CHAPTER 84

I should have been smarter.

This is what runs through my head as I make my way through the keep’s corridors. Sticking to the shadows, trying not to be noticed. After escaping into the night with Wyl, there’s a definite chance that people are looking for me.

I have a goal, I keep telling myself this, over and over. Nothing is done, nothing is definite. I can still save Lysander, save Katha, save everyone.

“Where are we going, Malco?” Rue asks. He’s happy he can make noise again. His hum bounces off the walls, slices every little silence into pieces. Every reverberation of his eats a little more at me, makes me jump at imaginary pursuit.

“We’re going to our room,” I say hurriedly. “Fetch the war mantle. Get the potions we have. Then…”

Then what, Mally?

This is my own dungeon mind, something sneaky and too relaxed by half wearing my voice and thoughts. I’m getting very sick of my dungeon mind.

Help wasn’t coming. Lysander, Delos, Geden, they’d gone gods knew where to do gods knew what. Either dead or trapped, or simply tired of my presence. Wyl had used me. Betrayed wasn’t the right word, no. I hadn’t given her the chance to betray me because I didn’t have the faintest of what she intended to do, or what Lysander intended to do, or—nothing. I’d trusted and mistrusted, and ambled about like a child after more responsible people.

Then I’ll go to the catacombs and free Medrein. Then to Valkas’ room to steal the diamond amulet back. Then to Hollow House. I’ll see what’s happening for myself.

Great plan, Malco, great plan, says the dungeon mind, sardonic non-smile on its irritating non-face. Really genius stuff, I can tell you spent a lot of time sitting on that little nugget. Was selling Lysander out part of it, or did you improvise?

Shut up, I tell myself.

You’re not seriously thinking of doing that.

I am serious!

You’re gonna get killed!

And what if I do get killed?

Malco?

I blink, nearly trip over my own feet when Rue’s voice slips between my thoughts. It’s hard to keep in mind that I’m not longer alone in my head unless I make an effort.

“Yes, Rue?” I ask out loud.

“Nothing,” he hums. “Just wanted to know what you were talking about.”

“I… Just thinking, Rue. Realizing my plan isn’t really as good as it could be.”

Peeking out into past the curve, I find the next corridor empty. Lucky me Tegg left me up in the battlements. My room isn’t so far from here. The dusty corridors and closed doors attest to that.

“I think it’s a great plan, Malco,” Rue says reassuringly, bouncing up and down on my shoulder. “Usually you like things clever-like and I haven’t been feeling very clever lately. So I like that this plan is direct.” He pauses, vibrating all over like an excited child. “I wonder if we’ll have to kill anyone.”

And I’ll just disregard that.

“What do you mean, clever-like?” I ask. Keeping Rue talking is a good way to make him keep away from the more distracting noises he makes. “I’m always… blundering. Like now.”

“You are, yes,” Rue agrees without a shred of mercy for my battered ego. “But I mean always looking for angles, and potions, and things instead of fighting for what you want.”

“I am a Rogue-type, apparently.”

The last stretch of corridor leads me to my own room. I peek in before entering and closing the door. No one touched a thing. That’s good. That’s very good. I was worried that with mine and Wyl’s disappearance Valkas would have taken some drastic measures. But with some luck, the guards won’t have even told him yet, afraid of repercussions.

“But you’re not thinking like a Rogue!” Rue says, bobbing side to side like he’s dancing on the tips of the feet he doesn’t have. “A Rogue would be sneakier and smarter. You’d be going straight to Valkas’ room if you wanted to be smart. But putting armor on and taking your dad out of prison? That’s not clever. It’s direct.”

There’s no fire burning in my room. The little stone hearth is dark and sooty and cold, illuminated by the thin moonlight. In the little crevasse in the chimney, I find the war mantle where I hid it. Amelia’s gift dagger, completely mundane and non-magical, I judged safe to leave on the bedside table. The potions are in the little drawer, inside Lysander’s book on beverages. I cut the compartment wider myself.

“Well, thanks, Rue.” Does it help? No, not at all. If anything, it only makes me feel worse. “That’s really, really…”

A wave of tiredness comes over me, as if a strength potion’s effect ended. But instead of sluggish and heavy, all I feel is an absolute, paralyzing incapacity to move as the monumental weight of my many fuck-ups suddenly drops on my shoulders. I sit on the bed, sink my face into the mossy mantle, breathe in the smell of the forest, of secret caves filled with moisture and danger.

I want to scream.

I probably shouldn’t.

“Are you all right, Malco?” Rue asks, hesitant.

“Oh, yes,” I say, my voice muffled. “Perfectly fine. Just coming to terms with imminent death, that’s all. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“You’re moping,” Rue says accusingly.

“No, no,” I insist. I’m being very reasonable, I think. “Just need a moment, really.”

“There,” Rue says after a beat. “That was a moment.” His hum grows agitated, but not frenetic. Angry like the buzz of a swarm. And then, by degrees, it wanes. “Well. If you’re gonna be sad about it you can do it the smart way. I don’t mind.”

Really have to stop myself from laughing out loud at that.

“What do you have in mind?” I ask the little creature.

“Weren’t you listening? Going to Valkas’ place first.”

I lift my head from the comforting fluffiness of the magical moss.

“What?”

