Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(98)

“Hush.” She grabbed my good arm and pulled me behind a column just as I caught the sounds of footsteps on stone.

In tense silence, we waited for three warriors to go by, and I cursed all the light coming from the noorestones I’d refused to leave behind. They were heavy, and they shone a brilliant glow up the column, where I pressed the sack and tried to smother the light with my body.

Tirta, too, leaned toward me, and as the warriors strode by, she held her breath.

But then they were gone, and we both sagged in relief.

“You should get rid of those.”

I shook my head.

She cast a deep frown. “That’s not a Daminan gift, you know. The way you used it earlier.”

Of course I knew. It wasn’t an anything gift. But if I thought about the implications too much, I’d never be able to move forward. Right now, I couldn’t let myself be distracted.

“If you’re not a prisoner,” I said again, “what are you doing here? How is it your job to look out for me?”

“Let’s keep moving.” She waved me onward. “And as for your questions, I haven’t been in the Pit as long as I told you. I actually got here when you did.” She held up a hand to silence interruptions. “Many of the guards—yes, even Altan—knew about me, but they weren’t permitted to unmask me. They had to go along with everything and act as though I were a prisoner, too. There’s a reason we met in the mess hall, and then were paired in the bathing room so often. There’s a reason I was chosen to help you prepare the day the Luminary Council came for you.”

Apparently our entire friendship was a giant lie. “And that reason is what?”

“To observe you. To learn you.” She shifted her posture, lifting her chin and setting her shoulders just so. Shades of familiarity struck me: for a second, she reminded me of my sister. “I admire you, Mira. What you did on the docks in the Shadowed City—that was brave. What you said at dinner—that was incredible.”

“How do you know about those things?” I whispered.

“If anything goes wrong,” she went on, as though I hadn’t spoken, “I’m supposed to get you out of the Pit.”

“What went wrong?” Besides a dragon in the cellblock. Besides Altan attacking me. Besides everything.

“I found out the Drakon Warriors aren’t disbanded like we’d believed.” She looked at me askance. “I found out what kind of questions Altan was asking you.”

“So you’re going to help me escape?” I didn’t understand. Who did she work for? Why did they care?

“It’s not as though Altan or the Drakon Warriors will just give you up at this point. If we want to move you, we have to do it the hard way. We probably should have killed Altan.”

“Who is we?”

Tirta stopped walking. “Here it is.”

We’d come to a huge door, easily twenty paces wide and three times as tall. Khulan’s crossed maces filled the mahogany planks. The silver inlay was polished to a shine, gleaming in the light of seven large noorestones that surrounded the door. But it was the second part of the image that arrested me.

Gold. Familiar. The very thing my dreams were made of.

A pair of serpentine dragons wound around the maces, their talons hooked on handles. Flame rushed from their mouths, crossing just above Khulan’s beloved weapons.

The Hall of the Drakon Warriors.

The doors were open just wide enough for a small dragon to pass through. Plenty of room for Tirta and me.

We slipped through and into an immense chamber filled with noorestones and banners and stained-glass panels that showed Drakon Warriors of old. They flew through blue skies. Fire burned enemies. The children of the gods were respected and revered.

“We need to find the armory.” I tore my gaze from the dragon; there was no time for admiring—not with my friends’ lives in danger. I didn’t want to imagine what Kelsine might be doing in the cellblock, but I knew it wasn’t good. We needed those reins.

“This way.” Tirta moved like she knew exactly which path to take.

The proper key was easy enough to determine: it was the biggest, and the brass matched the lock. Breathless, I gave the key a sharp turn, and Tirta and I stepped inside.

The room was much bigger than I’d expected, with seventeen noorestones illuminating the wood-paneled space. There were ceiling-high cabinets (twenty) and stands of weapons (one hundred). They held mostly maces, batons, and bows, but twenty racks held what might have been swords or long daggers; I couldn’t tell the difference. All of them looked terrifyingly sharp, with a glittering edge that might have been cut from diamonds.

The cabinets held knives, knuckles, and items I had no hope of identifying, like wires strung between two brass handles, and something that almost looked like shears but had serrated blades and hooks on both ends. I couldn’t tell exactly how one might use them to harm another person, but it was all terrifying and deadly to me.

Finally, I found the dragon reins, seized a pair for myself, and continued searching for calm-whistles, like the one Ilina always carried in the sanctuary. None. If there were calm-whistles in the Pit, the Drakon Warriors must have kept them on their persons. Still, I hesitated before leaving. There were fire-resistant jackets and burn kits. The last cabinet held leather backpacks.

“What are you doing?” Tirta checked the hall, bouncing nervously. “We have to go.”