CHAPTER ELEVEN
'Rat-snuggler!” hissed Riltana when the door slammed behind her
She spun, all but snuffing the light of the candle she held in one hand. Shadows jumped to malevolent life across the low ceiling. The candle flame stuttered … then shivered back from the brink of extinction. Claw-like shadows shrank back to the corners, where they lurked like vultures. “Fist this,” she muttered, gazing around the room she’d just entered. The wall to her left curved with the outer shell of the tower. It was fitted with leaded glass windows in iron latticework. Rotting chairs and couches were scattered around a bookcase. Two more doors lay on the opposite side of the room.
Why did I volunteer to scout ahead? she thought. Damn Demascus and his stupid ideas! I’m nearly as worn out as he is-we should have sent that kid to look for a place to hunker down! She knew she wasn’t being fair. If vampires came through the portal into this shadowed castlescape, it made sense to leave Demascus on the threshold to hold them back. Which meant sending either her to spy out a few rooms or Chant, who refused to leave Jaul’s side. And Jaul was clearly
That was then. This is
Damn. Why the fist had she thought it would be a good idea to save her sunrod for later and use a candle instead? What a terrible light source. It would probably get her killed when some ghoul crept up behind her using her inadequate light as a cloak, and …
“Riltana,” she chided herself, but only after she looked over her shoulder. No ghoul. Another step closer to the shelves and she saw that just two books retained covers. One had an obsidian-black binding and no obvious title. She set the candle down and flipped through the ragged, blank pages until she reached the very last one, which seemed like a title:
The other book was halfsize, and decorated with a greenish teardrop-like design beneath the title,
You’re wasting time, she thought. Remember why you’re here? Not to loot abandoned keeps or play hide and hunt with vampires-it’s to find the louts mucking with Akanul’s arambarium supply. Only then will Queen Arathane intercede and send her letter to Carmenere. And then, after Carmenere forgives you, you’ll live merrily ever after. Right. Part of her wondered if she should still believe this dream. Would things really go that smoothly?
Riltana blocked that avenue of thought. With a frown, Riltana approached the two doors on the room’s periphery. The first door opened onto some kind of wizard’s laboratory. Its central feature was a black cauldron filled with a dried mass of something she didn’t want to look at too closely. Benches were heaped with all manner of jars, vials, and slender glassware. Niches were cut into the curved stone side wall. She edged into the chamber far enough to see an urn in each hollow, and on each urn was a name. She shivered and backed out of the room.
Behind the other door was a bedroom. Three beds with tattered sheets were crowded against a wardrobe and a bureau scattered with combs, pins, and a layer of dust years thick. A barred window over the beds looked out into the lonely night. This was it-the place to rest, despite being next door to the wall of urns. It had a secure window, a heavy door to hold against attackers, and better yet, beds.
She retraced her route through the dark corridors, ignoring what sounded like distant screaming down one hall, and found the closet-like chamber where the others waited.
Demascus looked dead on his feet. Seeing him reminded her of how tired she was. A rest was more than overdue.
“Let’s go,” she said. “I’ve found a place we can hole up for a while.”
No one spoke as she led them back to the bedchamber, though Jaul moaned slightly when they passed the screaming hallway. Chant shoved the wardrobe in front of the door to barricade it. Demascus didn’t argue when she suggested he take one bed. She took another and let Chant and Jaul thumb wrestle over who’d get the third.
The next thing she knew, she was opening her eyes. She’d been dreaming about eating frozen milk-honey and flying over the jubilant lights of Airspur on a spring evening …
Chant’s sunrod was spent, and her candle had burned down, though someone had lit another. Its tentative flame sketched the shape of Chant huddled on the third bed. Jaul lay on the floor with a ratty black blanket covering him. Demascus was sitting up rubbing his temples.
“Can’t sleep?” he whispered.
She shrugged. “Actually, I was out like a snuffed lantern. How much time has passed?”
“Hours. Probably five or six.”
“Feel any better?” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I won’t be juggling earthmotes any time soon, like I normally do. But I could probably do apples, or maybe even axes. How about you?”
The image of Demascus juggling axes made her smile. She stretched. “Better.”
“Good. So … Riltana?”
“Yeah?”
“Something’s bothering me, and I’m hoping you can help me out.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Have you been entirely truthful about the vampires?”
Oh shit, she thought. He knows! “Truthful?” she said.
“Yeah, you know, when you explained what happened at House Norjah.”
A bouquet of denials rose to her lips. But they didn’t smell sweet. She sighed. “I didn’t lie, Demascus. But I may not have told you absolutely everything.”
“It appears we’ve got a little time on our hands. Maybe if I knew everything, I could make better decisions.”
She nodded. She glanced over at Chant and Jaul. Both were still sleeping. There’d be no help or distraction from them. “All right. It went down like I told you. I got a lead that Cyndra’s painting was in Norjah’s gallery. I snuck in, didn’t find the painting I was looking for, and disturbed a bunch of vampires. They followed me to your place.”
“But?” he prompted.
“But … while they didn’t have the painting I wanted, the gallery certainly contained some interesting artwork.”
“Riltana, did you-”
“There were portraits-about ten, maybe twelve. All disturbing. One was a hooded man with no eyes, another was a soldier missing a hand, a wizard with no mouth … one was really awful, like a person sewed together with dead body parts …” The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she recalled the images on display in that room.
“Disturbing how?”
“It was like all the paintings were alive.”
