Chapter Twenty-Six
I wait for several moments after Anton disappears into that strange pillar of a tower, allowing myself the time to catch my breath. Then I barrel after him.
My legs threaten to give under the exertion, but I continue through the tunnel under the mountainside until I reach the base of the tower, where the doors should be. Instead there’s an archway identical to the entrance of the Abyssal.
At my approach, the threshold glows a bright, vibrant blue.
Did Moranya make this entrance just for him, too? A mortal? I can only hope this one also allows me passage.
I lift my palm near its iridescent surface. It wavers at the nearness of my hand, just as the Abyssal’s entrance did.
I take a deep breath, then release it as I walk right through.
On the other side, I find myself in an empty atrium save for a staircase that winds upward. I climb, pausing once to let my heart calm its pace.
When I reach the landing, Anton is nowhere to be seen. I tread farther, careful, not knowing who or what I might find here. Is this where Moranya hides? The thought sends a spiral of panic up my throat, but I take comfort in knowing I grabbed Anton’s pendant just in case.
Hold it up to the nearest source of light.
I clutch it tight as a pit carves into my stomach.
Why stay here? And why would Anton visit?
The landing is split in two, though my gaze is immediately pulled to my left.
The space is lit in a hundred shades of silver that shimmer under the soft light from the window.
It looks like a mirror exploded. Or like someone took an axe to a stack of them, silvered shards sparkling across the floor like dust, larger pieces severed and scattered across every surface.
What remains beyond that looks like a workshop.
Broken vials, buckets of sand, barrels of substances I can’t name.
Baubles and tinctures of luminescent cerulean like that of the aurora.
Yet I can’t get any closer without stepping on glass.
What has happened here? And Anton, with his glass artifice—is this why Moranya needs him? Is he building her something?
Tentatively, I make my way across the landing, noting the stairs leading farther up. Faint voices echo softly. I’m about to go and listen, but then I see what’s across the hall.
A library.
Codices.
Pale shelves wrap the space, split by a large, round, stained-glass window that feels odd and out of place. Like it belongs on Anell, not here.
The shelves, however, house more codices, and I almost cry in relief. I knew some were missing. I’d almost given up hope.
Except these are…different.
The edges are rimmed and bound in a glowing gold. The pages are like liquid silk, fused together, and a lock prevents me from opening them.
As in the Abyssal, the spines give nothing away, so I select one at random and pry at the metal hinges bracketing each side.
Fiddle with the lock. It doesn’t budge, so I cart it to the other side of the room, where candlesticks, flaming blue, are scattered along the windowsill.
I snatch one, attempt to bang the lock off.
When that doesn’t work, I release a growl, try a different codex—
I’m jerked around, only to find Anton scowling down at me, his hand cuffing my arm in a punishing grip. “What in the desolate souls are you doing here?”
“I—” I grapple for an excuse, but none comes. “I followed you…”
“Do you mean to insult my intelligence?”
I scowl at that, but we’re cut off by the rattle of hinges. The squeal of a door, several floors up. The distinct descent of steps.
Anton utters a curse, jerking me along with him, straight toward, toward—
I brace for impact as he shoves me into the stained-glass window.
Only it isn’t a window.
It’s a portal.