Page 80 of Destroyer

“Archie, don’t. I’m going to lose my breakfast,” Gwyneth said, clutching her chest. “Fen, is she all right?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Ru said. But even as the words left her mouth, she knew she wasn’t. Her head was throbbing now, and she wanted everyone to leave her alone, to let her sleep.

“She should see a doctor,” Fen said.

“We called for Hartford,” Gwyneth said. “He’ll be here any moment. But we had to see you, Ru, had to know you were safe.”

“I’m safe,” Ru said, blinking hard. “But I’m…”

“Archie, Fen, get out.” Gwyneth’s words were sharp as steel. She waved her hands, long golden hair flying about her face as she spun, herding them from the room. “Can’t you see she’s unwell? The last thing she needs is a pair of useless louts hovering about. Go!”

With no small amount of grumbling, the two men retreated from the room, leaving Ru and Gwyneth alone. Despite her repeated assurance that she was fine, Ru was quietly glad Gwyneth was here. She was desperately tired.

“You need sleep, Ru,” Gwyneth said, already turning back the covers. “Go to bed. Take off your dress and get under the blankets. I’ll let the doctor in.”

“I’m fine,” Ru said again, pointlessly. The events of the morning were catching up with her at last, physically and mentally. Finally giving in, she undressed until only a thin chemise remained, then crawled dutifully into bed.

Gwyneth settled herself at the edge of the bed, pressing the back of her hand to Ru’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Those were the last words Ru remembered before she tumbled into a restless sleep.

* * *

Dusk was fallingby the time Ru woke. She recalled snippets of wakefulness, opening her eyes to find hot tea by the bedside, Gwyneth’s voice, a cool cloth on her head. But what she had done in the dungeon, the intoxication that had overcome her afterward, her conversation with Fen… it had drained her so completely that she fell almost instantly back to sleep every time she was roused.

Now that she was finally rested, able to keep her eyes open, the day was gone. Reaching across to her nightstand and downing the last of her cold tea, Ru stood and set about getting dressed. She could hardly remember getting into bed, the weight of exhaustion had fallen over her so suddenly.

The artifact would always, it seemed, take its toll.

She shuddered at the memory of her last view of the stone, blackness seeping from it like water squeezed from wet cloth. Even its touch now, unassuming and tranquil, sent a shiver down her spine.

Never again.

Then a wisp of an image flitted across her memory, the faces surrounding the artifact as she spoke to it, and all at once she saw the dungeon again as clearly as if she were there — Archie and Gwyneth looking on with eager trepidation; Fen’s face stern as he watched. The Children, hovering at the edges of the shadows, their expressions empty.

But as soon as the artifact began to react to Ru, just before she lost consciousness, she remembered the Children’s eyes. Dark and shining, predatory.

Ru blinked hard as the flashback faded, as she came back to herself.

The Children had seen something in that moment, something they’d been waiting for. She was sure of it. That nearly imperceptible shell of darkness expanding from the artifact. They had seen the change, had seen what Ru could do with the stone. They were hungry for it. But what did it mean to them? What could the Children, and what could the regent, possibly want with the artifact’s cursed darkness? Whowerethe Children? Ru was struck with a vibrating need to do something, to find answers. Any answer would do.

Ru pulled on her shoes, quivering with barely contained agitation, and set out for the nearest library.

Hurrying past the Great Hall, Ru pushed her way through a brass-handled door into one of the largest of the Tower’s libraries, containing the widest selection of historical and nonfiction texts. In the evenings, it was always bustling with activity, lit with myriad oil lamps and full of the whispers of academics, the rustle of pages, and the smell of old leather and dust.

Ru made her way to the section on Religion and Spirituality, which was near the back corner of the library. These shelves were so seldom visited, so dimly lit, that Ru had to retrieve one of the oil lamps from the wall to carry with her as she perused the shelves, holding it up to illuminate leather spines.

She pulled out books on rare religions, new and up-and-coming spiritual groups, even cults. When her arms were full of volumes, she shuffled over to an empty table and began to flip through them. Hours later, she found nothing that even hinted at a group that resembled the Children.

Determined, not ready to give up yet, Ru returned the books to their places on the shelves. She would read every vaguely relevant book in the Cornelian Tower if she had to.

The next library she went to was the tall, circular one where she and Gwyneth had gathered books for the research project. This library was far less organized than the last and much busier. The books here were mostly fiction, memoir, or biography, and the academics who needed a break from their day-long studies lined the aisles and picked their way along the shelves, looking for entertainment.

Ru tried every genre she could think of. She picked up memoirs written by religious leaders and scholars, novels about handsome yet mysterious priests, biographies of spiritual and occult practitioners, and even a romance novel that involved a cult.

She carried the books with her to the top level of the library, where there were soft chairs and couches dedicated to reading quietly. Most of the academics there were chatting and laughing, but Ru continued unperturbed. She spent nearly three hours skimming each of the books she had pulled from the shelves, but found nothing whatsoever that pointed in the direction of the Children.

It was nearly midnight, and she was becoming frustrated. Whowerethese people in white robes? What did they stand for? Their request in the dungeon had seemed so innocuous, so outwardly simple — speak to the artifact. But it had been the one thing that elicited a reaction, that had brought the still black stone to life.

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