Lorcan held perfectly still. “I’ve only pacted one Kakistos heir.”
“Of course,” Invadiah said. “But it was her double that killed Rohini. You may leave the pradixikai to believe they saw one girl, but don’t think I can’t tell the difference.” Without waiting for an answer, Invadiah vaulted over the balustrade, and flapped off to the edges of Malbolge where the succubus aeries lay.
Nothing to be done, Lorcan reminded himself. Even if he’d thought of a way to deny Havilar, there was no being certain Invadiah would believe him. And even if she didn’t, there remained the protection that sealed the twins from searching eyes. Invadiah became no more than a dark spot on the plane’s blood-stained sky. Lorcan rolled the pearl between his fingers, and wondered what she would ask of him eventually.
The stretch of land between the tower and the palace writhed with the movements of scores of fiendish creatures. None of them his sister. No matter-he could wait. She’d come back eventually.
He had not been bold enough to tell Farideh the extent of his plans: that if there were anyone who would know how to hide someone away, it was Sairche. If only he could tease it from her.
The door was as Mira had left it earlier, the image of the arcanist still glowering down at them. She bit her tongue as Pernika took a pry bar to the entry. Part of the silver chasing popped free of its channel, along with the garnet in his pendant.
The mercenary pocketed it. “Windfall.”
Mira struck a fresh sunrod and said nothing, forging ahead down the stairs she’d been sure were there.
The lower floor was smaller than the one above, still roughly circular, and still ringed with shelves of scrolls and books. But these, Mira noted as they crept into the dimly lit space, were arranged in an even more tangled fashion, with hardly enough space to pass between two of the wooden shelves, that stretched two or three times her height to the ceiling. The floor was piled with stacks of books all along the widest aisle, and Mira had to sidestep more than a few teetering collections.
She picked one up and flipped through it-detailed notes, diagrams, and the crackle of ancient magic. She breathed a sigh of relief. Here, at last were the spellbooks. Maspero would be glad.
She traced the lines of runes with one finger, parsing out the Loross as best she could-the language of magic was complex and nuanced. But if she didn’t miss her guess … this was just an apprentice’s book, the spells simple cantrips and minor incantations. Nothing more deadly than a fireball. She plucked another from a different shelf-another spellbook, full of still more minor spells. Another shelf-another student’s spellbook. Her heart sped, as she counted shelves into the dozens.
“Piss and hrast,” she muttered. So close, so very close. But not close enough to stall her father. Not close enough to stall Shade, either.
“Think I found another exit!” Pernika called from farther in. Mira wedged the spellbook back on the overstuffed shelf and hurried along the walkway to the center of the floor, where Pernika stood, at the very edge of a pit fifteen feet across.
“Long fall,” Pernika commented as Mira came to stand beside her. The light from the sconces and her sunrod wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the bottom of the pit, but something down there cast a greenish light that illumined an uneven floor, scattered with detritus.
“We should explore the rest of this floor,” Mira said.
Pernika made a disinterested grunt. “Send the Harper’s people down. You know Maspero’s going to want them killed when we’re done.” She grinned at Mira. “Even your dear old da.”
Mira squinted at the bottom of the pit-lots of smooth-edged pieces of white stone. The remains of columns and intricate carvings, maybe. “It should be interesting to see you try it. Him, the one with the glaive, the warlock.” She looked over at Pernika. “Haven’t seen Dahl pull his blade, beyond the hydra, you could get lucky there. The lordling priest … But then you have plans for that one, don’t you, Pernika?”
The mercenary narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get clever. You’re not better than the rest of us.”
“Never said I was,” Mira replied. She clenched her jaw-please, gods, don’t let Maspero be so foolish. Please, gods, let us get out of here and not make unnecessary messes. Please don’t let my father try to stop Pernika himself. “Help me search the rest of this place. We’ll go up after and you can push whoever you can into the pit.”
“Preening bitch,” Pernika muttered. Mira took a slow breath and concentrated on not pushing the mercenary into the pit herself.
Mira pulled more books from the shelves on the opposite side, and found more of the same thing. Spellbooks, certainly, and these more learned than the first batch, but none of them full of the legendary magic of Tarchamus the Unyielding. She thought of Maspero’s threats, and pushed deeper into the teetering shelves.
And found herself … not wedged between books. Standing in the middle of a room, a cottage, her mother’s cottage. Too large though, she thought, looking around. It was as if she were …
A child. She looked down at her hands, and they seemed the same … No, they were the hands she’d always had, of course. Small and short-fingered. She was eleven. It was raining outside, and her father was leaving today. Again.
“Mira,” he said on cue, “will you sit with me?”
She turned and saw him at the table, patting the chair beside him. She stayed where she was.
“I have to go,” he said.
“You always have to go,” she said. There was a knot in her stomach this time, too, and a lump in her throat. She’d cried the last time, and that had surprised him. As if he thought she was too old for that. But this time she wouldn’t. No matter what he said.
“Mira, please,” he said. “I will be back.”
“As you say.” Her father wasn’t a big man, but he’d always seemed enormous. Larger than life. She knew better now, and it was strange to see him that way again-
The thought went through her head and startled her. Again. Now. When was it? Where was she? Her father watched her, his dark eyes sad.
“Mira,” he said. “I have to go. And … so do you.”
That startled her too. Go? Where? With him? He’d said it was too dangerous. Her mother had said it was too dangerous-even if Mira could hear the envy in her voice, the yearning for the life she’d left behind.
“You … could stay,” she said, unsure. This wasn’t how it went, she thought, and again the thought confused her. This has happened already, she thought. This isn’t real. But the weight in her chest that threatened to drive her to tears wouldn’t dissipate.
“Mira, listen,” her father said, his voice uneven. Insistent. “It’s not safe. It’s less safe every time. You have to go. You have to go back.”
“Go where?” she asked.
“Leave,” he said. And then he was suddenly standing, suddenly older. Reaching out toward her. “There’s nothing worth-”
He vanished. The cottage vanished. Mira stood, hemmed in on all sides by towers of books. And in the place of the fire’s crackle, something else was crackling. Pernika suddenly shouted in surprise.
“Balls,” Mira heard her say. “Where’d you two come from?”
Mira extricated herself from the books, trembling. Stlarning illusions, she thought.
“You want to make good on your little threats?” Pernika said. Mira heard her draw her sword. “I’m warning you.”
Mira came around the corner-Havilar stood opposite Pernika, weaponless and watching. Brin came around Pernika’s side, the same placid expression on his face.
Mira started to shout at Pernika, to tell her to drop the blades-even threatening her father’s little tagalongs was a poor plan. But neither of them seemed bothered, only drifted around Pernika, to stand …