The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(7)

I move forward anyway, deciding to run the rest of the way along the wall to an entryway, its door long gone. I just want to peek inside—I may never have this chance again.

I slide around the corner of the wall and enter the abbey’s interior. Most of the roof is demolished, so there’s plenty of light, even this close to dusk. Tiny specks of dust float in the air. There’s a veneer of grime on every surface, and wet mud in shaded spots. I step forward, leaving footprints behind me. I glance at the rest of the floor—no other prints. Nobody has been here recently, at least not since the last rain.

I move as lightly as possible. Then I hear something different. I stop, step backward. There it is again. I step forward—solid. Back—yes, an echo. Like a well. There’s something hollow below. Storage? A crypt?

I should turn back. Nothing good can come from being here, and I know it. The abbey is Aphrasian territory, no matter how long ago they vacated. And yet. There’s no reason to believe anyone is here, and who knows what I might find if I just dig a bit. Perhaps a treasure was hidden here. Maybe even the Deian Scrolls.

I step on a large square tile, made of heavy charcoal slate, which is stubbornly embedded in the ground. I clear the dirt around it as much as I can and get my fingertips under its lip. With effort, I heave the tile up enough to hoist it over to the side. Centipedes scurry away into the black hole below. I use the heel of my boot to shove the stone the rest of the way, revealing a wooden ladder underneath.

I press on it carefully, testing its strength, then make my way down. At the last rung I jump down and turn to find a long narrow passageway lined with empty sconces. It smells of mildew, dank and damp. I follow the tunnel, my footsteps echoing around me.

I hear water lapping gently against stone up ahead. Could there be an underground stream? The passage continues on, dark and quiet aside from the occasional drip of water from the ceiling.

At the end of the corridor a curved doorway opens into a large cavern. As I suspected, an underground river flows by. A small hole in the ceiling allows light in, revealing sharp stalactites that hang down everywhere, glittering with the river’s reflection. The room is aglow in yellows and oranges and reds, and it feels like standing in the middle of fire. This space was definitely not made by human hands; instead, the tunnel, the abbey, was built up around it. There’s a loading dock installed for small boats, though none are there anymore.

Then I see something that makes my heart catch. I gasp.

The Aphrasians have been missing for eighteen years and yet there’s a fresh apple core tossed aside near the doorway.

That’s when I hear men’s voices approaching from the corridor behind me.





CHAPTER TWO

Shadow

“WHO’S THERE?” A GRUFF VOICE calls out from within the tunnel. It echoes: Who’s there? Who’s there? Who’s there?

Frantically, I search for somewhere to hide. They heard me! But the tunnel appears to be the sole way out and I can’t go back the way I came. There’s only the river below. The voices whisper to one another from inside the tunnel as I slide off the edge of the dock and into the water, trying not to make a splash. I hear clanging as the men run toward the stream, their boots shuffling on the ground as they turn around looking for whoever was there.

“Got away,” one says. His voice is deep, gravelly. It’s the same man who called out before.

“Could be you’re hearin’ things again,” says the other. Higher-pitched, scratchy. Younger than the first, I think.

“Is that so? Then who moved the stone?” the first replies. “More like they jumped in the river.”

The second scoffs. “Then they’re dead for sure.”

His words are prescient as the flow of the river drags me along, turns a corner, and slopes down, the current picking up speed. I try to retain control but the water swallows me. I struggle to push myself above the surface and gasp for air. They were right, I won’t make it. The undertow is too strong.

I kick as hard as I can, barely keeping my head out of the river, which is splashing against my face and into my nose and mouth. I can’t keep the water out and also let air in. Don’t panic, I tell myself. Never panic.

I spot a heavy branch sticking out of the water. I reach for it and fail, falling back into the current. I should never have come here. I’m going to drown. I’m going to die.

Also: My aunts are going to kill me.

No, no! I absolutely refuse to give up! My arms and legs shove me on as if being controlled by an outside force. I manage to propel my body toward another floating branch and grab on to it.

Water washes over my head again. I keep my eyes closed and hang on to the branch with all my might. When my head emerges, I try to suck in air but immediately begin coughing. Wheezing. There’s water in my lungs. My nose and throat are burning. The men at the abbey can probably hear me splashing now but I hardly care. I just want to make it out of here alive.

There’s a light ahead. The mouth of the cave. I hear banging noises from behind me, where the men were at the shoreline. It sounds like some kind of battle, as if the men I’d heard back there were suddenly attacked. My breathing is returning to normal, though I still feel the sting in my nose and chest. If I hadn’t come across the branch . . . or if my leg had caught on one under the surface . . .

I emerge with the river. I look around and see I’m on the other side of the abbey now. Right near the hill I saw in the distance earlier—the site of the great battle. I feel the oppressive weight of death all around me, even within the earth itself.