Page 61

I let that fear fuel me. I keep walking, taking careful steps in my robe, until I’m at the highest level, where the painted dragons seem to torch me with their fire.

From here I walk down a hall where the Sisters have their rooms. I pass by a few more of them, coming toward me like a black mass, gliding like ghosts.

“Sister,” one of them says to me as the group slows down, coming straight for me.

Oh fuck.

I slow my gait, not enough to stop, and make the sign of prayer, as if I am in the middle of one and can’t speak.

Three veiled heads nod, understanding.

“Fiery blessings,” the one Sister says as they continue past.

I feel like I’m going to throw up. I let out a shaky breath of relief, trying to remind myself that there is absolutely no reason for anyone to suspect who I really am.

Still, I glance over my shoulder and wait until the Sisters are gone before I go up the last narrow staircase that leads to the turret where the Harbringer’s quarters are.

I can only hope that she’s not there.

I hurry up the stairs and then down the narrow hall. I’ve never been up here before and assumed the whole space was her quarters, but there are several closed doors leading into different rooms, and I don’t know which one is hers, or if they all are.

I try the first one. The door is locked, which I take as a good sign.

I reach under my robe and into the pocket sewn into my armor, pulling out the lock-picking device that Steiner created for me. I make quick work of the lock, having done a few practice sessions back at Stormglen.

The lock clicks, to my relief, and I slowly push the door open.

I’m in an office, plain looking yet a little disorganized with a large oak desk piled with loose papers, surrounded by rolls of maps and charts and prayer banners, and shelves and shelves of books, portraits of dragons, Cappus Zoreth, and Magni peppering the walls.

I work quickly, going through drawers and searching among the books, but everything in here is in the open with not a lot of spots to hide things.

Besides, I don’t think one of the most valuable commodities in the world would be here, especially when things seem a little unkempt.

I wonder if this is her dirty little secret, the fact that her godly order isn’t very orderly at all.

I pop my head back into the hall, making sure it’s still empty before locking the door and going to the next one, all while feeling I’m running out of time and luck. Because the longer I’m up here, the more likely I’m going to be found out.

The next door is also locked, and when I step inside I think I’ve hit the jackpot. It looks like a tiny museum, with tapestries and art on the walls and in the middle a row of glass cases showcasing different items inside.

But my excitement is short-lived. Each glass case displays one item: a knife with a jeweled hilt; a crown made of black lavaglass and diamonds; an aged leather book with the text worn off the cover; a couple of crystals carved into dragons; and a human skull.

The last is disturbing, but there’s no plaque to indicate who the skull belongs to.

There are no dragon eggs.

Now I’m really starting to get worried. If the egg of immortality was going to be anywhere, it would be here. What if the rumors were just that: rumors? What if Ellestra was wrong?

I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest, knowing I still have one more door left to try.

I lock the door to the gallery and then try the final one.

The lock puts up a fight. I try again and again, wondering if perhaps the door has been magicked by someone. Then again, magic is illegal here. Magic is the product of suen.

I take in a deep breath, not wanting to throw my weight against the door and attempt to break it down. Doing so would be the quickest route to being found out.

I try again and nothing.

I sigh, resting my forehead against the door, wondering what I should do. Give up? All of this for nothing?

Help me , I think, praying not to the goddesses but to my family. Help me.

It’s a futile prayer, one anchored in wavering faith.

I try the lock again, wondering how quickly I can get out of here if my break-in attracts attention, if it’s possible to scale down the side of the convent or would I fall to my death?

And then click .

I nearly cry.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

The lock undoes itself and the door opens.

This is the Harbringer’s bedchamber. I’m lucky that she doesn’t happen to be in here or I’d have no excuse. While the Daughters of Silence, and perhaps the Sisters, all have sparse quarters with thin mattresses, I’m not surprised to see that the Harbringer’s room is the opposite.

I step inside and stare at it in awe. It is as lavishly decorated as any room of the Kolbecks’, but instead of gold, everything is in black, red, and silver.

The chandelier; the ornate dragon statues carved from onyx, crimson agate, and fire quartz that flank the large windows that overlook the scrublands and desert and the low hills between here and Lerick; the four-poster bed with tasseled blankets; the velvet tapestries on the stone walls.

