Chapter 19 Saskia #2
It doesn’t take his bristly tone of command to spur me into action. I surge forward and splash my way to one of the other tunnel openings, letting myself melt into the shadows again so that I can observe the open space from a new angle.
What would this place be used for? As far as I can see, there are no ancient skeletons leaning against any of the walls, so I’m pretty sure this can’t be the old royal catacombs.
No, this reminds me more of a hollow heart, with veins and arteries running off it from every direction.
Leading to where, though? Who could have lit those torches now that Diggory is gone?
An idea is prickling at the back of my head, but I don’t have time to analyze it before something clangs from one of the other tunnels across from me.
Get back as far as you can without making a sound, Lucan says immediately, and hearing his fear sends my mind in a whirl. Press against the wall, cover your bleeding finger, and hold still.
I do as he says, a dim part of me recognizing that I like it when he takes control, just so I don’t have to worry about what to do when my body is already so spiked with adrenaline.
Shrinking back and crouching down against the wall, I wrap my stinging finger in the folds of my cloak and wait. Watch. Listen.
It’s a smooth sound that greets my ears. Almost like a snake sliding through water, the footsteps glide toward me, closer and closer, until my heartbeat is thudding through my eardrums, louder and louder…
A pale face emerges from the shadows of the tunnel, like a moon rising from a bed of dark clouds.
A recognizable face. One I’ve seen hung up on walls, threaded into flags, carved into statues alongside his brothers and sisters. Marble-white skin. Oily black hair. A long, prominent neck.
The Eleventh Guardian.
The one who was in Odette’s dream.
For the next few seconds, nothing exists except for that precious space between the vampire and me.
My heart pounds in my ears, and I wonder briefly if he can hear it, feel it.
If he finds me hiding in the shadows of one of his tunnels right now, I’m dead.
I don’t know how I know that, but I do. There’s a certain glaze in his crimson eyes that I can see from all the way across the flickering cavern, one that reminds me of someone who is never quite satisfied with their meal.
His Adam’s apple bulges as his neck tightens before he stops dead in between pillars and cocks his head, like he just caught a whiff of something.
Lucan’s snarl floods my brain, but of course, the Eleventh Guardian can’t hear it.
Just like I’m hoping he can’t hear the inhales and exhales I ever so slowly pull in and out of my lungs, either.
He is smelling something, though, his gaze roving around the cavern, his chin tilting up as he takes a deep breath in.
He’s going to find me. He’s going to race toward me and grab me by the arms, and then he’ll tear out my throat or smash my skull in or rip my body in half or…
The Eleventh Guardian focuses on the tunnel I just came from—the one that leads to the complex a block away from mine—and streaks off into its gaping darkness.
Shit, I curse in my head, finally allowing myself to breathe properly. He’s gone.
He probably smelled your blood smeared on the walls of that tunnel, Lucan says, a possessive snarl vibrating through each word. If the coast is clear, you need to try to find another exit point before he comes back.
Easier said than done, I murmur. Because who knows where any of these other tunnels lead? All I can really do is choose one and follow it into the complete unknown.
For a second, I deliberate stealing one of those so-called torches so that I won’t have to plunge back into darkness, but that would be like a flickering beacon leading the Guardians straight to me.
And I’m pretty sure they’d notice one of them missing from its sconce if they traverse this place so often.
Which begs the question—why? Why do the Guardians have so many veins running beneath their city? What are they using this underground system for?
We can ask the philosophical questions later, Lucan growls. Right now, I need you to move for me, Saskia.
So bossy, I mutter, but I relent.
Passing a mournful last look at all the firelight, I turn around and hurry deeper into this new tunnel, moving as fast as I can without actually running.
Still, my footsteps crunch much too loudly over wet pebbles as the pathway twists and turns, and I wince at every footfall.
What’s even worse? The panic of the moment is beginning to leak into my bloodstream, kicking my heartbeat into a higher gear.
I don’t know how much time has passed since I snuck out of my housing unit. Without the moon to travel a path across my window, I’m at a complete loss. What if it’s been several hours? What if I don’t make it home in time for my healing shift in the morning? Who’s going to cover me?
