Vespertine (Vespertine #1)(64)

“I’ll have you know that I’m very good-looking by undead standards,” the revenant remarked, after I had stared for a long time without speaking.

I frowned in annoyance. Just like that, the spell was broken. “Why are you called ‘the Scorned’?” I asked.

“Let’s just say the other revenants don’t like me very much. Or didn’t, as is ever so tragically the case for some of them.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“You haven’t met them, nun. I consider it a compliment.”

Curious, I closed the manuscript to see what it was called. The gold lettering spelled out a familiar title. On the Hierarchy of Spirits.

“This is the work of Josephine of Bissalart,” I said in surprise. That explained why it was locked away. Josephine’s work was brilliant but tainted. She had gone from the celebrated scholar who had sorted the spirits into their five orders to a heretic pursued by the Clerisy for her increasingly deviant beliefs. She had narrowly avoided execution by first sheltering in a convent, then escaping on a ship to Sarantia.

Running my fingers over the title, I wondered for the first time what those beliefs had been. Whether, if I heard them, I might find something to agree with.

A sound drew me from my thoughts—a long, slow scraping, like two pieces of metal grinding against each other. Startled, I jerked my glove back on and glanced around. At first the room appeared unchanged. Then I saw it.

The dreadnought’s helmet had turned. It was looking directly at me.

“Run,” the revenant shouted. “Run!”

I slammed my shoulder against the door and dove from the room. Perhaps I should have grabbed something to use as a weapon, but just as quickly I realized it wouldn’t have mattered; even a sword wouldn’t be strong enough to withstand a blow from that flail.

Heavy footfalls shook the ground behind me as I dragged the unconscious sister out of the way—“Leave her!” spat the revenant, but I couldn’t let her die—and pelted up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, my lungs already on fire.

I was faster than the dreadnought. But unlike me, it wouldn’t tire. The tortured groaning and squealing of rusted plate chased me up the stair’s spiraling turns. At the top, I burst out into another corridor and tore down its length, statues flashing past. “Don’t step on that flagstone,” the revenant hissed, wrenching me aside.

Abruptly, without warning, the din of crashing armor ceased. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. My feet pattered to a stop.

The dreadnought had halted at the top of the stairwell. It stood with a slumped-over posture, one shoulder lower than the other, dragged down by the weight of the flail. Even then, its helmet almost scraped the ceiling. Its monstrous bulk filled the corridor, swallowing up the shade-light. If I looked closely, I could see through the bars of the helmet’s grille into the hollow space behind them.

Somehow it was worse seeing the dreadnought like this, knowing that any second its armor could twitch, move, explode violently into action. “Is there a trap ahead?” I asked under my breath. “What is it doing?”

“It didn’t animate of its own accord. Someone’s controlling it—they commanded it to stop.”

Slowly, I backed away. I turned sideways, shuffling along so I could watch my path and the motionless dreadnought at the same time. Soon I reached the next intersecting corridor. It was the one with the portcullis trap, I remembered, and a sense of foreboding gripped me even before I approached the corner and saw that the portcullis had dropped, its bars blocking off the exit route. A black-robed figure waited on the other side.

I barely swerved back in time to hide myself. Peering out from behind the corner more cautiously, I saw Leander’s lips curve into a thin, rueful smile that quickly fell away, replaced by a meditative expression. Only his eyes looked alive in a face turned as still as marble. When he spoke, his voice was unexpectedly soft.

“I knew I was being followed. Show yourself, and I’ll call off the dreadnought. I truly would prefer not to harm you.”

He opened one of his hands. On his palm lay a key. It was large and blocky, with one square tooth at the end. I gathered it wasn’t the key he had taken from the sister to gain entrance to the chambers. After revealing it, he tucked it away behind his back.

The revenant winced. If its senses hadn’t been muffled, it would have been able to tell that Leander had tampered with the dreadnought.

“Are you certain?” Leander asked. A few heartbeats had passed. He waited a moment longer, then turned. He said over his shoulder, “Very well. If you insist.” Resting against the small of his back, his hand closed around the key.

Metal shrieked as motion erupted behind me.

“There has to be another way out,” the revenant spat as I ran. “Try those stairs,” it ordered. “Turn left. Left! Watch out!”

Something flashed past my face and thunked against the opposite wall—a crossbow bolt, I thought. I couldn’t look. My feet had lost sensation; every breath burned. Even if the revenant unleashed its full power, its fire’s soul-devouring ability would be useless against an empty suit of armor. It could temporarily increase my strength, but I was still made of flesh and blood. And my endurance was flagging; the dreadnought was catching up. The deafening clamor of its stride filled my ears. I could taste its hot stink of rusted metal.