Archenemies (Renegades #2)(30)



“How nice to see you,” said Honey. “I was beginning to think someone might have conducted an exorcism and sent you back to the underworld.”

“You believe that’s where I’m from?” said Phobia, his raspy voice eerier than usual in the dank chamber.

Honey hummed to herself. “Well, I don’t think you’re from the suburbs.”

Phobia sauntered in their wake as they descended another stairwell, spiraling down into the earth. Faint light could be felt as much as seen, emanating from the deepest sublevel. Leaving the stairs behind, they passed through a chamber with vaulted stone ceilings and ancient pillars. The walls were lined with more coffins, many carved with the faces of knights and holy men, others chiseled with Latin proverbs. Beyond the chamber was an open door and the source of the light—a standing candelabra lit with nine taper candles. The ground beneath was covered in wax that had dripped into a series of small hillocks over the years, puddling and splattering across the stone floor.

Inside this final room, there was an old writing desk, teetering stacks of books, a stately four-poster bed, and bones. So many bones. Countless eye sockets watching from their hollow skulls. Femurs and rib cages stacked neatly across open shelves. Tiny finger and foot bones lined up side by side, as precisely as mosaic tiles.

And there was Ace, sitting in the room’s only chair, drinking a cup of tea while a small book of poetry hovered in front of his face. He took a sip from the porcelain cup at the same time one of the brittle yellow pages turned.

Ace Anarchy. The catalyst of a revolution. The world’s most feared villain. But also, Nova’s uncle. The man who had saved her. Raised her. Trusted her.

His gaze moved slowly across the worn yellow page of the book, and only when he had reached the end of the poem did he look up.

“Acey, darling,” Honey cooed, “you’re skinnier than half the skeletons down here! Haven’t you been eating?” She snapped her fingers. “Nova, there are a few jars of honey up in the car. Would you be a dear and go fetch them?”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Ace, his voice gravelly and tired, “but I have had enough honey to last several life times.”

“Nonsense. It’s food fit for gods.”

“Alas, I am a mere mortal, and I am quite content with my tea.”

Honey made a suit-yourself noise in her throat and sank onto the edge of a marble casket. She clicked off the flashlight, letting the warmth from the candelabras engulf them.

Nova never spoke outright about the state of Ace’s health. Honey had embraced the role of both his doting nurse and apparent beautician, and though Ace often complained about being fussed over, they had both fallen comfortably into the routine. Honey would comment on his appearance, his health, how worried she was for him. Ace would rebuke all concerns. Everyone would move on.

Nova did not think she could get away with pointing out Ace’s growing weakness like Honey did, but it didn’t stop her from worrying. Ten years in the catacombs had made him as pale as his skeletal companions, and almost as gaunt. He seemed to move slower every time she visited, each movement matched with crackling joints and flinches of pain, which he couldn’t always hide. And that was when he moved at all. Half the time he sat almost comatose in his chair, letting his mind fetch him his books and his food when his body refused to cooperate.

Nova did not want to think of it, but the truth couldn’t be denied.

Ace was dying.

The most brilliant visionary of their time. The most powerful prodigy in history. The man who had carried her all the way to the cathedral after her family had been murdered. A growing six-year-old girl, and he had carried her for miles as if it were nothing.

The poetry book closed with a snap and returned itself to a stack of tomes in the corner. “It is a rare treat to be visited by all my brethren at once,” said Ace. “Has something happened?”

Nova could feel the weight of everyone’s focus attach to her. She hadn’t told Leroy and Honey anything yet, only that something big had happened that day and she needed to call an emergency meeting—with Ace, too.

She squared her shoulders. “There was an organization-wide presentation today and … well, I have good news and bad news.”

“Good first,” said Leroy. Nova glanced at him and he shrugged. “Life is short.”

Nova licked her lips. “All right. I received a public commendation for … um. For killing the Detonator.”

A short silence was filled by Honey’s guffaw. “Oh, sweetheart. We need to work on your delivery. You make the praise sound like a death sentence.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly my proudest moment, was it?”

“And why not?” said Ace, and though he spoke quietly, he immediately had everyone’s attention. Even Phobia’s cloak seemed to flutter as he tilted his head toward their leader. “Ingrid might have been a great ally for many years, but she had grown impatient and selfish. She betrayed you, and in doing so, she betrayed us all.” He smiled, the change stretching deep wrinkles across his cheeks. “I see her death as the worthiest sacrifice she could have made, particularly as it has earned you a great deal of respect from our enemies. That alone is worth a thousand of Ingrid’s explosives.”

The knot in Nova’s chest loosened. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“And your bad news?” said Leroy, rocking back on his heels.

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