35. Asha #2
Leith turns to face us. “The first barrier responds to death-current. Once we’re inside, nobody touches a record until Tobin checks it.”
I glance at Hale. “You heard him. No burning.”
“I heard him. Didn’t agree.”
Tobin’s orb dims as he brings it closer to his chest. “Verne will detect excess magic.”
“She’ll detect my fist when I put it through a record lock.”
“That’s still excess force.”
“Quiet,” Leith snaps.
He places his palm against the centre band.
Black current spreads under his hand, filling the script one mark at a time. The door gives a faint shudder. A pressure passes over us, cold enough to reach my bones, and fixes on Leith.
The upper band turns black.
The middle one remains silver.
Leith’s expression tightens. “Closer.”
We crowd in behind him. Hale presses against my back, his hand settling at my waist. Tobin stands at my left shoulder and raises his fingers towards the door without touching it.
The ward sweeps over us again.
It pauses on me.
Every mark beneath my skin ignites.
I bite back a curse while gold and purple light pushes through my sleeve. The middle band flashes purple, and the entire door recoils from me.
“That seems encouraging,” I whisper.
“It recognised a foreign divine current,” Tobin murmurs. “Whether it accepts one is another matter.”
The bottom band turns gold, then the three bands flare together.
The door opens inwards without making a sound.
Cold darkness waits beyond it.
“That was easier than expected,” Hale murmurs.
“Never say that,” I tell him. “You’re inviting disaster.”
Leith steps through first. The black current remains over his hand, spreading across the floor beyond the doorway in thin streams. Nothing attacks him.
An excellent start by SilverGate standards.
He signals for us to follow.
I step over the threshold, and the marks under my skin dim at once. Hale stays close behind me as Tobin enters. The door seals after him, cutting off our route back.
Tobin sends his orb upwards.
The restricted archive stretches into darkness beneath the library.
Tall cabinets line the walls, every one bound in silver chains or covered by black glass.
Narrow aisles disappear between shelves packed with ledgers, sealed cases and metal cylinders marked with warning runes.
No candles burn here. The only light comes from Tobin’s magic and a faint purple current moving under the floor.
I look down.
A silver chain rattles against a cabinet to our right.
Every chain in the archive answers.
The noise travels into the darkness, hundreds of links striking wood, glass and metal. Hale’s hand tightens at my waist. Fire flickers over his free hand, low enough not to trigger every ward in the room.
Tobin kills his orb.
Darkness drops over us.
I don’t move. The purple current beneath the floor gives us enough light to see each other, barely. The chains keep moving for several seconds, then fall silent together.
“Record locks?” I whisper.
“Alarm system,” Tobin replies.
“Did we trigger it?”
“Not yet,” Tobin whispers. “It noticed us. That isn’t the same thing.”
“Comforting distinction.”
Leith lifts one hand, signalling silence. His black current spreads further across the floor, probing the aisles without touching the purple lines beneath them.
A cabinet opens somewhere ahead.
The slow scrape carries through the archive, followed by the rustle of paper.
Hale’s fire brightens.
“Don’t,” Tobin warns under his breath.
“I need to see what’s coming.”
“You’ll wake every defensive ward down here.”
“I’d rather wake them than let one remove my head in the dark.”
Leith’s current reaches the open cabinet. He shuts his eyes for a moment, then points to the third aisle on our left. “Nobody alive.”
“Wonderful,” I murmur. “The archive opens its own cabinets.”
“Or something dead opened it,” Hale says.
“That is less wonderful.”
Tobin brings his orb back at a fraction of its previous strength. Silver light reveals the nearest cabinets and the purple current flowing beneath our boots. The chains remain motionless.
Leith starts towards the third aisle.
We follow in close formation. Hale keeps one hand at my waist, which would usually annoy me, but I’m willing to accept a possessive hellhound while surrounded by murderous filing systems.
The aisle narrows as we move deeper. Black glass fronts the cabinets here. Words appear beneath the surface when Tobin’s light passes over them, then vanish before I can read anything.
“Should we…”
I trail off as I’m suddenly talking to myself. The guys have vanished, or possibly I did. It doesn’t look like I’m standing in the restricted section anymore. I stand in a throne room.
Not mine.
The ceiling rises too high above black columns, and violet light burns in channels across the floor. A throne occupies the far end of the chamber, carved from silver stone and covered in dark stains.
That is mine.
And some fucker is sitting on it.
The fucker wears a long cloak. Its face refuses to remain in my mind. I look directly at it and see nothing I can hold. One second, feminine features appear. The next, they’re gone, wiped clean by magic that presses pain behind my eyes.
“You,” I whisper.
The faceless creature lifts one hand.
Black marks radiate from its palm.
My body refuses to move.
Power crushes down on me, ancient and invasive. It slides through this weak body, searching for something. My divine current answers with a furious pulse beneath my skin.
The creature rises from the throne.
“Who are you?” I demand.
It descends the steps, cloak dragging behind it. “You know.”
“I really fucking don’t.”
“You carry what remains of me.”
Cold hits my chest.
I force my feet to stay planted as it approaches. The chamber isn’t real. I know that. The archive pulled me into a record or a trap, and the guys are probably tearing the entire restricted section apart to find me.
Good.
I hope Hale burns something expensive.
The creature stops several feet away. Its face shifts again, giving me a glimpse of black eyes and a crown I recognise.
Seven points with a dark jewel at its centre.
My crown.
The first crown.
The one I took from Zether’s predecessor after I removed his head and claimed StormGate for myself. “Zether,” I murmur. “Oh, Zether!” I growl and then breathe in deeply. My name. I can say my name. “An—”
Blood spurts from my mouth, and I choke on it as the figure from the walls stands over me. She laughs, and her face swims into view.
It hits me with a sharp pang. “You,” I croak as I drop to my knees, blood still pouring from my mouth. “I will end you.”
STORMGATE Book 2 - coming soon