by Lee French
“Yes, good. But for now, you need to go.”
He sighed and nodded. “I see if I can get back in time to bring you some pie.”
“I don’t really deserve pie, but I’ll take it anyway.”
With nothing left to say, Justin squared his shoulders and focused his will on making the transition into the Palace. White light flared on the tree’s bark, and he stepped into it. His work boot landed on the woven rug covering the stone floor of his private room in the Palace. He kept a bed, shelves, and spare clothes here for emergencies.
Though he’d been here hundreds of times, something about this time felt…off. He couldn’t put his finger on it. The Palace had always been a second home, more comfortable than any other place besides the cottage he lived in. Except this time, when it seemed like walking into a movie with the sound out of sync just enough to notice.
Figuring it must be some lingering residue of being tainted, he tossed his cloak on the bed and strode into his private bathroom. To his relief, the mirror showed no new scars or lines marring his face or body. Even though it had seemed reasonable five minutes ago, the idea of some glowing red sigil marking him as unworthy felt ridiculous.
Someone knocked on his door, and he discovered Avery in the hallway outside. Frowning, the detective pushed his way in rather than inviting Justin out. Avery fidgeted and paced while Justin closed the door.
“Something’s wrong.” Avery ground his teeth. “It’s been almost four years since I was last here. That’s a long time, but not long enough for me to forget what this place should feel like. Do you remember how it was when you searched for your bond with Tariel for the first time? That awful, screechy noise you had to push through?” When Justin nodded, Avery continued. “That’s how it feels to me. This place is supposed to be our sanctuary. It’s supposed to feel like home. This is torture.”
Surprised to hear an echo of his own experience, Justin watched Avery’s frantic movements. “I can feel it too, but it’s not that bad. I can ignore it. Maybe you just need to focus.”
“Sure,” Avery spat. “I’ll just block this out by blocking it out.”
“I could go get…” Justin stopped when he realized he had no one in particular to ask for help here. Any Knight ought to offer assistance and advice, but he didn’t know who exactly to trust with this specific problem. With his own mentor dead, Rondy would have been his first choice. He’d barely had a chance to grasp Rondy’s death, let alone deal with it. For now, the fact of it remained strange and difficult to internalize. Regardless, he couldn’t ask a dead man for help.
Avery growled in frustration. “Yes, exactly. I don’t know who to go to either. My mentor died a decade ago, and it’s been so long I don’t know how to approach anyone else for something like this. If I only needed a sparring partner, I know several men to ask. This is a different order of magnitude.”
Watching Avery made Justin tense. He looked away and tried to think past the sound of Avery’s shoes scuffing the floor and his trenchcoat swishing. “Stop! Just stop. I can’t even hear myself screaming inside my head with you vibrating like that.”
The detective brought to mind a caged lion, waiting for his one chance at freedom. He snarled and rushed the wall, slamming his fist into it. Shaking his hand and swearing, Avery dropped onto the bed. “That actually helped,” he grumbled while his broken fingers healed.
Justin rubbed his eyes. “If this is because we were tainted, that’s not unique to us. I don’t know who else it’s happened to, but I do know it’s happened before. Plenty of times.”
“We could walk around the Palace asking everyone if they’ve been tainted or not. I’m sure that would go over well.”
“Knock it off. You’re not being helpful.” If he had no one to consult, where would Justin go to find wisdom and knowledge about knighthood? “The library. We should check there. Someone may have put their account inside it.”
“That’s actually a good idea.” Avery hopped to his feet.
Justin gave him a cool stare. “There’s no need to sound so surprised.”
“Maybe I should just leave.” Avery pressed his hand to his forehead. “I don’t need to be here. I can barely think through this, and I’m apparently acting like a brat because of it.”
Though he had a thought to agree, Justin shook his head. “I don’t think I’m the best option to explain whatever I discover. Besides, if it’s something simple we can do, you might as well get it over with.”
“Fine. Let’s go before I have second thoughts. It was hard enough to motivate myself to come here in the first place.”
