Circumspect, I nodded and climbed the pool’s slanting bottom to dry land. I stumbled a few steps before sinking to the ground and inhaling several breaths, relishing the sensation and enjoying the feel of solid rock—not water—beneath me. Gideon sat beside me, unstrapped his crossbow, and checked its mechanisms.
“Did it survive?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
He frowned. “Remains to be seen.”
“Sephonie’s like your right arm. I’m surprised you would risk it.”
He leaned in, staring intently at me. “I’d risk everything for you.”
Before I could respond, Taviano appeared at my side, towering over us. He jerked his chin, gesturing at a staircase carved into the cavern’s rock walls. Only then did I notice the shelves notched into the stone, positioned several yards above the floor, probably to avoid flooding during the changes in tide. Urns and boxes made of glass and pottery filled the cubbyholes, protecting their contents from the harsh elements.
Groaning, I stood and trailed after Taviano. Gideon climbed behind me, padding on bare feet. The cool cave air chilled my skin, raising goose bumps, but I ignored my discomfort. Soon enough we’d be in the heat of confrontation with Jackie. My stomach flip-flopped again. If this keeps up, I’ll have ulcers before we get out of here.
At the top of the steps, Taviano paused and pressed his ear to the door. He closed his eyes, chanted under his breath, then seemed to listen. Satisfied with whatever he’d heard, or hadn’t heard, he pushed the door, and it swung open on creaky hinges. I cringed, certain the noise had given us away, but Taviano strode into a vestibule of hardwood paneling, carpeted floors, fat marble columns, and flickering candlelight. A pair of small round windows near the ceiling peered into the clear night sky, revealing stars and a bright moon. The clouds I’d called in earlier had drifted away.
Pausing, we dripped on the carpet and listened, but no alarm announced our presence. No guards came rushing to capture us. Hugging the walls, Taviano padded to the vestibule’s threshold and peered around the corner. He flinched, drew back, and waved a glowing blue-green hand over himself, instantly drying his hair and clothes. Another wave gave him boots and a formal green coat with a high collar. He straightened his shoulders, glanced back at us, and whispered harshly, “Hide.” Then he strode around the corner, straightening his lapels.
A voice speaking Vinitzian called out in a warning tone. Taviano answered, his words brusque and confident. Gideon wrapped an arm around me, tugging me close as he ducked behind a vestibule column. I pressed myself against him, trying to make our silhouette as small as possible. His heartbeat pounded beneath my ear like a desperate war drum, matching the rhythm of my own nervous pulse.
Taviano’s voice, and that of whoever he’d encountered, faded away as their footsteps receded down the hall. Gideon and I held our place, waiting.
He pressed his lips against my ear and whispered, “I think Taviano told the guard he was here to pick up papers from his master’s office.”
Maybe Gideon had a bit of Fantazike blood from some distant relative—his gift for languages never ceased to amaze me. “Is he coming back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Should we wait for him?”
“If he’s keeping the guard distracted, then it seems like now would be a good time to make a run for the prison caverns. Do you know where they are?”
Recalling the blueprints and the path Taviano had traced on them, I nodded. We padded to the end of the room—bare feet made sneaking much easier and quieter. I peeked around the corner and spotted a wide but empty hallway of dark stone floors, wood-paneled walls, and arching ceilings. Oil lanterns flickered dimly, making the shadows dance.
Clutching Gideon’s hand, I tugged him behind me as I stepped out. We kept our steps soft as we hurried, following the blueprint map in my head. I regretted leaving behind my Thunder Cloak and wondered if Taviano had been honest when he’d insisted its invisibility wouldn’t work in this place. We reached the end of the hallway and stopped. Again, I peered around the corner, and this time, I spotted a figure in dark robes standing at attention midway down the hall. Based on my recall of the blueprints, the guard’s position placed him or her directly across from the vestibule leading to the prison access door.
Pulling back, I cursed under my breath. “Damn.”
“What?”
“There’s a guard. We have to go that way to get to the prison cavern entrance.”
“We need a distraction.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” I sent my subconscious out like tentacles, feeling for storms in the atmosphere. I’d wondered if the wards protecting the basilica would prevent me from connecting to the thunder, but my will brushed against a storm cell forming over the Eidridick Sea several miles away. I wrapped my mind around the storm then yanked and reeled it in.
