Ivan whispered, “What is this place?”
Håkon stared, eyes wide. “I don’t know.”
Alfhercht stared at the room with hard eyes. His jaw tightened. He reached for Ivan, hand out, palm up. When Ivan didn’t do anything, Alfhercht pantomimed writing something on his palm.
“Oh!” Ivan pulled his journal out of his pocket and handed it to Alfhercht.
We had to fight here, Alfhercht wrote. He underlined “fight” with a shaky hand.
Anya traded looks with Alfhercht and Ivan. Fight who?
Alfhercht shook his head and shoved the journal back at Ivan. He snatched up his glowing rock and headed around the level toward a distant door.
Down on the lowest level, the low stone wall around the arena field itself was partially destroyed. It looked like something had blown a chunk of the wall apart. Similar blast craters had crumbled a middle tier, where there were a handful of seats for spectating.
“What kind of fighting did that?” Håkon asked.
“Magic did that,” Anya said softly. “Alfhercht’s sound magic.”
He squirmed. “Do you think all elves can use sound magic?”
“Maybe,” Anya said.
Ivan said, “Do you think all of them can’t hear?”
“Maybe,” Håkon said. “Maybe they use sound magic because they can’t hear. Or maybe they can’t hear because of sound magic.”
“I guess we’ll find out when we find his brother,” Anya said.
Ivan cleared his throat. “Have we considered what’s going to happen if Alfhercht’s brother is, uh . . .”
He trailed off, but his suggestion was clear.
Anya shook her head. Håkon did too.
Ivan drew a little invisible chart in the air. “If his brother’s been in here for so long, it’s very possible that he’s not alive anymore.” He drew a line a few inches away. “So Alfhercht will probably be really sad.” He drew a horizontal line. “Or really angry.” He drew a line down. “And he might start blowing stuff up.”
Anya swept Ivan’s hand out of the air, away from his chart. “We’ll just have to be here for him.”
Håkon said, “I’ll be here for him as long as he doesn’t start freaking out.”
“Håkon!” Anya glared at him.
“What?”
“We said we’d help him,” Ivan said.
“Look.” Håkon put one hand on Ivan’s shoulder. “I know you like him and all, but—”
“You know what?” Ivan yelled. “I like who? That’s. You know? I don’t appreciate your assumption!”
Håkon just stared at him.
Ivan plucked the ex-dragon’s hand off his shoulder. “Why would I like an elf ?”
Håkon shifted his eyes to Anya, eyebrows up. She matched his stare. Neither of them had to say anything.
Ivan scoffed. “This was your idea, Anya! Not mine!”
She laughed and raised her hands up. “Yep. My idea.”
Ivan scowled. “You’re both the worst.”
“It’s okay if you like him,” Anya said. “Without all that dirt on him, he’s sort of handsome.”
Movement from the floor below them drew their attention. Alfhercht stood at the edge of the arena, looking out onto the dirt floor. His fists were clenched at his sides, his shoulders bunched.
Ivan watched Alfhercht with sad eyes. “He’d be just like Sasha or Verusha. I can’t tell either of them that I like them. I don’t know why I let myself like them.” He sighed, long and slow and trembly, like he was holding in a thunderstorm.
Anya hugged him tight, squeezing him to her. Then she kissed him on the cheek and said, “You’re wonderful. And if any of them think you’re less than wonderful, they don’t deserve you.”
He just nodded and hugged her tighter.
Håkon crept up beside them and wrapped his arms around both as far as he could. “If anyone hurts you, I’ll fight them.”
Ivan snorted a laugh and pulled away from them both. He rubbed his face hastily with his sleeve and then pointed down at where Alfhercht stood. “We should go down there, I think.”
Anya and Håkon agreed, and the three of them descended a dark flight of stone steps and emerged onto the floor under where they’d stood a moment before. On the arena level, it looked so much more massive, like it never ended. Like it was inescapable.
