Page 62 of Court of Talons

I swing my gaze to the high table.

Unfortunately, so are the Lord Protector and his councilors.

Chapter 25

Ihurry though the feasting hall, my gaze fixed on the high table. I have to get close to the Lord Protector and his advisors—to learn something,anythingabout this newest death. I know in my gut whatever I discover will shed light on Merritt’s killing, and that certainty spurs me on.

They’ve all disappeared too quickly to have left by traversing the whole hall and exiting its front doors, though. That means there must be some sort of rear exit to the great hall.

I squint as I plow ahead, encumbered by the decorative chains draping down from my hood but not daring to push them out of the way to see more clearly. I think I see the long robe of Councilor Miriam there—no, there!

She moves past a large column, and I glance around, then pick up a large ceramic jar still half-full of water. What I’m going to do with this jar, I can’t guess, but I stride forward confidently, balancing it on my hip as I angle through the crowds. I mount the steps to the high table and skirt it, rounding the large column—only to see three archways.

“Perfect,” I mutter. I close my eyes and try to calm my mind, Nazar’s words coming back to me in sudden clarity.“The way of the warrior is to blend the body with the spirit and the void.”

My eyes pop open as the sound of metal upon stone grates up from somewhere below, flowing through the third door—at least I think it’s the third. The noise doesn’t repeat. Hefting the large jar, I angle for that door, slipping into a dark corridor that immediately dampens the sound of the feast behind me.

I blink, becoming accustomed to the gloom as I make my way forward. The shadows are broken by first one torch, then another, the pathway leading down a long corridor and then a winding stair.

Each step makes me surer this isn’t the right direction. The Lord Protector would position himself on high, I feel in my bones, not bury himself in the heart of the mountain. Then again, what safer spot could there be for him to seek his councilors’ wisdom than holed up in some cave?

Either way, I’m committed to following the stair until it dead ends. As long as I don’t leave the staircase, I can’t get lost…or so I assure myself.

I trot down more steps, grateful for the occasional torches lit in their sconces. Someone clearly uses this pathway often enough.

The farther I go, however, the faster I move. I need to reach the end of this wrong turn then discover the true path. The path of the warrior.

I grimace. How is Nazar so intimately familiar with that path, anyway, for someone who’s never done battle? The priest’s words had come through clearly to me while I was practicing with Gent, and his instructions resonated once more in my mind while I’d been fighting. Both times, I’d felt their rightness.

I’d insisted to Caleb that Nazar was only a priest, but…well, he must’ve watched warriors train at some point, or…or something. Had he been conscripted into the army of the Exalted Imperium as a young man? He says there are no longer any Divhs in the empire outside of the Protectorate, but Ican’t imagine that’s true. As powerful as our Divhs are, surely the Imperial army would have brought some back to defend the emperor, handed down generation to generation until this present day.

But Nazar remains a puzzle. The first time I’d ever seen the priest handle a sword was in the forest clearing after Merritt’s death. At the Tenth House, he’d take long walks in the forest with only his walking stick, but he’d never attacked any animal and certainly no person for as long as I’d known him. How can a man be so skilled in a thing yet never speak of it or seek to practice?

Itcan’tbe that he just had learned about fighting, somewhere in the distant past, part of his role as a priest of the Light. That he was merely a teacher and not one truly skilled. It can’t. Can it?

My mind rushes on in time with my feet, and eventually, the fiery sconces grow farther apart. I find myself hurrying forward to reach the glow of the next one, until finally…there isn’t a next one.

I slow as a wide apron of stone spreads out from the base of the stairs. Here, the space smells cool and damp, and several water jars are lined against the wall, exactly like my own. With the clatter of my feet stilled, however, I can hear the rush of water falling in the distance.

I frown, looking down at my heavy jar. If there’s water falling close by, why would anyone carry more down?

I lean down and settle the jar on the floor next to the wall and wait another few moments while my eyes adjust to the dim light. It’s clear this isn’t the Lord Protector’s private rooms, yet someone has been down here recently. The cobblestones have been swept free of dust, and there are no cobwebs hanging in the space. No creatures at all that I can hear, in fact, and in asheltered space such as this, there’s always something trying to wedge in.

Eventually, another vat becomes visible in the gloom, a wide, well-like container, also made of stone. I tiptoe up to it as if it’ll bite me. When it doesn’t, I reach out, my fingers skimming over a thin lid of stone. It’s the work of a moment to shove that lid free a bit. Immediately, I’m overcome with the scent of ginseng, bloodroot, and sage, plus the heavier, exotic notes of jasmine. I frown. A healing salve? I reach down and feel the thick paste, scooping up a thick dollop. I know what the water is for now—it’s to thin this muck.

But thin it for whom?

Something shifts in the darkness up ahead, and I freeze. My warrior band heats, and I rub my arm, my gaze pinning on the deeper gloom. It doesn’t seem wise to shout “who’s there?” yet it’s almost impossible not to. Still, I haven’t come down all these stairs for nothing. I want to know what’s in those shadows—need to know.

I peer into the gloom and step forward. With each stride away from the last flickering sconce, the space grows darker, the shadows blending together. I reach my hands out in front of me, my steps short and cautious. In another five paces, my fingers brush against something smooth and metallic before I ever see it. Bars.

I frown. Bars?

Reaching high, I feel where the metal poles have been driven into the ceiling, then I follow the line all the way to the floor. But they’re not meant to hamper an average-sized person’s movement, it appears. Each of the bars is over two handspans distant from its neighbor, but they’re as thick as a man’s leg. In tracing their vertical length, I realize the roof of the cavern has dropped low while the floor has risen up, narrowing the spacewhere I’m standing. I’m on the edge of a precipice. As I peer through the bars, I realize something else.

Thereislight, after all. It’s so dim as to seem unreal, but it casts a soft blue haze over the space beyond the bars. At once, I’m reminded of Gent’s home plane, but I chase the thought from my mind. In another moment, I realize that the apron of rock extends farther about ten paces. Beyond that, there is a fathomless pool of darkness. Some sort of cave, I think, a great open center in the heart of the mountain.

I slip between the bars and drop to my knees, not trusting myself to walk. Crawling, though, I can manage. I edge toward the dark abyss and know immediately when the overhang above me opens up—the light is distinctly brighter here. I look up, and up still farther, and see it.