Chapter 26 The Crypts #3
She remembered his uncharacteristic reluctance earlier when she had pointed to the tomb, so at odds with his usual decisive manner.
Was he afraid of enclosed spaces?
Leena nearly banished the thought; the dreaded Saint of Silence was not afraid of anything. Still, when his eyes met hers, there was a wildness in his gaze.
Deliberately, she reached through the dark to find his hand. She heard his sharp intake of breath, then his fingers tightened around hers crushingly.
Outside, she heard a smattering of piano keys, then a tune being played. Lord Kilworth cursed a few times when he hit the wrong note.
“Aye, I’ll send for the Black Coats to retrieve this delivery soon,” Martin said over the din. “A shipment this large should pay off both of our debts by the end of the month.”
“By the by, how much money did you lose betting against that cripple?” Kilworth asked casually.
Leena clenched her teeth. She hated that word.
“Enough. Coupled with the collapse of most of the mines I’ve invested in, as well as the end of the Algaraan civil war and any arms deals I had pending, my coffers have run desperately dry of late. I must gain it all back to remain the master of Weavingshaw.”
The music abruptly stopped. “Oh my. You have not been investing very wisely these days, Martin.” Kilworth had a smirk in his voice.
“I would say the same for you, my lord.”
The loathing between the two was exceeded only by their need for each other.
The sound of the lid being pushed back over the tomb was grating. Both Martin and Kilworth could be heard making their way back toward the entrance of the chamber, their voices fading.
Then they were gone.
St. Silas and Leena lay in darkness, neither of them moving to untangle their hands. St. Silas’s breathing had slowed, but the fierce grip of his fingers didn’t relax.
“Are you frightened of enclosed spaces?” she whispered to him.
His hand reluctantly let go of hers just as the lid above them was suddenly slid back by Rami. “No. Not small spaces.”
Leena blinked into the light of the lamp that Rami had relit.
“Are you both well?” he asked, helping Leena out of the tomb.
She nodded.
“Where did you hide?” she asked him.
“They kept the door open,” he replied. “I hid behind it.”
“Clever,” she remarked, looking back to see that St. Silas had already climbed out. He stood forlornly beside the tomb, keeping his back to them.
Her heart ached a little for him. She didn’t know the reason for his paralyzing fear, but fear like that was not a stranger to her.
Then come seek me.
It was the first vow he had given her without demanding anything in return—to tether her to this world when she had every fear of leaving it.
Silently, she returned that vow.
She looked once more at the tomb’s lid, and this time she noticed that an old Saint was carved into the stone. A woman holding an olive tree. She squinted, trying to recall what that represented, but was unable to remember at this moment. She would mark the drawing in her notes to research later.
To Leena’s relief, she could not find Moira near the piano or anywhere else in the crypt.
Rami walked with a caged energy toward a tomb at the far end of the chamber. There was a type of madness on his face—the kind that wears the same face as anger but stretches further, coarser, as if desiring to set the whole world on fire.
A sudden fear gripped Leena at Rami’s expression. “Don’t further tempt Martin’s wrath.”
Rami spared her only one look—a look so full of bitterness that it sucked up all the air in the room. Rather than responding, he pushed all his weight into sliding the lid of the tomb aside, revealing rows and rows of tightly woven burlap bags inside.
Rami whistled. “There is enough here to buy all of New Algaraa District and the people inside it.”
Leena also stared. “You could buy all of Algaraa with this.”
Before Leena realized Rami’s intent, it was too late. His hand was already at the hilt of his sword, unsheathing it in one fluid motion, and bringing the blade down against the sacks, spilling the white powder inside like an offering.
“What are you doing?” Leena jumped at him, attempting to grasp his arm, but he wrenched away from her. “Martin is already suspicious of us. He will gladly see us hang for this!”
Rami continued his slicing, tendons taut at the neck—up and down, up and down.
St. Silas’s long strides cut across the crypt, but by the time he grabbed Rami by the collar and threw him to the ground, it was too late.
White powder had spilled everywhere, like blood let on a battlefield. Humidity would render the drug useless. No buyer would touch it.
“You’ve just signed your death warrant,” Leena exclaimed, bringing her fist down on Rami’s chest. He grunted, but dodged her next hit. He brushed at the powder that coated his jacket white.
“Martin already wants me dead,” Rami responded. “At least now I’ve earned it.”
St. Silas’s expression was grim, standing over the white powder like freshly fallen snow. “No, you’ve just condemned us all.”
Rami halted, his brows tightening. “Martin won’t return to the crypts so soon. Very likely that trade with the Black Coats won’t occur until we are back in Golborne.”
“For your sake—for all our sakes—let us hope so.” The somber foreboding didn’t lift from St. Silas’s eyes as he turned away. “Come. Let’s find Avon’s tomb.”
Leena also swerved away from Rami, so furious she could barely see straight.
“I am heartily sick of these caves,” she spat.
They spent half an hour searching through the stones. Some of the tombs were so aged that she could no longer read the engravings.
It was Rami who ended the search.
“I found it,” he shouted.
St. Silas was at the far end of the room, and it seemed as if he hadn’t heard.
Unable to wait another moment, Leena and Rami pushed open the lid, heaving from the effort, and looked down at the mass of skeleton and dust. All that youthful vitality, that power that had emanated from Lord Avon, that golden handsomeness, was now but a crumpled heap of bones.
Then she remembered the soft look in his eyes moments before he had strangled Moira, and she thought that decay was too good for him.
Rami, clearly disturbed, turned away, so Leena was left alone with what used to be Lord Avon. She bent down, staring into the skull with gaping holes for eyes, and whispered, “Come find me. You have left the living in unrest, so come find me and settle your debts.”
The corpse didn’t stir. Leena’s eyes raked through the rest of the tomb. It was empty.
“It’s not here.” Bleakness broke Leena’s voice. “After all that, the diary isn’t here.”