Alfhercht didn’t turn when they arrived behind him. Anya wasn’t sure if he knew they were there, and she didn’t know how to get his attention without startling him. She cleared her throat a couple of times, thinking maybe the sound magic would float by him and he’d see it. If it did float by him, he didn’t notice it. He seemed lost in the arena.
Ivan stepped beside him, an arm’s length away on Alfhercht’s left side but still in his peripheral vision. After Ivan stood there for a few breathless seconds, he stretched his hand out and set it on Alfhercht’s shoulder.
The elf didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn to look at Ivan either. He remained trapped in his contemplation. He brought his right hand up and across his body, and set it on Ivan’s hand.
Ivan’s face flushed and his eyebrows rose up so far that Anya thought they might just melt into his hair and be gone forever.
Anya and Håkon exchanged a glance paired with matching smiles. Holding someone’s hand wasn’t something you did if you didn’t like them. If only they were somewhere without an alleged monster prowling around, she and Håkon could have just left Ivan and Alfhercht on their own. But there was a monster, supposedly, and these dungeons were spooky, and she just wanted to figure out which door her key opened up, and she wanted to get out of there.
“Ivan,” Anya whispered. He looked at her slowly, like if he moved too fast, he’d spook Alfhercht. “We should go. The monster.”
Ivan mouthed, “Oh right,” and pulled his hand away from Alfhercht.
Anya stepped forward, poking Ivan’s coat where he had the journal tucked. He handed it to her, and she wrote, We should go before the monster comes.
Alfhercht nodded, cast one last sour glare at the arena, and brushed past them. Anya gave the journal back to Ivan.
They followed Alfhercht through a heavy door, and they found themselves in another oblong room, but much smaller. The meager light from the arena spilled around them, barely lighting the room enough to make out shapes. Alfhercht held out his glowing stone so they could see. A rack of rickety weapons stood in the center of the room. Four columns jutted from the floor, going only halfway to the ceiling. On each side of the columns, a pair of shackles hung from heavy iron chains at varying heights. The columns themselves were the same stone as the walls and mottled with dark splotches. Anya didn’t want to venture closer to see what the splotches were. Around the periphery of the room, a dozen heavy doors were built into the walls. A couple of them stood open, but most were shut.
Anya stepped past Alfhercht and went to the rack of weapons. She inspected them without touching them. They were all in such a state of ill repair that Anya probably could have snapped them all with just her hands. Like the columns, they were stained with dark splotches.
Ivan and Alfhercht took in what they could in the dimness. Alfhercht stayed by the door, tense, trembling. Anya watched him. He said he’d been a prisoner there too. Had he been locked in one of those rooms behind the heavy doors? Had he ever been shackled to these columns? Had one of these weapons been used against him?
Anya pulled the key out from her dress and marched to the door closest to where they’d come in. She jammed the key in the lock.
Click!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The solid snap of the lock disengaging rippled through Anya’s hand. She just stood there in shock, staring at the key grasped in her fingers and at the keyhole beyond. The door started to swing out, and she smashed it shut again with an open palm. She wasn’t ready to see what was in there. Not yet. And especially not alone.
“Ivan! Håkon!” she hissed. She turned back to them, her entire body thrummi
ng. “I found it! It opened!”
They looked up from where they stood. Ivan said, “Found what?”
“The door!” she said. “The door my key opens! It’s this one! I unlocked it!”
They both hurried over to her. Ivan inspected the key in the lock. Håkon set another hand on the door to help Anya keep it shut.
“What’s inside?” Ivan asked.
“I don’t know,” Anya said. “Lena didn’t say. She just said to open it.” She swallowed hard. “That means it’s probably safe, right?”
Ivan shrugged and said, “Could be,” at the same time that Håkon said, “There’s no way of knowing for sure.”
Anya twisted to look back at Alfhercht while she kept her hand on the key, as if letting go of it meant it would vanish into the keyhole. He watched them from the door but still hadn’t moved inside. She jerked her head toward the door. “It’s open!”
He stared at her, glanced around with trepidation, and then slunk into the room. He squeezed next to Håkon on his side opposite from Ivan, positioning Håkon between them.