That’s what you’re worried about right now? Lucan bursts out. You’re trapped underground, in the dark, with walls closing in on either side of you, a Monster in your head, and a vampire after your blood, and you’re worried about who’s going to cover you at work tomorrow?
Well, I gasp, we’re short-staffed!
Lucan groans as if I’ve personally offended him. I’ll add it to my list.
What?
My list of grievances, remember? I’ll add that the Guardians don’t assign enough people to work at the Healing Center so that the ones who do feel even more shackled to their duties—just another way for them to control your sense of freedom.
I don’t really have an argument to that, and besides, my breathing has become more labored, my muscles more strained, as the tunnel floor begins to tilt upward.
I can still see the vaguest outline of shapes ahead of me, so when I round a corner, elation jolts through me at the sight of a door at the end of the tunnel.
A way out.
A way back—
I tug on what feels like a marble door handle, but it doesn’t budge.
Rummaging in my cloak’s pocket, I bring out Diggory’s key and fumble with the lock, but this keyhole is much too large for the little silver one in my grip. It slides into the gaping hole with several inches to spare, and I yank it back out with a huff.
Fear begins to tighten around me, constricting my airway. This has to be a nightmare, me facing a dead end with nowhere else to go. It actually feels like the walls are shrinking around me now, and I have half a mind to start clawing at the door with my bare hands.
Breathe with me, Saskia. It’s okay. You are okay.
Lucan’s voice doesn’t sound like it’ll be okay—it’s jagged and sharp, as if he’s just as panicked as I am. But the words themselves jog a memory that unspools in my brain like fine thread.
Breathe, Saskia. It’s okay. Take deep breaths with me, sweetheart.
My mother.
She wasn’t required to love me. She was assigned to be with my father just like I was assigned to Malcolm.
She was forced into motherhood as soon as the Guardians took away those little blue pills and handed her a green badge, even if it took her a little longer to get pregnant than the women around her.
She didn’t have to give me more than the basic parental requirements.
But she did. Whenever I jerked upright in bed in the middle of the night, shaking and sweating, she was by my side in an instant, rubbing circles between my shoulder blades. Telling me to breathe. Take deep breaths with me, sweetheart. That’s it. Nice and slow.
And then her voice would tumble into a lullaby, soft and whispery against my hair.
Round and round the Monster prowls,
Starved for meat and bone.
Beware its eyes, resist its howl,
Stay within the stone.
It was the only lullaby anyone ever sang, the only one the Guardians ever approved of. But my mom would make up her own words on nights when the nightmares became too dark, too constricting, too much. When staying within the stone felt like a noose around my neck.
It’s that secret second part of her lullaby I repeat to myself now.
On and on the girl must march,
Starved for an end to the night.
Beware the Monster in her heart,
For even she can bite.
The memory calms me just enough that my shoulders stop shaking, just like I would back then in her arms. I blink at the door in front of me again, willing myself to pause long enough to take in the details so that I might figure out where it leads.
It’s not made of wood, I realize as I lean closer, trying to dissect the strange texture in this excruciatingly dim lighting.
When I brush my fingers against the surface again, the grittiness of stone meets my skin.
Lines sprout like cracks throughout it, but when I try to trace those lines, I don’t feel any kind of indentation.
Rather, the cracks are somehow smoothed over, as if someone filled them with… glass?
No, that can’t be right. Glass doesn’t mend—it breaks.
Lucan sucks in a breath, stealing my own from my chest. I know where you are.
What? How could you possibly…
I trail off as his answer blooms in my head, my eyes widening at the realization that I’ve just broken the twelfth Cardinal Rule. That I’m closer to the edge of Xantera than I’ve ever been before.
The Wall.
I’m at the Wall.
Stay where you are, Lucan says gruffly. I’m coming.
He’s coming? The thought sends nervous flutters pouring into my stomach. But beyond that, how could he possibly know which part of the Wall I’m at?
There are dozens of doors embedded in the stone in various places around Xantera, Lucan answers, and now I hear the breathlessness of his thoughts, as if he’s broken into a loping run.
I know where each of them are, so you’re bound to be on the other side of one of them.
But none will open from my side, he adds as a reluctant afterthought.
It’s as if they were fused shut when the vampires took over.
I can’t help but gape and stare at those strange glassy cracks again.