the toes of my boots silent on the marble floor as I make my way to the guard. He’s still snoring, head knocked back and weapons unattended.
Blood rushes to my ears as I get closer. Close enough to see the hinges on the black door and the scratches in the worn frame. The guard doesn’t stir.
I reach for the handle.
The snoring stops.
Heart thrashing in my chest, I freeze, hand hovering over the rusted metal. Glancing in his direction, the guard shifts his jaw, eyes still closed. He repositions his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits, and when his breathing resumes its slow pace, I almost melt into the floor.
It’s by some miracle that when I pull on the handle, the latch doesn’t groan and the hinges don’t creak. I open the door only enough for me to slip through and take a quick step inside, carefully pulling it closed behind me.
Taking a second to gather myself, I inhale, grimacing at the foul smell I’m met with. Just like the rest of this place, it’s pitch black.
I cover my nose, squint into the dark, my eyes adjusting enough to make out the shadow of a railing. Taking careful steps towards it, the toes of my boots find the edge of the first stair.
Deciding I don’t have the time to waste, shuffling down each step in the dark, I spare a portion of Sol magic and cast a small orb of light—enough to illuminate a few feet in front of me.
I take the stairs as quietly as I’m able, the uneven steps winding tighter the deeper I go. As soon as I can see the bottom, I hurry down the last few stairs, jaw slackening at the scene before me.
“Light!” A weak voice croaks, chains rattling as a pair of bony hands push through steel bars, trembling fingers wrapping around the metal. “She has light!”
More chains rattle, echoing off stone, the clamor of movement heightened by sickly coughs and the murmur of voices.
“Gods,” I curse, stumbling a step forward.