Page 67 of The Ordeals
‘The books?’ Alden raises his eyebrows.
‘You’re a fast learner,’ I say with a wink and lead the way into the gloaming. I stalk the outer perimeter first, taking the far left stack, pausing every few steps to listen, even as my pulse thrums louder. Turning to check Alden’s progress at my back, I find the stacks deserted. Foreboding shivers over me as I remind myself to breathe. ‘Alden?’
A voice, muffled, but still his calls from somewhere to the right, and I sigh through my nose, continuing onwards. ‘Alden, we were meant to stay together …’ But as I round the stacks, he’s not there. Taking a couple of steps backwards, I press my shoulder blades into the books and shelving. Listening intently, I lean down and quietly remove the switchblade from its holder. There’s a scuffling, footsteps or books tumbling, I’m unsure, and I swallow, straining to hear over the hammering of my heart.
Carefully, I move along the stacks, sweeping to the back of the library, keeping the wall at my back.
‘DeWinter, over here!’ Alden calls and I sag with relief, pressing a hand into my chest.
‘We were meant to stick to the same wall, not take opposite ones …’ I say, moving towards the archive rooms, the ones containing the old newspapers on great rolls, the careful clippings from newsies, scandal sheets and broadsheets from across the territories.
‘In here!’ he says again and he’s in the third room along, the one I was in with Tessa just a week or so ago. I walk inside, fumbling forthe wall sconce, scolding him for not finding an oil lamp when the door slams shut, leaving me in utter darkness.
‘Alden?’ I murmur, reaching for the door, grasping the handle to shake it—
But it’s locked. I’m trapped, sealed inside this small archive room. I’m alone in the dark, no way out, no way inside and, instantly, I’m back there again. Back in the vault, trapped in my terror. My heart thumps faster, dizziness overwhelming me as I drum my fists on the door, calling his name, calling for help. I curse myself. I should have set up a code word with him, or never split from him in the library. I call out again, then my fists still against the door. No one comes.
I’m powerless. My true fear, the thing I’ve been running from made real.
And all at once, I understand the true nature of this Ordeal.
Chapter 22
The Alchemist
Alone here, I spiral. Panic takes over. There’s no way out. This is like the last time. Like every time. There’s no way out, and I’m helpless. I’m stuck. I’m stuck in here in the pitch-dark, no way out, there’s no way—
‘Stop,’ I choke out, forcing the word through my teeth. ‘Just … stop.’
It takes all of me to calm myself enough to fill my lungs, to tame the fear exploding inside me. I’m shaking. The terror poisoning my body, my thoughts, and I have tostop.
‘Not the vault, not the vault …’ I say over and over, my voice getting surer, stronger. I pull in another breath, then another, my thrashing heart calming, little by little. ‘It’s an Ordeal. You’re in an Ordeal. Come on. It’s not the vault.’
This is a test. Somehow, it’s testing my one true fear, the culmination of years of panic and horror. An enclosed, stifling space, with no way out of it and no control, no choices.
Being powerless.
I bring my hands up to my face, counting as I breathe in, then out, regulating myself, inch by inch. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here when the spell dissipates, and I’m left with my mind and thoughts intact once more. When I open my eyes, darkness – thick and endless – greets me. This archive room is designed towithstand storms, flame … It’s designed to keep the materials inside safe. It’s meant to keep everything in … until someone on the outside opens the door.
‘Well, there’s no hope of that,’ I say softly, placing my hands on the floor at my sides. Pushing up, I gradually rise, blood rushing to my head like the tide. I swoon, but find the door handle at my back, using it to keep myself upright, to cling to. I have to get out of here; I have to settle my thoughts. Find some order and form a plan.
There’s only one way in and out of this archive room; I’ve already established that. But there needn’t be a total absence of light. If only someone has left a lamp … I move slowly around the walls, feeling my way, attuning my senses. In the centre is a table, along the far wall, archive materials, labelled and organised by date and publication. I reach for the table, running my fingertips over it and find what I hoped for. An oil lamp. My pulse quickens as I fumble for it, and turn it on. Light, flickering and low, washes the small room, and I see what I have to work with. The table, the rows of archive materials and then …
I gasp. Above the door, in a fine line of paint is a word, surrounded by cobwebs.
Veritas.
My code word.
A huff of laughter escapes my mouth, disbelief that I’ve found it. Hidden in the depths of my fear, in a place that presses pure horror into my heart, I’ve found the code word. It was in the library as I suspected, I just had to contain my own panic first to find it. And now I know what it is, it’s time to get out, and find Alden.
But the door …
I walk over to it, examining the hinges, bending low to peer at the lock. I haven’t pinned up my hair, so I cannot pick the lock. Next, I run my fingers over the hinges, searching for a way I canlift the door away. But the hinges are old, the door is solid and heavy, and I discard this plan almost immediately. Then I clamber on the table itself, examining the ceiling, and find a small grate in the corner … but it’s so small, all I could fit through is my arm. I swear softly, gather up the silk of my dress and hop to the floor. There isn’t an obvious escape route.
Then I remember. Of course. The librarian keeps two copies of each of the archive room keys. One in the possession of the scholar or hopeful who books the room, the other safe behind the librarian’s desk. If, somehow, it’s been left in here, if the second key has been left somewhere … I scan the walls, then the table again, but I come up empty. Determined to scour every inch of the room, I feel along the floor, narrowing my gaze, searching, searching. Then I rifle through the archive materials, shaking out boxes, before carefully stacking clippings back inside. Nothing. My head snaps up and I turn slowly back to the door.
I huff a laugh.
