Page 51 of Tomb of Ancients
“Wait!” I managed to maneuver around the two men. I stooped and put my hands on my knees, still weak and out of breath from using my powers so recently. “I want to trust you, Dalton, but why would you do this? You will be annihilating all of your own people, and for what?”
He crossed his arms over his suit and lifted his chin to the wind, letting it catch his hair and the bandage around his eyes. Breathing deep, he let it go through his nose. “I will miss this place, but I’m tired. I’m tired of this fighting, this war. I’m tired of Henry. He thinks destroying us is revenge, but it is not so.”
I waited, giving Khent a dark look to keep him quiet.
“There will be no one left to blame when I’m gone,” Dalton said, more to himself than to us. “Now, how does that go? Ah, yes—‘I tasted too what was called the sweet of revenge—but it was transient, it expired even with the object, that provoked it.’”
With that, he walked off across the green, toward the remains of the castle, the rising gusts across the hills tearing at his coat. I followed, but Khent hesitated, and I was forced to nudge him along.
“No man that melancholy has betrayal on the mind. Come on,” I said softly. “He need not have brought the book. He need not have returned from Judgment at all.”
We made a silent procession into the ruins, passing through the door and into the cool, shaded area beyond, which almostfelt like a courtyard, but with no high walls to hem it in. Mother went to sit on one of the fallen chunks of wall, gazing up at the height of the castle front. I had memorized the scroll Mr. Morningside had given me, and I knew how to proceed; my only doubts lingered over whether or not to tell Dalton of his friend’s deception. Or error.
Stand in the very middle of the door, take twenty paces, then turn back and speak the words.
Those were the instructions in the journal, and I did exactly that, holding on to one breath all the while, my heart pounding faster with each step. Khent stood rigidly to the side, alert, his purple eyes following me so intently they felt like physical pressure against my cheek. Dalton, however, seemed relaxed, or perhaps resigned, hands in pockets as he admired the ruins.
When I had gone twenty paces, I paused and swiveled back toward the door. Even though I knew what might come next, it felt like jumping off a cliff, hoping to find water at the bottom but feeling just as strongly that I might find stone. Dalton approached me silently, pulling the pack from his shoulders and handing it to me. It was unbelievably heavy, the canvas top shifting aside, showing me the gleaming white book within.
“Don’t touch it,” he warned with a gentle smile. “It will burn.”
“I have some experience there,” I said. “I’m going to begin now.”
He nodded.
“Are you certain this is what you want? It isn’t too late,” I said.
“You need to be rid of Father, and Henry needs to be rid of me. It will all be wrapped up neatly, I think. You’ll see.”
I didn’t see, but I decided to trust him, pulling on the bag and inhaling one last time, telling myself that I could face the trials, telling myself that I could achieve what Mr. Morningside could not.
“I’m willing.”
The effect was instantaneous. Night fell, the sky lighting up with a thousand gleaming constellations—alligators and snakes, rams and spiders, stags and rabbits. The moon appeared, a circular white beacon that felt close enough to touch. Then the ramp appeared, cutting its way into the grass, the square black door appearing just under the door into the castle. Just as the diary described, Malatriss emerged shortly after, climbing the ramp with the almost-bored air of someone going about their daily tedium. She might have been feeding the chickens or going to the baker’s for bread.
Dalton had failed to describe her beauty, or the way the sudden constellations reflected in her feline eyes. She studied him first, in fact, grinning as if stumbling upon a long-lost friend. But I had been the one to call her, and she swiftly turned back to me. Mother and Khent sidled close, protectively so.
“I am Malatriss,” she said, bowing her head just a little. “One Who—”
“Opens the Door,” I interrupted. “Yes, yes, can we move this along? We’re in a bit of a rush.”
That startled her, which felt good, honestly, and she gave another wide smile, recovering with a laugh. “You are impatient,” she said, licking her teeth. “And willing. And these others?” she asked.
I saw Khent open his mouth to answer, but Mother stepped in front of him, pushing him away. Her smile matched that of Malatriss, though it contained far less contempt. “I am willing.”
My eyes followed the horrid white snake as it traveled in a slow circle around Malatriss’s shoulders. It had the same open, gaping mouth as the Binder’s fingers.
Malatriss closed her eyes, the smile vanishing, and for a moment I was sure we had done something wrong. Mother was unwilling, or maybeIwas unwilling. But then the doorkeeper blinked and sniffed, nodding her satisfaction. “Two willing hearts. Two hearts that have known death.”
So that was what had kept Mr. Morningside from gaining entrance to the tomb. I had died briefly, just long enough for Father’s soul to be guided into me, and Mother had been drained to the point of death for the ritual that bound her in that spider. Glancing up at her, her eight pink eyes staring straight ahead, I wondered if she had known, or if she simply wanted tobe there with me to face the challenges ahead. Whatever the explanation, she took my hand, and I felt better for it.
“Willing hearts. Immortal hearts. But are they wise?” Malatriss mused. “What falls but never breaks? And what breaks but never falls?”
“Night and day,” I said at once.
Malatriss inclined her head, a flicker of irritation tightening her right eyelid. “My leaves don’t change, but turn, what am I?”
That was the one puzzle Mr. Morningside had never managed to solve. He had written directly into the instructions that there would be one riddle that I must solve on my own. The answer seemed apparent to me right away, however, given the excruciating weight strapped to my back.