The four of them stood there, unmoving, until Ivan said, “Are we going to open it?”
“We should,” Anya said.
“Should we, though?” Håkon asked.
“Yes,” Anya said. “Lena gave me this key for a reason. She told me to open this door. I have to.”
Håkon shifted on his feet. “We haven’t seen a monster yet. What if it’s in there?”
“Why would Lena tell us to open a door with a monster behind it?” Ivan asked.
“I don’t know!” Håkon snapped. “Why would she turn me into a human?”
Anya sighed. He would have been killed immediately in Kiev if he were a dragon. “You know why.” She pulled her hand away from where it kept the door shut, and she slipped it around the handle. “Move your hand. I’m going to open it.”
Håkon left his hand there. “Anya—”
“Maybe his brother is in there,” Anya said, nodding to Alfhercht. “Didn’t you say you think Lena sent you for them?”
Håkon hesitated and then let his hand drop from the door. He stepped back, arms crossed, while Anya readied herself for what was inside. Would it be a monster? Or Alfhercht’s brother? Or maybe just a skeleton. She gulped. Not a skeleton. Please, not a skeleton.
She glanced at the boys around her, who all looked ready for whatever they found inside. Anya sucked in a deep breath, let it out, took another one, let it out, and then inhaled sharply one more time. She yanked the door wide open.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Anya was prepared for anything. A monster? They would run. Alfhercht’s brother, alive? They would help him. Alfhercht’s brother, dead? They would help Alfhercht. Another ibbur like Lena? They would help it, too, if they could. Lena didn’t seem to need help with anything, but she also wasn’t being imprisoned by a monster.
But Anya wasn’t prepared for what actually met her when the door swung open, eerily silent on its hinges, blowing a gust of stale cavern air over them as they stood in the doorway.
Nothing.
The cell was empty.
It was large enough for Anya to stand in the center and almost stretch her arms straight out. The stone floor was bare but for some straw gathered along the edges of the room. A bucket was on its side in one corner. It smelled of abandonment.
Anya hesitated. She waited for something to drop from the ceiling or climb up from under the straw scattered in the corners. But no. Nothing emerged.
Ivan let out a rush of held breath. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Anya said. “Is he . . . invisible?”
Ivan scooted toward the room, pausing at the door. “Don’t let the door shut.”
“I won’t.”
He went the rest of the way inside, shoulders hunched, while Anya held the door open. He turned a slow circle, arms out. When he completed his circle, he let his arms drop. He shrugged. “Nothing.”
Anya looked at Alfhercht, who remained squarely outside the room.
Where was his brother if not in here? Why would Lena give her a key to an empty room?
Ivan started inspecting the straw, as if something was actually hidden beneath it. Anya leaned in and looked up at the ceiling. Nothing there. Ivan declared nothing was under the straw. Otherwise, the room was bare.
Anya pulled the key out of the keyhole and stared at it. Heavy iron, dark and solid. Worn smooth on the end, where it had been held by a thousand hands. No carving, etching, adornment. Just a plain old key that could have gone to any door in the—
She looked around at the other doors.
The key could have gone to any door in the dungeon.
Maybe it did.
She dashed away from the room toward the next door.
“Hey!” Ivan yelled, scrambling out of the room before the door shut him inside. “Rude!”
“It opens all of them!” Anya yelled, hoping she was right. She stuck the key in the next door and—
Click!
She yanked the door open without waiting for the others. This one was bare too, the same size as the first one. She left it and went to the next door, and the next, and the next. Five nearly identical prison cells, all empty. There were seven more. One of them had to hold something.
The boys trailed behind her as she went. Ivan helped her inspect each room. Håkon had at some point grabbed a sword off the rack in the middle and held it, ready to stab anything that needed stabbing. Alfhercht followed reluctantly, his glowing stone held up to light the way.
Anya plunged the key into the sixth door and turned it. It opened, but without any satisfying heavy click. It was smooth. It rolled open like the mechanism inside the lock had been oiled.