Justin led the way down the stone dormitory hall, hoping that haste would keep them from encountering anyone. They hurried down the wide, stone spiral stair at one end. Distant murmurs grew to the buzz of chatter as they neared the bottom floor. When they reached the archway connecting the stairs to the Thoroughfare, they found over two dozen men talking in small groups.
Though he suspected these Knights had clustered to shame him and Avery, Justin still tried to slip through the crowd unnoticed. He wanted to act natural, which made his movements feel stiff and forced.
“Justin!”
He froze at the imperious command in Elder Yun’s wheeze. His throat went dry and he felt like a kid caught stealing cookies. Beside him, Avery tensed hard enough to make his hands shake.
“Yes?” Justin tucked his thumbs into his back pockets to keep himself from doing anything stupid with them.
Elder Yun’s staff clacked on the floor and Knights parted for him. The little man closed the distance and reached up to poke Justin in the chest. “Your apprentice is a problem.”
“What?” Avery asked, his brow furrowed.
“Claire?” Justin hadn’t expected this either. “Where is she?”
Djembe muscled his way to them and crossed his arms. The gesture made him seem bigger and more threatening. His head twitched to the side in an odd tic, something Justin had never noticed him doing before. The gesture did seem familiar, though he couldn’t remember where he’d seen it.
“You’d already know if you kept better track of her,” Djembe snapped.
“Don’t be obnoxious,” Elder Yun snapped, patting Djembe’s leg like a favorite pet. “He’s not psychic and she’s not a toddler.”
The response gave Justin a leaden feeling in his gut. Djembe seemed too smug. “Thank you. Do I get to hear where she is?”
“She’s in an Ordeal.”
Justin stared at Elder Yun, unable to comprehend the situation. The last time he came here with Claire, things seemed tense, but not at this level. He remembered Djembe having a civil conversation with them both. Yun had been amused by her. To toss her into an Ordeal, something he couldn’t remember happening before in his time here, they had to have a reason.
“I don’t think I heard you correctly,” Avery said, his words clipped and cold, “because it sounded like you said you tossed a teenager into a test of worthiness normally reserved for experienced Knights who act suspiciously.”
Elder Yun peered at Avery. “I remember you, John. You haven’t been here for a long time. It shows.”
Avery shifted and crossed his arms. “My job keeps me busy.”
“Never mind that,” Justin said, shoving his arm between them. If Elder Yun had some ability to see the fresh scars they both bore on the inside, he couldn’t be allowed to focus on either of them. “What on Earth did Claire do to earn an Ordeal?”
“She killed Rondy,” Djembe growled. “And ran away from her crime. Since she could still get to the Palace after that, she must be a witch.”
“And she’s disrespectful,” Elder Yun spat.
“Wait.” Justin held up a hand, needing a chance to think.
“No waiting!” Elder Yun thumped his staff on Justin’s boot. The stiff leather protected his foot from the feeble blow. “You were tasked with mentoring her. You’ve failed. If she survives, we’ll give someone else the job.”
Djembe sno
rted. “She won’t. Witchcraft doesn’t work in there.”
“This is why I’ve stayed away,” Avery said with a scowl.
Listening to them made Justin want to punch Djembe in his smug face. “She’s sixteen. A kid. She’s been a Knight for all of three weeks. We’re supposed to give the benefit of the doubt for the first year.” He jabbed a finger at Djembe and struggled to overcome the anger surging through him. “What the hell is wrong with you that you can’t accept a girl here? She’s a strong, brave kid who keeps coming back even though you jackasses keep trying to grind her down.”
Djembe pushed his face into Justin’s space with a snarl. “She’s a Knight by mistake and you know it. Girls can’t—”
Unable to contain his rage, Justin hit him. His fist connected solidly with Djembe’s jaw from underneath, jerking his head up. Djembe staggered back a step with a grunt. Avery stepped between them and held his arms out. Though he knew better, Justin lunged to hit Djembe again. That bastard had no right to keep harping on the same stupid things when his only real gripe was Claire’s gender. They’d been friendly once, but now Justin saw only an enemy.