It’s both gorgeous and evil at the same time.

My focus goes to finding the egg. I hurry across the richly woven carpets, opening jeweled boxes, pulling open drawers, then finally narrowing in on the glass armoire where various stones and crystals are kept.

My eyes quickly search each one, looking for something to stand out, when I finally see it.

On the top shelf, almost out of my reach, is a large carving of a two-headed dragon made out of a color-shifting stone that looks both gray and vibrant blue.

The same blue I saw in my vision.

And beneath the dragon is an egg perched on a silver stand.

The egg doesn’t look like anything special, a light gray color tinged with muted shades of violet and pink on the scales, about the size of my hand.

At first glance it looks like it could be the same color-changing crystal as the dragon, which makes it perfectly disguised, hiding in plain sight.

But I immediately know it’s no crystal.

It’s almost singing to me, emitting an energy that makes me feel like electricity is traveling through my palms, up into my body.

This is the egg of immortality.

I open the cupboard, my hands shaking.

I stand on my tiptoes and reach up.

Clasp the egg between my fingers.

A jolt runs through me, making my blood feel like it’s singing.

This is it.

This is it.

I almost cry tears of joy, though I’m not sure if it’s because I found what we came here for, an egg with the power to change the world, or if it’s something else, something calling to me that I don’t quite understand, igniting a fire deep in my soul, like I’ve had something inside me that’s been dormant since the day I was born.

I open my palm and stare at the egg, heavier than any dragon egg I’ve ever held. It pulses metallic pink for a moment before it goes back to being a muted shade of purple gray, the color of twilight.

“What are you doing?”

I gasp and whirl around while tucking the egg into one of my robed sleeves, sliding it into the pouch sewn into my armor.

“Sister Marit?” the Harbringer asks sharply, having identified something about my robe and veil that gives away who I’m trying to be.

I can’t answer, not even if I wanted to. I’m so struck by the sight of the Harbringer’s awful face, thrust back to my very first day here, grieving the deaths of my father and mother, that I’m speechless.

Her cataracted eyes sweep over me, her expression hardening. She’s still so pale, so ancient looking that I’m starting to wonder if she’ll live forever.

“You’re not Sister Marit,” she says stiffly, slowly reaching into her robe.

I have no time to weigh my options.

I reach into mine, pulling out my ash-glass sword just as she brings out something dark and small that fits into her palm. A miniature bolt-thrower with a button trigger, the arrowhead razor-sharp and shiny.

It’s aimed right at me.

“Who are you?” the Harbringer says. “Reveal yourself before I shoot you.”

“I’ll just deflect it with my sword,” I say through gritted teeth. “And I’ll cut your throat a second after that.”

“And if you can’t?” she counters, raising her chin as she takes a step toward me. “If this arrow pierces your skin, you’ll have five seconds before you succumb to an agonizing death. It is laced with the blood of a sandviper. Perhaps you’re familiar with those.”

I was. Many of my parents’ livestock were bitten by them. A horrible, drawn-out way to die, but part of life in the plains outside Lerick.

I don’t want to call this woman’s bluff—I don’t think she’s bluffing.

But I need to kill her if I want to make it out of here with the egg.

I refuse to die.

“I’m familiar with everything,” I tell her.

The corner of her wrinkled mouth curls, as potent as a viper’s bite. “And you are familiar to me. Tell me, who are you? There are so many disgruntled youths whose backs I never had the pleasure of breaking.”

How many? I think. How many others are like me, who have escaped your torment?

But that question is for another day.

Instead, I say nothing. With my eyes locked on her, my sword acting as a shield, I rip back my veil so that she can see my face.

She doesn’t seem surprised.

“Daughter of Pain,” she croaks to me. “I have been waiting for this moment.”

“I bet you have,” I tell her, brandishing my sword. “I’m flattered that I’ve been on your mind all this time.”

“And I’m glad I’ve been on yours. How long has it been, Daughter of Pain, since I’ve been at the forefront of all your thoughts? Since I became the scapegoat for all your anger? How many years have you tried to start a new life in the Dark City, corrupted by your aunt?”

I swallow hard. She’s just guessing now.