The following morning, the castle seemed to be more silent, as though the stones themselves were holding their breath.
With her fingers curled around a porcelain cup of tea that had long since gone cold, Elira leaned against the window ledge of her study. The tea was not on her mind. The Archivist was on her mind.
His voice lingered in her mind like an unsatisfactory itch, even though he had vanished completely.
You might still be deserving.
Deserving of what?
With his hair still wet from training, Lucien entered without knocking. "You didn't attend breakfast."
"I didn't feel hungry." She gave him a look. "Have you had any sleep?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Enough."
He seemed different today, more vigilant, like a hawk circling invisible prey. She didn't need to inquire about his thoughts. The same man in red haunted them both.
Lucien said softly as he approached her, "I believe the Archivist is putting us to the test."
"No," Elira answered. He's putting me to the test. You are simply standing too close.
Although Lucien's lips curled upward, his eyes did not meet the smile. "I'll stand closer then."
She had no time to return the smile. From the hall came a sharp knock.
The messenger was breathless and pale. He bowed and said, "My lady." In the Lower Crypt, a sealed relic has surfaced. Its sigil corresponds to the Archivist's seal.
Lucien and Elira looked at each other.
"Get the path ready," she said. "We leave now."
It had been more than 70 years since the Lower Crypt was opened. Thick with stone dust and the subtle, metallic taste of ancient spells, it was a place of ancestral mourning.
In the middle was a sealed pedestal. It had a box with the Archivist's insignia—a broken quill that had been set on fire—carved out of ashwood and obsidian and sealed with melted gold.
Elira put her hand on the lock.
The seal pulsed and parted as her fingers touched the surface, turning to ash.
One key was inside.
Nothing fancy. Iron-forged, simple. The edges are worn, as though they have been handled by numerous people.
But there's a scroll underneath it:
You have to uncover what your mother buried in order to discover the truth. Look for the Nameless Chamber. The cost of your crown will be inscribed in blood there.
Lucien scowled. "Your mother has never mentioned secret rooms."
Elira's face changed. "She never wanted me to find it, which is why."
At noon, they rode off.
Guards weren't taken by Elira. The key and Lucien alone. They followed the trail into the Shadowglow Forest, so called because sunlight never made it to the forest floor.
Silence encircled them as they descended farther.
Lucien was the first to break it. "You haven't said anything."
Elira brushed low branches aside and remarked, "I'm remembering her." "Mom. When we were walking through this forest, she held my hand too tightly. As if she was afraid of the trees themselves.
"Did she ever talk about what she kept hidden?"
She showed me how to conceal the truth. That must have been her method of telling me.
A clearing appeared in front of them.
The stone steps spiraled down into the ground, covered in vines and moss. A location unaffected by time.
Elira murmured, "The Chamber Without a Name."
Elira stopped Lucien's hand as he drew his sword. "No blades as of yet. Not unless we require them.
Silently they went down.
Runes, ancient and Virelle in origin, were carved on the walls. As they went by, Elira traced one with her fingertips.
She whispered, "She burned her memories into stone." "So nobody would read them."
There was a door at the bottom. smooth. No handle.
She took the key and slid it into what felt like inflexible rock. The wall moaned.
The stone then began to breathe.
A heartbeat-like pulse.
The door then opened.
There was a circular room with mirrors inside. Each depicted a distinct memory: a faceless woman binding a sigil into a newborn's cradle; Elira laughing as a child; and her mother sobbing into a book.
Elira remarked, "She concealed her transgressions." "However, the magic remembers."
Her mother's journal was in the middle of the room, bound in skin.
She pulled it open.
Inside, the words were written in blood rather than ink.
Please pardon me if you ever discover this, my daughter. Even if it meant breaking you, I vowed to uphold the bloodline. I, not Lucien or Cael, cursed you before you were even born.
I handed you over to the Flame of Virelle. The curse thus feeds on your decisions. It grows because of love. It is bound by sacrifice. And if you don't stop it, it will eventually burn you to ashes.
However, there is a single path out.
Locate the Blade of Binding and use it on yourself, not on other people.
You won't extinguish the eternal flame until then.
Elira's hands were shaking.
Lucien gently removed the book from her. "She gave you up for the throne."
"Now it's my turn to reverse it."
A breeze rustled the leaves above them as they stepped out of the chamber.
It wasn't wind, though.
It was a murmur.
The voice of the Archivist once more.
The roots become more resistant the deeper you dig. Seraphina Elira Virelle, are you prepared to cut them all off?
She didn't recoil.
"Previously, I wasn't prepared. However, I will be.
When Lucien reached for her hand, she firmly grasped his.
Stop running. She could no longer act as though she wasn't cursed.
So what if she had to burn in order to be free?
On her own terms, though, she would burn.