My training. Could this be the test’s true purpose? To find someone who could navigate this passage?
Was Cathal planning this? Is this what he was preparing me for? Kennan must have tried to sabotage me so she could get here first.
I heft the crossbow into my arms, straining only slightly under the weight. I’m stronger than when I first arrived at High House. I feel a small surge of confidence I was sorely lacking the first time I attempted this challenge.
I take a deep breath and concentrate on the mirror.
“Vanish,” I murmur softly as I squeeze the trigger. The bolt flies free and I stumble backward two steps, but keep my gaze locked on my reflection. It flickers out of reality for an instant. Just long enough for the bolt to pass through.
When the mirror reappears, I hear the satisfying sound of the target behind it being hit.
I step to the far side of the shooting range to inspect my handiwork. The bolt sticks out of the topmost edge of the target. A hair’s breadth higher and I would have missed.
Another door, identical to the one in the ruins, has appeared behind the target.
Feeling more assured, I push the door open. My stomach clenches when I’m assaulted by an all-too-familiar smell.
Death. I would know its scent anywhere now.
High House is gone. I’m standing in my home, back in Aster. At my feet is my mother’s body, broken and bloody. There is no light except the glow of the golden dagger in her chest.
Ma.
I shake my head in horror, taking one step back, and another. This can’t be right.
“This was never part of my training!” I shout, as if denying what I see will make it go away.
No one answers.
Every muscle in my body is trembling. Ma is dead. It is impossible for her to be here.
But every time I blink, there she is, her glassy eyes trained on something above her. I can’t face it. I can’t face her.
I bolt for the door, but it’s gone.
I race along the sides of the room, searching for a way out, but all the windows have vanished. No matter which way I turn, the room reorients itself so that I’m facing the body in the center, just as I was in my memory.
“Stop!” I issue all my rage, frustration, fear, and desperation into a Telling.
Nothing happens.
“Door!”
No response.
“Anything!” I pound on the walls. My head is spinning. I can’t breathe. All I see are visions of me running, falling down in soft dirt, a landslide covering it all up.
Little dots drift in the corner of my vision. I’m going to pass out.
I have to regain control. It’s an impossible task, the smell and the sight and the silence slamming into me at every opportunity. I choke on my own breath, my face drenched with tears.
“This isn’t real,” I say. “It’s only an illusion.”
My training required Tellings to overcome the obstacles I was presented with. This place must operate on the same principle.
I have to keep myself from falling prey to my own weakness.
I need to try something else.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force myself closer to the body, to Ma, until I’m right in front of her. I slowly lower to my knees.
I place my hands on the hilt of the dagger and pull it free. My hands are shaking as I toss it aside.
When I look back at Ma’s face, her eyes are open. She’s alive. I gasp.
No. It’s still only an illusion.
She looks at me expectantly. My jaw quivers. I long to touch her, to wrap myself in her embrace. There’s a burning in her eyes, and I know what she wants, but I’m not sure I can bring myself to say it.
Her hand is in mine. Cold, but firm. I whimper, clutching it tight, pressing her knuckles to my forehead as tears slip through my eyes.
A small, encouraging smile touches the corner of her mouth, and she nods once to me.
Say it, her eyes say to me. It’s okay.
Never looking away from her, I channel my energy into a Telling.
“Rest,” I whisper. I kiss her head once and lay her gently back down, smoothing her hair so it rests nicely beneath her. “I love you, Ma.” I squeeze her hand as her eyes flutter closed. I hold her as my eyes burn, daring not to blink. I drink in every second of her until she falls limp in my arms, her final embrace her way of saying, Goodbye, Shae, as she slips into the ether.
When I look up, the front door has reappeared. The house is as I remember it. I get up and look around one last time. My hand pauses on the doorknob.
Beyond is the Book of Days. I know it. I feel it.
I take a deep breath and open the door.
24
I am back inside the bowels of High House, in the darkness of the caverns. As I close the door to my childhood home and watch it disappear into a wall, I realize everything that came before was half real, half illusion. The work of some ancient Telling placed over the labyrinth.
I’m getting closer.
I ascend a tight, winding staircase of stone, lit by flickering torches. Shadows dance on the gray walls, distorting monstrously around every corner.
The staircase is never-ending, and I find myself wondering what is controlling High House. Is it the Book? Or the castle itself? There is a very strange power at work here.
My legs ache when I reach the top. An arching doorway lies before me.
Could this be it? Is the Book here?
I reach for the door, but it’s locked. I peer around the landing. There is nothing but stillness. This seems too simple. A Telling would easily open the door. Far too easy.
Could this be another test? I tense at the thought. Whatever it is, I can handle it. I’m not sure if I believe it or am simply trying to reassure myself.
The door creaks loudly on its hinges, and I jump when it smacks the wall on the other side.
The space is thick with darkness. It takes me a few blinks to adjust to the absence of light save for the lone streak of moonlight seeping in through the vaulted window. Flecks of dust scatter and fall.
I risked my life sneaking into the caverns, went through all those tests, suffered through my mother’s death all over again … for a storage room?
I’m in one of High House’s myriad towers. There are a few tables, strewn with papers and rusted objects I cannot place. Heaviness roots me to the spot when my gaze reaches the shelves lining the walls; they are stacked with equally strange artifacts. A fine layer of dust covers almost everything. It reminds me of Constable Dunne’s office.
A slick layer of sweat beads along my hairline and neck.
Get out, my mind urges desperately.
I whirl back to the door. It’s still there. I hesitate a few inches from the doorknob.
The door doesn’t disappear.
It’s letting me leave. Not a test, then.
Hot anger simmers within me. I am so very tired. Tears fill my eyes. I thought I was doing everything right for once.
“What do you want from me?” I cry out in rage, kicking the metal table closest to me. Pain flares through my toes and into my ankle. The table shakes, rattling its contents. Dust rises into the air. It clouds up into the beam of light filtering through the window before settling. I cough and pull at the collar of my damp shirt. I’m unusually warm.
There’s a strange smell in the air. I cough again, trying to identify it. It’s heavy. Smoky. I know this scent from somewhere.
I narrow my eyes at the table, running a finger over the dust and inspecting it more closely.