Page 78

She looked at him, the sharp lines of his face. She tried to decipher the line between his loyalty and his defiance.

And worse still, her body reacted to his nearness before her thoughts did.

Alcaeus dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

Idonea stood, eyes tracking Kitsa’s retreating form. She would find her later, and ask for another lesson. It might help lead her to the relic without drawing attention from the Nexis.

Specifically, Vinea’s attention.

Since Alcaeus had yet to mention the sigil, Idonea hoped that meant he remained unaware of which daemon it belonged to.

She exhaled through her teeth. She turned to Alcaeus. “Can I leave?”

He nodded. “You may. Remember what I said.”

She slipped out of the hall. Lysander followed without a word.

Outside, the square lay hushed under a crust of snow. She caught sight of Kitsa’s slight form disappearing into the right-most terrace.

Templars tracked her steps. She’d ask Kitsa without delay. She crossed the square. The terrace loomed tall, built of dark timber. The opening room was a communal space of high ceilings with soot-stained wooden beams, and snaking copper and brass pipes. A massive cast-iron stove anchored one end of the room.

Idonea climbed the stairs into a narrow hallway, lined with doors set close together. The floorboards groaned underfoot.

One door lay open, and Idonea peered in. Velvet drapes in dark red hung from an iron rod before a lone window. Two beds sat in opposing corners, spartan but neat.

“Idonea,” Kitsa said, laying a book upon one of the beds.

“Hi,” Idonea said, stepping into the room. “Claiming a good spot first?”

Kitsa shrugged, a wry tilt to her lips. “Someone had to. I’ll fetch my things soon.”

Lysander remained at the threshold, arms folded loosely.

“I have a favour.”

“Me?” Kitsa blinked, brows rising.

Idonea smiled. “I’d like to learn more about Resonant ways.”

Kitsa exhaled through her nose. “Alright. But not here. The walls have ears.”

She moved past Lysander. He fell into step behind them as Kitsa led the way back down the stairs and across the terrace’s communal space. She stopped at the far end of the larder, where a heavy hatch sat flush with the floorboards, half-invisible unless one knew where to look.

Kitsa knelt and swept aside a dusting of flour to reveal the iron ring.

Idonea glanced back at Lysander. His face gave nothing away.

Kitsa pulled the hatch open with a low groan of metal, exposing a tunnel.

Kitsa led her through the passage, thick with cobwebs and the scent of rusted iron and root rot. They emerged into a circular chamber, dusty from misuse. Kitsa set down the lamp on the floor.

“This is safe,” Kitsa said, kneeling. “Mostly.”

“How do you know about this?” Idonea asked.

“This is where we first stayed when we arrived two years ago,” she replied.

Idonea knelt across from her, trying to still the shiver in her limbs. Lysander remained standing, leaning against the wall, not entering the chamber.