“To get the amulet?” Rue asks, with a rising and dipping melody that really underlines his waning patience. “Malco, you’re being rude. If you’re not listening just say you’re not listening.”

“I’m… Wait, why would I get the amulet first? I thought Medrein could help me against the guards, that was the whole point of freeing him first.”

“Yes,” Rue hums, quickly, like an exasperated huff. “In the good plan. But in the clever plan, you could get the amulet first then teleport to your dad.”

Silence.

“Rue, that’s…”

“Yes,” he says. “It’s boring. There’s nothing to it.”

“I was going to say smart. But it wouldn’t work. There’s the guards. Not to mention Valkas himself.”

A little bit on top of Rue, like a bubble of whatever he’s made of, twists on itself. It takes me a second, but I realize this is his attempt at rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know about the guards, but Valkas isn’t there at night. I know. I spent some time in the jar there.”

After he says that, Rue returns to an almost-silence, broken by a low, timid vibration. Bad memories are a touchy subject with Rue.

“You know what?” I ask. I pick up a tiny red vial and hold it up in front of my eyes. “I think we’re going for a mix of clever and direct. Would you like that, Rue?”

I’d like it very much, Malco.

*

Though all is quiet in the upper reaches of the keep, the booming loudness of the mess hall finds its way everywhere, like a beast bellowing in a cavern deep underground. My room is on the third floor of the main body of the keep. Valkas’ office in the second. Medrein is two levels underground.

The deeper I go, the greater the danger. First, it’s only a scullery maid or two, who lower their heads as I pass like they would with any Godtouched. Then Godtouched themselves. I pass a thoroughly drunk couple who follow me for a while saying people were looking for me. They trip over their own feet and fall in a laughing mess of limbs. I keep walking.

There’s something in me cringing at all the attention. Sneaky, I assume, and maybe Dirty Fighter would prefer a more oblique approach. At the same time, Disciple of Fire likes the directness, the bold advance, and the fire in my heart blazes high. My Familiar is buzzing like a madman, somewhere around my maimed wrist. My Perks are nothing if not contradictory. Maybe that’s why I’m such a mess.

And yet, my Archetype itself seems to balance on this thin edge of subterfuge and direct action. Gather your secrets while you can, but not forever. I take comfort in that thought as we turn into the corridor leading to Valkas’ office.

There’s only one guard at the door, wearing the reds and blacks of Teryon’s special guard. He tenses as he sees me, and his hand flies to an arming sword at his hip.

“Did you speak to the guild master, boy?” he asks. I don’t know this one; he was never assigned to follow me around. I don’t answer his summons.

“He’s looking for you,” he adds as I approach. “He’s not here now. You should go down to the mess hall, present yourself.”

I down the potion in a swift gulp. From the flash in his eyes, he knows what it is, and he knows that the time for conversation is over.

The guard’s sword doesn’t have time to leave its scabbard. I aim an Incendiary Dart at his face, which he fails to recognize as a distraction. My foot lands solidly on his stomach and throws the man off the ground, breaking the door open behind him.

Gods, I think. I love strength potions.

Valkas’ office is empty and dark. The large marbletop worktable is neatly organized, and the windows closed against the night’s chill. Without my noticing when, the warmantle around my shoulders has turned to armor, tight-fitting and resilient.

The guard attempts to stand and scream out a warning at the same time. He seems to be out of breath to do both sufficiently well. He raises his fists instead.

Now, I think. Dagger.

The shape around my wrist turns solid, sharp, seemingly heavier. I reach down with my right, grip Rue’s handle, and slice hard and fast. I break through the guard’s defenses, but he dodges before I can plant the blade and kicks me away. What little breathing room he gains is enough to allow him to draw his sword and shout down into the corridor.

Go! Rue thinks into my mind. Quick, direct. Attack!

Mad or just desperate, I do it. I run at the guard and he swings. From surprise or ineptitude, the slice of his blade isn’t really aimed at me, but attempting to restrict my movements, take up space. I just ignore it, barge through the defense, punch the Rue-dagger at the man’s face.

It doesn’t connect. The man dodges again. In the corner of my eye, courtesy of Observant, I can already see people appearing in the hallway, wondering what all the fuss is about.

I’m doomed.

And then Rue ripples. The blade shifts like an uncoiling serpent and snakes down and to side, burying itself deep in the man’s neck.

Blood gushes out. Whatever Rue hit, it was important, and realizes it as well, falling down with his hands around his throat.

Don’t wait! Screams the dungeon mind. Even it is on board here.

I dash to the cabinet of curiosities. There are a bunch of items there, half-guessed in the darkness. Pushing things aside, I find what I’m looking for, grip the golden chain and pull. It comes out entangled in something else, but nothing that I have time to think of right now. People are running in my direction, shouting orders.

The amulet.

I don’t know how to use the amulet, I realize in a panic. The diamond in the center shines with soft inner light, a small spark. I turn it over as the shouts intensify, and find words inlaid in the gold frame.

“Carmae—”

A guard barges in, sword in hand.

“Drop it!”

Malco! Rue yells in my head.

How did Lysander—Ah.

“Carmynae Escamut duam Dael… Nodrimu!” I whisper-read the sentence. It sounds like the stirngs of syllables I heard Lysander employ to activate the amulet. “Medrein’s cell.”

For the second time in less than half-an-hour, green light engulfs me.