I'm not exactly being truthful with Malachy. I know that his relationship with Ryder ran deeper than a request from Sir Alec. I know that Malachy's affection for her was genuine. But he doesn't know that I know, and – for the moment – I'd like to keep it that way.
'I didn't know anything about the escape.' He grits his teeth, his tone final.
'That's not what I asked – '
'Will you just drop it, Lucrezia?' He scowls, shifting further away from me. I try to hide my pain at the tone of his voice; I'm merely trying to protect him from our father's wrath. Trying to protect him from sullying his name and jeopardising his future reign – it's all I've ever tried to do. But he's never seen it that way.
'I'm only trying to help,' I tut, sounding like a petulant child despite my efforts. 'Father will question you about this, you have to be ready for – '
'I have nothing to hide!' Malachy explodes, his pupils dilating in anger. 'Father can question me all he likes! I'll tell him exactly what I'm telling you; I knew nothing about an escape plot! Sir Alec asked me to keep an eye on Eve Ryder as she attempted her task, then he asked me to get close to her in order to pass along information to him. That's it.'
'So, she didn't trust you enough to tell you her escape plan?' I cock a disbelieving eyebrow. 'You can't have managed to get particularly close to her, then.' I need Malachy to admit that he knew about the escape plot, as I know he did. It's the only way I can help him come up with a believable story to tell father. If Sirus finds out that Malachy spent time with Ryder, as he will via Sir Alec, he will question why Ryder never mentioned an escape plan. Why she never even hinted at it. And Malachy won't know what to say.
'I didn't have enough time to get that close to her,' Malachy sighs irritably. 'The girl had a fixation with me, yes, but she wasn't stupid enough to give me details of an escape plot. Would anyone be that stupid?' Figuring that his question is rhetorical, I turn my attention back to the miles of blue ocean beneath us, wondering just how long it will take for Ryder to be caught and for this whole fiasco to come to an end. After two hours, land finally breaks across the horizon and the pilot begins a slow descent.
Dunedin is a small airport set amongst endless fields, adjacent to the town of Momona. It's the airport always used by Our Kind to fly back and forth from The Gray Institute. Though we like to keep ourselves hidden, necessities such as travel often require working relationships with humans, and father maintains close friendships with some of the highest authorities across the world. These humans don't know who or what we are, only that we have money and value our privacy – and it's surprising how much privacy money can buy.
'I hate this journey,' Malachy grumbles as we board our private plane, set far back from the prying eyes of travelling humans. 'It's such a waste of a day.' He hands his luggage to the flight attendant, who bows so low her nose almost touches the floor. We use whatever story seems the most plausible depending on where we're going. For example, this flight attendant believes we're Russian officials returning from a business trip. We also fake bathroom breaks and order food we won’t eat from the stewardess. Immortality goes hand in hand with dishonesty.
The flight is a long one, almost 34 hours with stops at Christchurch on the north island and Singapore. As we take off and head towards Russia, I once again attempt to persuade Malachy to admit what he knows.
'Jesus Christ, Lucrezia, didn't I already say I had no idea about the escape?' He huffs, sipping from his private hip flask, provided by the Institute to sustain us during our trip.
'Yes, but I don't believe you, Mal!' I hiss. 'She must have mentioned something! Dropped a hint, given some sort of sign. If she's as obsessed with you as it appeared, she wouldn't have just left without letting you know she was going!'
'I told you, I was just stringing her along like Sir Alec asked! I spent time with her because I had to. I took no pleasure in it, believe me.' He tries to sound disgusted, but fails miserably.
'I didn't ask whether or not you felt anything for her,' I remind him. 'I asked whether she left you a clue about the escape.'
