Chapter 18 #2
“Time to go,” I say as the sun creeps toward the horizon. Gregor stretches his arms and collects Arina.
We keep off the main road, staying close to the cliffs and old rockslides. It’s slower but makes us less noticeable…at least until we’re far enough from the city’s edge that I’m confident even if anyone saw us, it wouldn’t be with any detail.
I make my way toward the mausoleum as the last light fades from the sky. The door is still unlocked. Still. Like an invitation that Kaelis will never rescind. I fight a smile and lose.
“This was it all along?” Gregor whispers as we descend the now-familiar stairs. “The secret passage into the academy was just a door?”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum. The sea breeze hits me as we reach the interior of the bridge, where tiny slits—imperceptible from the outside—offer breaths of fresh air and just enough light to navigate by.
The moment my feet cross the threshold of the academy, I pause. Then I take another step. Stop again. I’m back. The realization feels like a physical blow. The one place I swore to my mother I’d never go, I now can’t seem to escape.
I don’t even want to. The thought hits me even harder.
Gregor pauses at my side.
“I’m fine,” I answer his unspoken question and force my feet to move. “This way.”
I guide him through the passages I know by heart, up stone stairs that sag under the weight of time, past rooms that I’m convinced are known only to me and the ghosts. Everything looks the same.
We pass Silas’s door, and I stop without meaning to. I hadn’t been consciously leading us here. But now that we are…My hand hovers over the knob for a breath before I push it open. The moment it opens, I instantly wish I hadn’t.
The room that had once been a beacon of warmth in this cold, dark fortress is nothing more than a husk of its former self.
Bookshelves have been toppled, tomes scattered across the rug with its map of Oricalis and the worn paths where Silas had paced for hours on end.
Pages are ripped from the bindings and scattered across the floor.
Silas’s drawings have been torn from the walls, his artwork reduced to fragments.
“This was it?” Gregor asks quietly. “Where he lived?” He must recognize the artwork. Silas was always sketching at the townhome.
“Yeah…” Glass crunches under my feet as I cross to his desk, or what’s left of it. The drawers have been pulled and dumped, contents strewn across the floor.
I kneel, picking through the various sketches that are crumpled but otherwise intact and collecting a few.
His family might want them. One such rendering catches my eye—it’s a room I recognize from when I was last recovering from my time in Halazar.
A room deep in the academy that I used as a training area.
It’s been rendered with surprising detail, accurate down to the desk I pushed under a window.
Except, on the desk in the picture is an envelope. I stare at the carefully drawn lines, inked slightly thicker than the rest, as if to emphasize them. My brow furrows. The ink is fresher. This letter was added later to the picture…
“Can we use this room?” Gregor asks, yanking me from my inspection.
“No.” I stand, carefully folding and pocketing the drawings I’ve collected. “Ravin knows of it. I wouldn’t risk it.”
That’s more than enough for Gregor to agree.
We leave the ruins of Silas’s sanctuary behind, moving deeper into the academy.
I’ve a few ideas for places—deep enough that no one would find it by accident, simple enough for Gregor to remember the path between the bridge and the room, and far enough from the wards of the workshop of the Fool that no uncomfortable magic lingers there.
I decide on a decrepit wing of apartments. If the fact that the door wouldn’t open without me putting my shoulder into it wasn’t enough of a tell that no one has been here in a long time, the thick layer of dust that covers everything certainly is.
Across from the door is a large hearth, soot-stained and dormant, with stately windows of stained glass flanking it, punching through the cliffs and overlooking the sea.
Two couches in a tall style I’ve never seen before are on opposite sides of a low table, creating what would be a cozy sitting area.
Two bedrooms are off to the left and right of the main room.
Each bedroom with its own bathroom. Thankfully, the water still runs, even down here.
The beds are bare and creaking. The mattress sags, even under Arina’s weight. But at least it is a mattress. And it’s a room with a door that closes—a room that I can refurbish, a door that I can lock to keep her safe.
For the first time, I feel like I can breathe a bit easier. It’s another temporary respite.
Because nothing will be permanent until I can remake the world.
“I’ll show you the route here twice more,” I say to Gregor as we close the door to what’s now Arina’s bedroom. “Make sure you know exactly how to get here.”
We trace the path from this room and back again, Gregor repeating every turn. On the third go-around, he leads. He still hesitates at points. But by the fourth time, he moves with confidence.
“Only you,” I emphasize when we return to Arina’s quarters. “Don’t show the path to anyone else, not even the Worldkeepers. Not yet.”
He nods. “I understand.”
“There’s one more thing I’d like to ask of you…Will you stay with her tonight and whenever I cannot?”
“Of course.” He glances around. “As long as you bring me food.”
“I can arrange that.” The academy is still on its summer break. But I’m sure I can find something in the kitchens. Kaelis is still here, after all.
“Where will you go?”
“I need to get the supplies she needs and start looking for what Vaduin wants,” I say.
A long pause. “So, to Kaelis, then?” Gregor’s tone is unreadable.
I nod.
We stare at each other. I’m the first one to look away. He shifts, folding his arms. The awkwardness is unbearable.
“Well, good luck,” he mumbles.
“Thanks.”
Another second of us staring at each other, and then I head off.
I swing by the kitchen and scavenge for some dried fruits, nuts, and cheese. When I return to deliver the rations, Gregor makes jokes that I must be a bird, and that’s far better than the tension that had overtaken us earlier.
Still, I know he doesn’t like the idea of me going to Kaelis. I can feel his disapproval as I leave.
I weave through the passages, up and across to an outer tower connected by a single bridge that I move within, not on top of.
The Stellis were there during winter break last year; I’ve no reason to think they won’t be now.
For the first time I wonder if they’re there by Kaelis’s orders, or if it’s Naethor or Ravin keeping an eye on him.
I emerge into Kaelis’s closet, the familiar scents of his colognes and soaps stopping me in my tracks—cedar, frankincense, and a unique blended aroma I can’t piece apart.
My heart pounds as I listen for movement in the main room.
Hearing none, I slowly, silently crack the door, scanning the familiar chamber.
No one.
It’s only ever Kaelis and his maid, Rewina, in here. But I don’t really want to run into her. The smell of food draws me to his dining room door. I press my ear to it. There are the sounds of clanking cutlery, pauses, shifting goblets. But no talking. By the sound of it, he’s eating alone.
Slowly, I ease open this final door, just enough to peek through. The warm glow of candles shining off the dining table is exactly as I remember it. It’s elegant, refined, and utterly gorgeous, in stark comparison to the chaotic mess I still am.
Then my eyes land on him.
Kaelis sits in his usual seat at the head of the table.
A book is open beside his plate. He’s dressed casually, a velvet robe draped over loose silken clothing beneath.
His deep purple hair, nearly black, is mussed, as though he’s been raking his hands through it in thought.
Hands that he now brings to his lips, biting at his thumbnail.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen him so relaxed… and I’ve seen the man naked.
I open the door, and he looks up instantly. Our eyes meet, and I hold my breath, waiting. Waiting to see what his reaction will be. If he meant it, telling me to come back here.
A slow smile spreads across his face, smug and satisfied in that way that’s uniquely his. But there’s also genuine relief in his eyes. When he speaks, the words are harsh, yet simultaneously full of affection. “You look like death.”