As Djembe lurched to fight back, other Knights jumped in and held them apart. Justin struggled against the two men gripping his arms and met Djembe’s enraged glare with his own.
Elder Yun looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “I think we should discuss the possibility of an Ordeal for Justin.” His gaze flicked to Avery. “As an experienced Knight acting suspiciously.”
Chapter 7
Claire
Clods of dirt flew in streams behind Enion and Leeloo as they dug. Claire stood on the other side of the hole, watching their progress and dodging random sprays of chipped stone whenever they hit a rock. After several minutes, they hit a solid slab of stone. The dragons helped Claire climb down, then kept a grip on her as she slammed her dagger into the slab, wanting with all her might to get into the catacombs.
The entire slab fell away. Beneath them, Claire saw disappointingly familiar ground with a greenish glow. Aged stones formed the walls and arches. The dirt still showed the tread from her combat boots and marks from Enion’s claws.
“How is going down there going to help us escape? That’s how we got here.”
“Leeloo says the lady will show us the way!”
“Lady? What lady?”
“The sad lady. Leeloo will take us.”
Claire sighed. “Okay, fine. I guess the worst thing that happens is probably worse than I can think of, but nothing we can’t survive.”
They dropped into the catacombs together and let Leeloo lead. She stopped at a wall that, to Claire, seemed no different from the others. Leeloo set her claws on the wall, then she patted it and nodded.
Claire didn’t need Enion to translate. She stared at the wall and noticed the seams between stones formed a strange shape. Puzzling it out reminded her of those pictures she’d never gotten the trick of, the ones the eye could only decipher when not looking directly at them. Giving up on the shape, which might have been complex, ornate arch, she decided to try treating it like a wall in the Palace. She ran her hand along it, willing it to part for her.
The stones folded away, revealing another green corridor through a high arch. In this one, the shadows all flickered in one direction and she noticed they formed a silhouette, as if a woman in a gown stood in front of the unseen light source. Claire had an urge to retreat rather than deal with something that obviously creepy. Aside from the flickering, though, it seemed stationary. She supposed it might be a warning, though it failed at that purpose by being much too vague.
“Warning,” she muttered, “women ahead. That would scare plenty of Knights.” When she stepped toward the silhouette, it also took a step. Claire jumped back, heart pounding and hands against the wall. Eyes popped wide, she gulped and wondered what kind of demented test this might be. Ghosts appeared as mist, not shadows. She had no idea how to stab a shadow.
Enion stuck his head through the arch, provoking the shadow to move again. This time, Claire noticed it glided away from them, not toward them. She caught her breath and took a few experimental steps. The silhouette flickered farther down the corridor. Taking a few more steps, Claire got the hint.
They followed the silhouette up the corridor until it ended at another archway into a large, dark room with a shaft of bright white light shining down on a woman in a white, toga-style dress streaked with dried and fresh blood. Claire stood in the doorway and gaped in horror. Leeloo whined and hid behind Enion, who recoiled and hissed.
Misty figures flitted around the woman, moaning in screechy, wailing voices. They lashed out with mist whips, flaying her flesh over and over. Each wound healed within seconds, leaving fresh skin for the spirits to whip again.
The woman hung from a fat-headed nail ten feet off the ground. It had been pounded through her wrists and into a thick wooden post running from the dirt floor to the stone ceiling. Her head hung forward, but seeing the dress and the long dark hair, Claire had a strong feeling she knew who she faced.
Ignoring the horrific noise, Claire stared at Iulia. They could either leave her or free her. If Claire chose to believe what Caius offered as the truth of what happened in the past, this wasn’t really a choice. No amount of misery would ever be enough to make up for Iulia’s betrayal.
On the other hand, Claire had to admit she didn’t trust Caius about this. Moments in the depiction she saw of Iulia breaking the seal to free the dragons had felt off. Like Caius had replaced some of his memories with artificial edits so they better conformed to what he thought happened. And like Enion had said, without Iulia breaking that seal, Claire would never have bonded with Enion. With her luck, her sprite would probably have been a pony or a scooter.