I glanced at Gideon. “Stay back.”
He pressed himself against the wall and gritted his teeth as I unleashed the storm’s energy all at once, throwing it like a hammer against the basilica, striking a wall at the opposite end of the hall from the guard. Windows shattered, glass crashing in an explosion of sound. Gideon and I ducked behind a column in the hallway and listened to boot steps retreating down the hall.
The guard passed, and Gideon and I ran, our bare feet silent on the stone floors. I prayed to my ancestors, asking them to keep the guard’s attention occupied as we sprinted down the corridor and cut around the corner. Panting, heart racing, blood pumping, I stumbled to a stop in another vestibule that looked exactly like the one we’d just left. Gideon hooked an arm around me. He blew out the nearest oil lamp and pulled me into the shadows in the rear corner of the room as another set of boots pounded down the hallway—more guards coming to investigate.
“I hope they think it was a random lightning strike,” I whispered.
Gideon reached for the heavy oak door leading, presumably, to the prison caverns below the basilica. He worked the handle, but it refused to budge. “Locked,” he said, grimacing.
I huffed. “We need Taviano. Now.”
As if his name were a Magic spell, the Magician rounded the corner, striding toward us. “What did you do?” he asked in a harsh whisper.
“We didn’t know if you were coming back,” I said. “We had to improvise.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want anyone to know you were here.” He pressed his hand to the door and muttered something, and the familiar blue-green light flared around his fingers. The door shuddered and swung open.
We hurried through, and Gideon closed the door behind us as we paused on a narrow landing at the top of a staircase much like the one we’d climbed in the previous cavern. That cave had been small and rather squat compared to this grand cathedral of rock. Stalactite curtains dripped from the ceiling like melting wax that had suddenly hardened. Stalagmites rose in globular pillars—some forming huge columns connecting to the ceiling. Oil lanterns blazed, throwing light against rolling walls full of nooks and crannies. The space smelled of salt and wet minerals, and all was silent except for the plop of dripping water.
We descended the stairs, and Taviano led us across damp, rocky floor, deeper into the cave’s throat. We rounded a corner into a narrowing passage dead-ending in a short, dark hall. A low ceiling forced Gideon to crouch as we gathered in an open space between three pairs of cells that were too uniform to have occurred naturally. Someone must have carved the cells into the rock walls, creating an inescapable prison.
Over each chamber hung a heavy iron door. A small opening allowed a jailer to peer in or a prisoner to peek out, but the inmates seemed unaware of our presence. Gloomy and silent, the hall smelled of unwashed bodies and misery.
Taviano called for his light orb. It appeared, hovering near the low ceiling. He glanced at me, arched an eyebrow, and gestured in a way that indicated I should take the lead. I cleared my throat and inhaled a deep breath, urging my anxious heart to calm. All this work to get here, all this risk and danger, and suddenly I was overcome by the urge to turn and run. When I’d told Gideon I didn’t hate Jackie, I might’ve been stretching the truth. The thought of seeing him again made me sick. His name lodged in my throat like a bitter pill.
Perhaps Gideon sensed my distress. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, pressing his lips to my ear. His bare skin was warm, and his heat seeped through my damp shirt. His words were barely more than a breath when he spoke. “We don’t have to do this. It’s not too late. You can still leave. We’ll find another way.”
I pushed him away. A queen, a good queen, didn’t run from her fears. A good queen faced them. I stiffened my spine, cleared my throat, and swallowed. “Jackie Faercourt, wake up. It’s your lucky day.”
He must’ve already been awake. He’d always had an uncanny awareness of me, an ability to predict my comings and goings. His pale face appeared in the door opening, wearing his familiar wry smirk. “Why, Evelyn... if I’d known you were coming to visit, I would have ordered tea.”
Jackie’s stay in prison had been short—no more than a month or so, but even that brief time had taken a toll. An old yellow-green bruise stained his cheek. His face was gaunt, and his corn-silk hair hung lank and stringy. I searched my heart for pity but found none. A few days of sunshine and good eating would undoubtedly restore him to his former glory. Such a contrast—all that physical beauty concealing such a twisted black heart. Can I keep a bag over his head until we get to Inselgrau, just so I don’t have to look at him?
