Page 7 of Tomb of Ancients
“You?You. Then does that mean I can...”
“I’m afraid not,” I interrupted. “At least, I don’t think so. Our father hunted around for all of his children, his daughters, hoping that some of us would inherit his powers, hoping that he could consume us and our power to sustain his life for... well, for eternity, I suppose. He had grown weak over the ages.” With a flurry of breaths, I tossed up my hands. “Forgive me, there is so much more. Wars and grudges. Other godlike beings all mixed up with one another.”
She twined one finger around a black curl near her ear and looked at me askance.
“This all sounds like an elaborate joke.”
“I realize that,” I said.
“And yet you all look so deadly serious, it makes me want to believe you.”
I took Mary’s shawl from the sofa and handed it back to her, then nodded toward the door leading out from the library. “There is no need to believe me, Justine. You asked for the full truth, and I’ve tried to give it. All I can do is offer what I know. What you choose to do after that is up to you.” Mary wrapped the shawl tightly around herself, walking next to me as we gave Justine a wide margin on our way to the door. “This is not a trick or a joke. I wanted you to have the truth because we’re blood.”
Khent met us as we passed Justine, and she put up a trembling hand.
“Wait,” she murmured. “Do not leave just now. I... Will you continue?” She turned to us with those huge, glossy eyes and gave us a wobbly smile. “Please. I can’t promise I’ll believe you, but I can promise to listen.”
“Listen.”Khent lifted his hand, too, but pressed it to his lips, silencing us. His purple eyes narrowed to slits, and I could see his ears perk. Our glances crossed, and I felt a cold shiver pass between us.“Ewhey charou—hur seh eshest? Chapep.”
Listen. Not a sound. Why so quiet? Strange.
He only spoke to me in that language for secrecy. Something was the matter, and his keen, canine-accentuated senses had caught it. And he was right—the ballroom had gone completelysilent. Before, the steady hum of chatter and occasional bright peal of laughter could be heard, but now? Silence. No clinking of punch cups, no shuffling dance feet, no merry string quartet.
“It’s awfully quiet,” Mary murmured, noticing the eerie silence, too.
“How very odd—” Justine began.
“No,” I told Justine. “Something is wrong. It should not be that quiet at a ball.”
Her eyes widened with fright. Her voice became a whisper. “Mrs. Langford! I hope nothing has happened to her. We must investigate.”
“Iwill look,” Khent told us, removing his restrictive jacket and letting it fall to the floor. He rolled up his shirtsleeves quickly, revealing a crosshatch of scars and faded tattoos. “Youwill stay.”
There was a sudden crash and grunt of pain from the direction of the ballroom. The chill in my spine spread quickly, unnaturally, and I realized with a gasp that this was not just fear inside me but a warning. I had felt this specific brand of uneasy iciness before, at Coldthistle House, when the shepherd’s Adjudicators had begun falling from the sky.
“I think this sad English party just became much more interesting,” Khent whispered, before dashing around the door and leaping into the hall.
Chapter Four
Sharp, unforgiving ice replaced the blood in my veins as the house shook, rattled as if thunder exploded overhead. That was enough. With one slippered foot already out in the corridor, I turned to Mary and Justine.
“Protect her, Mary,” I said sternly. “Hopefully I will return in a moment.”
“I should come, too,” Mary insisted, loosening her shawl. “Three is better than two.”
“Undoubtedly, but Justine needs you just now. I will be fine. Remember? There’s a monster lurking inside me.”
That did not seem to soothe her, but she remained, ushering Justine back into the library and closing the doors. That at least made me feel a little better—Mary’s ability to use her magic as a kind of shield had astounded me at Coldthistle, and I trusted her to keep the innocent Justine safe from whatever was happening in the ballroom. My stomach roiled as I ran toward the commotion, an array of terrible and violent possibilities springing to mind. Foremost, of course, was the idea that those warnings on our doorstep had not been idle threats. Even before I had left Coldthistle, Mr. Morningside himself had warned me that anonymity was a ridiculous notion for one such as me.
“Pretend you can run all you like, girl, but ancient wheels have a way of turning, and old, ugly wounds have a way of opening up again.”
I could only wonder for that brief moment before I reached the ballroom which old wound exactly had split.
There was little time to worry as I raced through Lady Thrampton’s gilded halls; I soon found the ballroom. Its tall, grand doors were shut, and a few confused guests milled about outside, their voices rising with confusion and squeaky complaint. The evening had been intolerably ruined. Such a waste! This was all very shocking to them, of course, their soft,rich hands having known nothing more vexing than a late tea.
When I was nearly to the doors, they blasted open with a noisy gust. Dust and a woman’s nosegay flew at me with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. The guests screamed and scattered, their slippers, fans, and punch cups forgotten in their haste to flee. But not all who had been invited left, for I discovered a few lingering in the ballroom. Those remaining were dressed in stark white, their backs to the walls as they watched the conflict unfolding in the center of the room, just under an immense crystal chandelier.
A fine layer of plaster dust, ivory as snow, had fallen around the two figures circling each other. The ceiling above had been cracked by the force of whatever had caused that initial noise. That horrid frost in my veins had thickened for a reason—one of the shepherd’s Adjudicators had come, dropping from the heavens and landing like an anchor on the parquet. The wood where she had fallen was splintered, almost ground to shavings.