'For God's sake!' Malachy sighs, leaning his head back against the seat, looking more drained than I've seen him since Anzhela was Confined. 'Okay, look,' he turns to me grudgingly, avoiding my gaze. I feel my taut muscles relax, both relieved and smug that he's finally going to admit it. He must still trust me. 'She did mention it,' He looks grave. 'But I didn't take her seriously. I mean, would you? She was bandying about all these stupid ideas about escaping the Institute and going back to her mother... I mean God, what Immortal hasn't dreamed of doing that? So I brushed it off and didn't think twice. But I never so much as entertained the idea that she might actually do it, and I didn't know anything about her plan to take Lorna Gray with her.'
I know he's lying; he did know that Ryder was serious about leaving. He's spent the last few weeks moping around the Institute pining for something, exactly the way he did when Anzhela was taken, but I don't push it – I'm lucky he's admitted this much.
'I think it's best that you tell father that,' I say seriously. 'He won't believe that Ryder didn't mention the escape to you, not after he finds out she was practically in love with you. You need to make it plain that you didn't take her seriously. Better to have father berate you for an oversight than to think you were somehow involved.'
Malachy doesn't reply, but nods curtly and goes back to his drink; as much co-operation as he's willing to give.
We finally arrive at our destination in Domodedovo, Moscow, and by now, Ryder could have already been caught and our trip rendered unnecessary. But I have a feeling that even if Lorna Gray has been returned, and Ryder Confined, father will still want to see Malachy, if only to lecture him on how to handle this kind of scenario.
Moscow is a beautiful city and I feel more at home in Russia than I ever did in Germany; my birth-country, where mine and Malachy’s neglectful mother left us to starve before the Auctoritas chose us for their children. Growing up in the Plateau, isolated, surrounded by snow-covered mountains, brands such an impression on the mind that cold winds and snowy plains look as warm and inviting as a cosy, fire-lit room. But our journey doesn't stop here. From Moscow we fly to the closed city of Norilsk, Russia's nothern-most city with only 150,000 residents. It's closed for one simple reason; it's the only route into the Plateau where the Auctoritas live. Its closed status allows any visitors to be carefully vetted, and for Our Kind to enter the Plateau without the inconvenience of having to use human transport. But of course, the humans who live there don't know that.
We board a private helicopter from Norilsk to the Plateau, and after almost two days, Malachy and I finally come to the point where we will continue our journey on foot.
You have to see the Siberian Plateau to believe it; a cluster of enormous mountains, deep valleys and wide lakes. We start at the base where the mountainsides are green and the deep lakes are plentiful. Further into the Plateau are waterfalls and large canyons, and the caves where the natives live. We feature heavily in their legends and folklore; they're perfectly used to seeing Immortals scaling the cliff sides and reaching inhuman speeds. They're so remote, there's no reason to worry about them, but we keep our distance just the same.
As we get closer to Mount Kamen, the Putorana sheep are visible at the base of the mountains, rearing their ugly heads to peer at us as we leap from peak to peak. Then, finally, we arrive at Putorana Plateau, a vast mountain range, the tallest of which is Mount Kamen.
Domum – home of the Auctoritas – stands at 1700 metres tall. A towering spectacle with sharp peaks and a snowy summit, Mount Kamen has been the Auctoritas' base since Radha's reign, beginning in 1708 BCE, and – to me – it's home.
Chapter Six
Lucrezia.
The guards stationed at the entrance to Mount Kamen spot us from miles away; they straighten their backs and broaden their shoulders, ready for a fight. As we grow nearer, however, they recognise us and they slump, disappointed, back agains
t the wall. Since the French Rebellion – an uprising against the monarchy in the mid-eighteen hundreds – attacks on Mount Kamen have dwindled to nothing, and the guards have little to keep them occupied.
'Mr Beighley,' the tallest one nods as we arrive. 'Miss Beighley.' He turns to the entrance, beckoning us inside. We slip past him and his companion into a narrow crevice within the mountainside. It's so narrow that Malachy and I must walk single file, shrouded by darkness until finally, the cramped tunnel begins to widen and flickering torches appear upon its aged stone walls.
