Page 88 of Xantera
I take a deep breath and place my tray on the bed, standing up and pretending to stretch.
“Well, anytime you need my help, you just let me know, okay?”
I walk toward the servant door as if I’m escorting her out. Narrowing her eyes, Eleni follows, and I watch her whip out a tiny skeleton key and insert it into the lock embedded in a panel of the wall. The door swings open, and I catch hold of it.…
Eleni whips toward me, eyes full of warning.
A sudden urge to shove past her and sprint into the darkness races through my limbs. But I can’t do that to her—force her to choose between her life and mine. Because I’m sure she’d be expected to alert the Guardians if I ran into a place I am obviously not allowed to be.
“One more thing, Eleni.” I lean in close and lower my voice. “I just wanted to tell you that what the Guardians did to you, it isn’t right. Fuck honor and duty. None of this is honorable.”
Eleni’s eyes widen before briefly closing, and I use the mere second to case the doorframe. There, just below my right hand, is a hole that looks exactly where a door would catch.
“You’re my friend, Eleni,” I whisper, at the same time I stuff the ripped piece of cloth from the hem of my dress into the hole.
All or nothing.
Eleni’s eyes drift down to the movement for the briefest of seconds. If she saw me, she doesn’t acknowledge it.
Then she nods and closes the door.
Just as Sylvia did in her memory, I count to one hundred and one as I pace the perimeter of my room.
Then I stop in front of the hidden doorway.
I trace my fingers up and down the outline, trying to find a groove.
Nothing catches. With flat hands, I push my weight into the door multiple times, hoping it joggles something, but it doesn’t swing inward either.
Again, I trace the outer edge until I feel the tiniest lip—two pieces of wood that aren’t flush.Yes. I dig my nails into it like claws, getting as deep as I possibly can with all eight fingers, before I finally tug it open.
A cloud of stale air hits me, making me cough. I suppose the corridor doesn’t have any working air supply since it’s sandwiched in between the walls.
Flashbacks of the catacombs shuffle through my memories, but this time I have to travel alone, without Lucan’s voice to drive me crazy and keep me company.
Glancing over my shoulder one more time to glare in the direction of the necklace I’m leaving behind, I step into the stale darkness, drag in a deep breath, and pull the door shut behind me.
Flimsy light flickers from a hanging bulb up ahead, casting a faint yellow glow that hardly illuminates anything outside of its immediate vicinity. But I can see the outline of other hatches up ahead, as well as splits in the walkway where I’ll have to make a choice between left or right.
The catacombs 2.0, indeed.
I cough and start forward, passing the other hatches without stopping to investigate. North. I need to go north—which, judging from where I know my room is positioned in the palace, means I need to take a right at the next branch.
I do, and now I’m met with a staircase that spirals downward. Right. To get to the north wing, I probably have to be on the main level.
Clutching the edges of the wall, I descend what feels like several stories until I’m back in a corridor, this time with actual doors lining either side. Muffled voices rumble on the other side of them, and my heart begins a steady beating against my ribcage at the realization that any of them could open at any moment and catch me sneaking past.
North. Which way is north?
Shit. The spiral staircase erased all sense of my direction.
I don’t have time to figure it out. At that moment, one of the nearest doors flies open, and I flatten myself against the wall with my heart plummeting straight to my toes.
The door swings shut again as my ears ring, nerves alight, but I let out an inaudible breath when I lay eyes on the back of two servants.
They’re each pushing a large cart of what looks like dirty, blood-splattered laundry and linens—away from me, thank the Guardians.
Or… no. Maybe I shouldn’t thank the Guardians anymore. They’ve obviously cut out the tongues of these servants, too, because rather than whisper and gossip to each other as they push their carts farther and farther away from me, the hallway only echoes with the squeak of their wheels.