She hesitated. When Ivan tried to yank the door open, she stopped him.
“It was different,” she said.
“What?”
She felt fluttery inside, excited. “It was smoother. Like it’s used a lot.”
Ivan breathed hard, then grabbed the handle. “Let’s see why.”
They pulled the door open together. The room beyond was the same size as the others, and the same layout. Cramped. Tiny. Straw dribbled on the floor.
But it wasn’t empty.
A man sat in the corner, leaning against the wall. His skinny legs were tucked up against him, and his arms were crossed protectively over his chest. His clothing was ragged and stained. His long brown hair looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed at all, ever. The skin of his arms was pale and dull, as if it would crumble if Anya touched it.
For a moment, Anya thought he was dead, but when the glow from Alfhercht’s stone fell over him, he shifted and squeezed his eyes further shut.
Alfhercht inhaled sharply and shoved past Anya. He dropped his stone as he ran; it clattered to the floor. Alfhercht fell to his knees next to the man huddled in the corner. He grabbed him and hugged him tight, sobbing as he clutched him.
“His brother,” Håkon whispered.
Alfhercht’s brother recoiled away for a second, then looked up. His eyes widened when he saw Alfhercht, and his face crumpled as tears winked at the corners of his eyes.
“No.” His voice was raspy and hoarse, like a dried leaf. That answered one question: Some elves could speak with their mouths. Alfhercht was unique.
He grasped Alfhercht’s face, holding his pale, pale hands against Alfhercht’s golden cheeks. Then he pulled a hand away and made very deliberate, trembling gestures as he said aloud, “He got you.”
Alfhercht shook his head and spoke with his hands as well, fingers flying. He pointed back to Anya, Ivan, and Håkon. They all lifted their hands in greeting.
When Alfhercht’s brother spoke, he used both his mouth and his hands. “You’re helping him? Helping us?”
Anya nodded. “Yes.” She didn’t know what else to say, really, but Ivan did.
“He’s been trying to get you out for a long time,” Ivan said. As Ivan spoke, Alfhercht’s brother us
ed his hands to speak, but not his mouth. It took Anya a moment to realize he was translating for Alfhercht. Alfhercht couldn’t hear what Ivan said, so his brother was making sure he could see it. “But he couldn’t on his own. So we’re helping take you out of here . . .” He blinked a few times. “What’s your name?”
Amazingly, impossibly, bizarrely, Alfhercht’s brother coughed out a raspy laugh. “He didn’t tell you? Of course he didn’t.” He looked at Alfhercht and said, “You have no manners.”
Alfhercht lifted his hands, palms up, in a clear message: “What?”
“You didn’t tell them my name,” Alfhercht’s brother said, then looked back at Ivan. “I’m Wielaf.”
“I’m Ivan,” Ivan said.
Wielaf nodded. “Everyone in this country is named Ivan.”
“I’m not,” Anya said. “I’m Anya.”
Håkon said, “I’m Håkon. We should go.”
Anya shot him an annoyed look, even though he was right. They hadn’t run into a monster yet, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. “We should,” she said. “Wielaf, can you walk?”
“I’m mostly dragged places,” he said. “But I’ll try. Help me up.”
Alfhercht hauled Wielaf up onto startlingly thin legs, which buckled under Wielaf’s weight. Alfhercht let him slide back down to the floor. Wielaf panted with exertion.
“Give me . . . a moment . . .” he said. “Just . . . a moment.”
Anya stepped away from the room to give Wielaf a chance to stand without being stared at. Across the oval space, six more doors stood uninspected. Two of them were open, but the other four were locked up tight. She looked down at the key in her hand. What was in the other rooms? Were there more prisoners? She couldn’t leave without at least checking to make sure no one else was being held down here.
While the others waited for Wielaf, Anya hurried across the room. In the gloom, she could barely make out anything in the two open rooms, but they were very plainly empty. So were the first three doors she opened.
Anya and the Nightingale Page 18