Up a small staircase and through another door lies the entrance hall, the first real sign that the Auctoritas – most important and sacred of Our Kind – reside here. The hall is circular and windowless, ancient tapestries and paintings dating back thousands of years and created by members of Our Kind hang proudly, and the ceiling has been painted to recreate the night sky as is seen from the summit of Mount Kamen.
Four stone desks stand before us in a semi-circle, each manned by an Immortal wearing the Bathory colours of red and black – my father’s chosen surname and motif. They all glance up as the wooden door slams shut, but only one stands. He's young in appearance and fidgety, with an eager expression on his mousey face. I haven't seen him before.
Malachy gives the man a tight nod as he crosses the room, heading for the corridor, but the excited secretary jumps from behind his desk, placing himself between Malachy and the exit.
'I'm sorry, but you must have an appointment to visit Mount Kamen,' he snorts in a pompous manner. 'We can't have just anyone walking in here and – ' He falls silent when he notices the thunderous expression on my face, losing a little of his self-assurance. I step around Malachy, drawing myself up to my full height.
'Do you have any idea who this is?' I spit, gesturing to my brother. The little man frowns, peering closely at Malachy's face, desperately searching for a familiarity. 'This is Malachy Beighley,' I splutter, too impatient to wait for his response. 'Sirus' son and your future Auctorita!' I jab a sharp fingernail into the secretary's chest. His eyes widen as he stares over my shoulder and – even though it's impossible – the colour seems to drain from his face.
'I – I'm new!' He stammers, taking a few steps back. 'I didn't – nobody – I wasn't – '
'Oh, sorry, Nicholls,' A drawling voice sounds from the next desk. 'We forgot you haven't met the Beighley twins yet.' The broader secretary smirks, glancing conspiratorially at his colleagues.
'Let us through, you moron.' I snap, shoving the new boy aside. He stumbles against his desk, still horror-struck as Malachy passes.
'I'm so sorry – ' He bleats.
'It's all right.' Malachy's voice is hushed; he thinks I'm out of ear-shot. He's always been too kind-natured for his own good.
The dark tunnel leads out into a long corridor lined with many wooden doors. This is the main business area of Mount Kamen; where the Auctorita Officials work and where members of the general Immortal public can come for records or information. Malachy is more familiar with this part of the mountain than I as father often trains him for work down here. He strides quickly in the direction of one of the doors, knocking abruptly before throwing it open. Inside is a large rectangular room filled with filing cases, locked cabinets and a handsome polished desk. Behind the desk sits a withered Immortal who jumps in alarm.
'Mr Beighley!' He gasps, his expression turning sheepish. 'What a pleasant surprise! Your father isn't here at the moment – '
'No, I gathered that Ackroyd. You wouldn't be sitting behind that desk if he were,' Malachy smirks. 'Any idea where he might be?'
'I – well I think he's in Domum. I haven't seen him since this morning – '
'Thank you, Ackroyd.' Malachy slams the door closed. I trot alongside him as we traipse upstairs, breezing along the second corridor before tackling Magna Tower.
'I always knew Ackroyd fancied himself Auctorita,' I cackle, clutching at Malachy's sleeve to keep at his pace along the winding staircase. 'Sitting at father's desk, in father's chair – who does he think he is?!'
'Well, it must be hard working alongside the most powerful Immortal in the world, giving him advice and listening to his strategies yet never receiving any credit yourself.' Malachy shrugs, nodding to one of the four guards situated at the top of Magna Tower. They stand before a set of intricate stone doors, carved with depictions of Immortals through the ages and scribed with Latin proverbs. The entrance to Domum – the Auctoritas' home.
'Ackroyd's nothing but an old cretin who wants father's job,' I spit as we emerge into the foyer, a circular room not unlike the entrance hall. We turn right, heading for the Genus Room. 'He's always been that way. He'd sell his soul if he thought it would – '
'Lucrezia?' A familiar voice cuts me off and I turn, arranging my expression into one of serenity.
'Mother!' I cry, hurrying as lady-like as I can towards her. She envelopes me in a powdery, sweet-smelling embrace, her touch as delicate as a spring flower.
