Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
We take the stairs up to the Noxbridge Library.
Malachi wants to search for the scepter, and I don't argue.
I've always been fascinated by this place, though I've only been inside twice.
Unlike Veritas University, which the Sages built from nothing, Noxbridge was constructed by the founding family of Tenebris itself, back when they still called Lunaris home.
"You should consider recruiting students here once the curse is lifted," he says, that infuriating lilt in his voice. "You'd be excellent at it."
"If you knew how much effort it takes not to strangle you every time you use that tone, you'd never speak again."
"Or I'd speak more." He winks. "Just to watch you try."
Heat rushes to my cheeks and settles somewhere lower. I look away, hoping to hide my reaction, but his low chuckle tells me I've failed. I sigh and shake my head. When I glance back, his attention has drifted to the decorative wings cascading down my back.
I can't help but laugh. "You can touch them, if you want."
His eyes find mine, searching, as if gauging whether I mean it. I turn my back to him and cross my arms, waiting. The first brush of his finger down my spine steals my breath. He does it again, slower this time, tracing the path of the decorative feathers.
A shaky laugh escapes me. "I don't think I've ever met anyone whose fascination with wings rivals my own."
He hums, the sound vibrating through the space between us. "You haven't met anyone who's actually had them, then."
I go still. The words repeat in my head. Had them. Actually had them.
I whirl around. "What?"
I search his face for answers, but he offers none.
My mind races through everything I know about winged beings, which is far less than what I know about wings themselves.
I devoured books about winged warriors as a girl, but those were romances, fiction dressed up as history.
What I know for certain is that in Iredell, wings are a mark of royal blood.
Not every bearer sits on a throne, many are generations removed from power, but the bloodline runs true regardless.
Malachi must be one of those distant heirs.
He fought in the war alongside Draven and Kage, which tells me enough.
The royals I've read about prefer to start wars from the safety of their palaces and let others bleed in their name.
They don't bargain away their freedom to goddesses of death. They don't spend centuries trapped in Noktemore, fighting to break curses they didn't cause. Whatever Malachi is, he's not that kind of royal. When I look at him again, his eyes are bright with amusement. He's enjoying this.
"Your curiosity almost tastes as sweet as your anger," he murmurs, and the low rumble of his voice does something dangerous to my pulse.
"I hope you know I won't be able to focus on anything else until you answer every question I have."
He opens his mouth to respond, then snaps it shut. His head turns sharply toward the front of the library. Before I can ask what's wrong, his hand closes around my arm. He pulls me into a row of towering shelves as footsteps echo through the silence, growing closer with each second.
Another sharp turn, and he's pressing me into a shadowed alcove, my back flat against cold stone, his body blocking the entrance. The footsteps stop somewhere close. Too close.
"Did you hear about the crew they captured?" A gruff voice, unfamiliar.
"The ones who scaled the cliffs near the Keep?" Another voice, higher. "What did they want?"
"They claim to be searching for the heir. Cato's heir."
Silence. Then — "I can't imagine Lord Constantine took that well."
A snort. "He did not. Last time he visited Lyrionne, he had half the kingdom convinced he was the heir. Probably believes it himself by now."
"He probably believes Cato will thank him for taking Tenebris, too."
Malachi goes rigid against me, every muscle coiled. From the corner of my eye, I see a sconce flicker, and without thinking, I fist my hand in his cloak and pull him closer. His nose brushes mine. His breath ghosts across my lips. Neither of us moves.
"That'll never happen. Though I suppose this would be a good place to hide, if the heir even exists."
"The seer saw a son. Twenty years ago. And she saw him arrive here."
"Seers have been wrong before."
"You want to be the one to tell Cato his seer was wrong?"
Laughter, fading as they walk away. I hold my breath until the footsteps fade entirely. Twenty years ago. A good place to hide.
A lot of people arrived that year, but narrowing them down wouldn't be impossible. Unless Constantine doesn't want to find the heir. Unless he'd rather believe he is one. The thought stops me cold. Is that why he's so invested in the memory trade? So no one can prove otherwise?
"Well, they have weapons that can kill the Rooks. Between you and me, I hope they don't succeed. We don't need more of Cato's …"
The lights flicker. Through the bond, I feel Malachi's fury spike, sharp and sudden. We've been careful about keeping our emotions contained, but this is different. This is personal. He moves to step out of the alcove. I catch his arm and hold tight. He frowns down at me.
"You can't fight here," I whisper. "You can't spill blood in the Council's territory. Not unless you want both of us dead."
Something flickers in his expression, frustration or understanding, I can't tell. He nods once, scans the shadows, and signals for me to follow. I do. Quickly. Quietly. The stolen books in my bag press against my ribs, a reminder of everything I have to lose.
We slip out the side door and freeze.
Four men in legion uniforms stand in the alley, blocking our path. For one suspended moment, everyone is still. Then someone shouts, and the world erupts into chaos. Malachi moves before I can blink.
He seizes the man nearest him, twists his arm at an angle that shouldn't be possible, and drives him into the wall with a crack that echoes off the stone.
The second man lunges. Mal catches him by the collar, drives an elbow into his face, then kicks him backward with enough force to send him crashing into the opposite wall.
I only see those two before instinct takes over.