Setting all of that aside, Claire thought about how long Iulia must have been here. Caius and Iulia lived about two thousand years ago. Did Claire really believe betrayal deserved millennia of torture? Even a month of this could probably drive someone insane. Whatever her crimes or sins, Iulia had paid them back more than anyone ever should.
Claire climbed onto Enion’s back. This Knight had every intention of rescuing that damsel. She pointed forward with her dagger. “Charge!”
Enion launched himself across the room with a roar of defiance. When they reached the swirling mist forms, he leaped through. Claire slashed one with her dagger, dissipating it. As one, the spirits turned on her and snapped their whips. Enion squawked in surprise and pain. Claire cringed, but the strikes only snapped against her armor, giving her a light, fleeting sting.
Behind them, Leeloo trumpeted a challenge and darted into the circle of torment, snapping at the spirits. Enion spun and lunged for another. As she swiped her dagger through a spirit, Claire noticed the spirits all resembled Caius. That meant Caius had created and sent them here with orders to do this.
She knew corrupted Phasms created and sent spirits into the world. Drew had been possessed by that kind of spirit. The Knights had stupid names for them—ur-phasms and ne-phasms—that meant nothing to Claire. As far as she was concerned, all those things qualified for the term “spirit.” After all, they did call themselves Spirit Knights.
Claire sliced another spirit into oblivion, too busy to worry about the implications. Enion bounced around, snaring spirits with his teeth and tossing them aside. Leeloo sank her claws into one and rolled around with it. Though the dragons tried to help, they hadn’t been made to fight spirits. Claire’s dagger, on the other hand, had destroying ghosts as its singular purpose.
When Claire hacked into the last spirit, Enion stopped and panted. Leeloo ran to Iulia and slid her body under the woman’s feet, lifting up to relieve the strain.
Iulia looked up with a sigh of relief, then winced. “Leeloo.” Her dry, brittle voice cracked.
Still on Enion’s back, Claire watched Leeloo show such earnest devotion it made her own heart ache. Claire had no idea what kind of bond Leeloo and Iulia shared, but it seemed similar to the
one she shared with Enion. Maybe, despite everything she’d been told, Iulia was a Knight.
As she nudged Enion closer, Claire noticed Iulia’s blood seemed real as it trickled down from her wrists, and her sunken cheeks and bony frame spoke of genuine malnutrition. Iulia, she thought, might somehow be alive and not a ghost. Which made no sense. No one could live that long, not even in the Palace.
Iulia winced again as Leeloo shifted. Claire’s questions and pondering could wait. “Get us close, Enion. I need to get her down.”
Iulia peered into the darkness. “Who’s there?” Even in her current condition, she had a touch of an accent and enough gravitas to give her the feel of nobility or royalty.
“A Knight. Rescuing you.”
“Taunting.” Coughing wracked her emaciated frame, punctuated by pained groans. “How noble.”
Enion stepped into the shaft of light. Claire watched Iulia’s dull eyes widen in surprise. When Enion raised on his hind legs and planted his front claws on the post holding her up, Claire worried Iulia’s eyes would fall out of her head with such thin, gaunt skin holding them in place. She stood on Enion’s shoulders and gripped the nail for balance, making Iulia gasp.
The nail felt warm and rough, and it pulsed with something dark and cloying Claire could only describe as evil. Instinctively, she snatched her hand away and rubbed it on her armor. Wrenching the nail out wouldn’t work if she couldn’t force herself to deal with that sensation. Worse, she didn’t have enough leverage to pull Iulia off the nail, which would probably solve the problem much easier. If only she had an extra hand to brace herself.
That left cutting the nail as the best option. She’d seen Justin cut through doors and walls with his sword. Slicing through a nail ought to work. In theory.
“I’m pretty sure this is going to hurt,” Claire said. “I’m also pretty sure you’re going to fall forward when I do it. Leeloo, you’re going to need to catch her.” She waited until Leeloo nodded, then she wedged her fingers between Iulia’s hands and the post. Blocking out Iulia’s whimpers, Claire pressed her dagger’s blade to the nail in the small gap she’d made.