'What are you doing here?!' She breaks away, grinning broadly. 'Malachy!' She skirts around me and places a gentle hand on my brother's cheek. Auctoritas and their heirs are not permitted to be seen hugging or embracing women, especially not their mothers, lest anyone think them weak.
'We've come to see father.' Malachy replies monotonously.
'On urgent business, mother.' I add, to which her face falls slightly.
'Oh,' She nods, strands of her long, auburn hair falling across her shoulders. 'Well, he's in the library.' She straightens herself, placing her hands folded in front of her pelvis – her signature stance. She's trying not to appear disappointed at the news that Mal and I aren't here for a familial visit.
'We'll come and see you afterwards.' I assure her, patting her shoulder gently as we pass.
The library is at the heart of Mount Kamen, closest to the centre and extremely hot. As children, Malachy and I were forbidden from visiting the impressive oval-shaped room, as humans could barely last half an hour trapped in its heat. But the room was Malachy's favourite and we would sneak into it whenever we dared, flicking through the dusty volumes of books older than us and trying not to sweat on them.
As adult Immortals, able to stand the suffocating heat and understand the previously undecipherable books, the room has lost a little of its magic.
Sirus sits behind the impossibly tall desk on the lowest level, a pile of books stacked almost to his height and several scrolls laid open before him. As a child I remember thinking that whatever my father did for hours at a time, locked in his library behind that giant desk, must have been so enormously important. Now I know that all he's doing is studying how to prevent and quell another uprising. Though he quashed the French Rebellion all those years ago, his biggest fear is that another band of Rebels will once again rise up and cause even more devastation than their predecessors.
He glances up as we enter, his red-brown eyes quickly scanning me before coming to rest on Malachy. He sets down the scroll he's holding and stands, slowly and deliberately, outstretching his arms.
'My children!' He smiles, keeping his focus on Malachy. 'What a wonderful surprise! Your mother will be delighted you are here.'
'She already knows,' Malachy replies, stepping down the four stairs towards the centre of the room. 'We saw her in the foyer.'
'Excellent,' Father grins, rolling up the scroll he was reading. 'But why didn't you let us know you were coming? We could have prepared for your arrival.'
'We're here on urgent business,' Malachy echoes my earlier sentiments. 'There wasn't time to send a messenger. And it wouldn't have been a good idea given the... nature of the issue.'
At Malachy's words, Sirus' face turns instantly from welcoming surprise to stony suspicion. He regards his son piercingly, shooting a glance in my direction for good measure. 'What issue?' He growls, furrowing his thick eyebrows.
'Sir Alec sent us – '
'He sent you?' Sirus hisses, his eyes darkening to near-black. 'He sent
my son, his future ruler, to do his bidding?'
'No, sir,' Malachy shakes his head. 'Sir Alec wanted to come in person but – ' He hesitates. I feel my throat constrict. Malachy needs to keep his cool, deliver the message to father calmly and with an air of business. The slightest slip up, the slightest indication of emotion other than panic or anger, could land him in trouble. ' – He can't leave The Gray Institute in the midst of a panic.'
'Panic?' Sirus whispers. 'What panic?' Fear flashes in his now black eyes, glinting behind the irises. It was only fifty years into his reign that Sirus had to deal with the French Rebellion, a task well beyond his capability were it not for Caruso on hand to advise him. It created a permanent paranoia in our father’s mind.
'There has been an escape,' Malachy replies calmly, though he doesn't meet our father's eyes. 'From The Gray Institute. A first-year student, three days ago.'
'An escape?' Sirus' voice is low and echoes around the oval room. I watch as his brain ticks, his eyes sweeping left and right as though he's reading. 'An escape,' He repeats, his tense shoulders relaxing. 'Easily rectified. Especially a first year; no knowledge of going undetected at all.'
'That's not all, sir,' Malachy continues, his gaze still lowered as Sirus becomes panicked once more. 'The first year took Sir Alec's human daughter, too.'
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