A third man charges at me from the left. My heart slams against my ribs, but I don't run. I plant my feet, wait until he's close, and drive my knee up hard. He doubles over with a grunt. I bring my foot up and catch him across the jaw.
He goes down. I pray he stays there. Movement in my peripheral vision. A fourth man, emerging from the shadows while Malachi is occupied.
"Mal!" I rip the blade from my cuff, but I'm too slow.
The man drives a dagger into Malachi's side.
The scream that tears from my throat doesn't sound human. I lunge forward, but hands grab me from behind, wrenching me backward. I don't think. Fire blooms in my palm, hot and bright, and I twist free and drive my blade into whoever's holding me without looking. They release me with a cry.
Please don't be dead. Gods. I hope I don’t know them. I spin around. The man clutches his arm, blood seeping between his fingers, but he's alive. I turn back to Malachi.
He's clutching his side, staring at the blood-soaked blade in the man's hand with an expression I can't read. Confusion. Disbelief. Something darker beneath.
The man who stabbed him grins, blood on his teeth. "I knew this Rook killer would come in handy."
My sigil flares so hot I can feel it searing through my blouse. I'm moving before I can think. Blade high. Arm extended.
I drive the steel into the man's bicep. He snarls and wheels toward me, the dagger rising. Mal is faster. He rips the weapon from the man's grip and opens his throat in one fluid motion.
The man's eyes go wide. So do mine. Blood sprays in an arc as he crumples to the cobblestones. Someone screams.
I think it might be me, but my ears are ringing and my body is shaking so hard I can't tell where I end and the world begins. I tear my gaze from the body and look around wildly. This is the same place. The exact same place where I healed Jordi.
Where the laborers died screaming for families they couldn't remember. And now this. More blood soaking into the same stones. I scan the rooftops for gray birds. The windows for watching eyes. Any sign that we've been seen.
Warmth floods through the bond, sudden and deliberate, and I gasp in a breath I didn't know I needed. Then I'm hauled off the ground. I register Mal's warmth, strong arms, and the feel of his breath against my temple, but I can't seem to stop shaking or take my eyes off the carnage around us.
"Bloodshed equals banishment," I whisper, the words pulled from me without thought.
The first law of Lunaris. The one the Sages always warned us they couldn't protect us from. And I've just broken it in the Council's own territory. These men were wearing uniforms.
Someone will come looking. Someone will find out. I'll be banished. Gone. I'll never see Jordi again. Never help him get home.
Some distant part of my mind whispers that none of this will matter if we succeed. If we break the curse, if the Shroud falls, the Council's laws will mean nothing. Lunaris might not even exist anymore. But all I can think about is what I'll lose.
The chance to fix the elixir. To undo the harm I've caused. To find a way for the residents to remove their amulets without losing themselves to grief.
"Menace." Mal's voice in my ear breaks through my thoughts. "Look at me." My eyes find his face, blurred despite how close we are. "You did nothing wrong."
I nod and try to breathe. Try to feel anything beyond the cold numbness spreading through my chest. My gaze darts back to the bodies. Are they all dead?
Did I kill any of them? I was careful. I soaked my blades in white poppy this time, not wolfsbane. They should only wound, not kill.
But the man Malachi stabbed, his throat is sliced and his eyes are open. Fixed. The blood pooling beneath him is already going dark.
"Eyes on me," Mal says sharply. "Ada. Look at me."
I force myself to focus.
"These aren't legion guards." His voice is steady, certain. "They're Cato's hunters. They would have killed us both without hesitation." He scans the alley. "They probably murdered real guards to get those uniforms."
A shudder runs through me. Arlo probably isn't on duty tonight. But still. Legion guards are like the laborers: no memories from before, no thoughts of their own. They do what the Council tells them and believe what the Council wants them to believe. Easy targets for men who needed uniforms.
"How do you know they're Cato's hunters?" I whisper.
"No amulets. And legion guards don't carry that mark."
I follow his gaze to the nearest body. On the inside of the man's forearm, black ink stands stark against cooling skin: an eye inside a heart. The Everlasting. My stomach drops.
Malachi turns to leave. I struggle against his grip.
"You're hurt," I hiss. "Put me down."
"I'll be fine."
"We don't know how deep it went. Let me down so I can—"
He stops walking and fixes me with a look that steals the words from my tongue. "Will you just let me have this?"
I stare at him for a long moment. Then I stop fighting. I let my head fall against his shoulder, let my body sag into his arms. He exhales, and I feel the tension drain from him too, as if my surrender has given him permission to breathe.
For the first time since I made the bargain, I wonder what I'll feel when the bond is gone. If there will be a hollow place where his presence used to be. I don't let myself think about the answer.
Whatever fragile peace we found shatters the moment we reach my apartment.
The door hangs open. Inside, chaos. Books scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. My brother's bag, gone. The table where he drew his maps lies on its side, one leg snapped clean off.
My eyes catch on the bookshelf. It's been shoved aside, exposing the hidden alcove behind it. The entrance to the Veritas hallways, the secret we've guarded for as long as I can remember, laid bare.
I don't know what terrifies me more: that someone who knew about this passage betrayed us, or that the Council finally found it on their own.
Either way, nowhere is safe anymore.