They followed the tunnel for no more than the span of a few minutes, though the echoing footfalls and absolute dark beyond the limit of the lamp’s meagre glow made it seem considerably longer, as did Alucius’s growing conviction that there was no wine to be found here. “I don’t care what you insist upon,” he hissed at Twenty-Seven. “I will not simply turn back now.”
Finally the tunnel opened out into a broad circular chamber, Alucius drawing up short at the fine brickwork contrasting with the rough stone walls of the tunnel. The chamber was ringed by seven stone pillars and shallow steps descending to a flat base in the centre of which stood a long table. Alucius went to the table, playing the lamp over the surface and finding it free of dust.
“On second thoughts,” he said. “Perhaps you have a p—”
A sudden whisper of disturbed air and the lamp shattered in his hand, flaming oil scattering onto the stone before blinking out, darkness descending with dreadful speed. Alucius heard Twenty-Seven’s sword scrape free of its scabbard then nothing, no clash of steel or grunt of pain. Just the darkness and the silence.
“I . . .” he began, swallowed and tried again. “I don’t suppose you have any wine.”
Something cold and hard pressed against his neck, positioned precisely above the vein he knew would see him dead in a few heartbeats should it suffer even a small puncture. “Aspect Elera!” Alucius said in a rapid exhalation. “She sent me.”
A pause then the blade disappeared from his neck. “Sister,” a female voice said, smooth and cultured but also hard and clipped. “Light the torches. Brother, don’t kill the other one just yet.”
? ? ?
“Alucius Al Hestian.” The young woman regarded him from across the table with a steady and not especially welcoming expression. “I’ve read your poems. My master thought them the finest works of modern Asraelin verse.”
“Clearly a man of some taste and education,” Alucius replied, casting a furtive glance at Twenty-Seven, crouched into a fighting stance, his sword moving back and forth in a slow parody of combat. On either side of him stood a man and a woman, both young like the woman seated at the table. The woman was plump and short with a large rat perched on her shoulder. The man was taller, well-built and wearing a heavily besmirched City Guard uniform. The plump woman regarded Alucius with a faint smile whilst the guardsman ignored him, staring fixedly at Twenty-Seven and his slothful sword play.
“Actually,” the young woman at the table said, “I found them cloyingly sentimental and overly florid.”
“Must have been my early work,” Alucius said, turning back to her. Her face was finely featured, a narrow aquiline nose and a softly pointed chin, her hair a pleasing shade of honey blond, and her eyes set in a cold stare of hostile appraisal.
“Your father’s a traitor, poet,” she stated.
“My father is forced to hateful duty by his love for me,” he returned. “Kill me if you would have him abandon it.”
“How noble.” The young woman spread her fingers on the table where a line of small steel darts were arranged in a neat arc. “And a wish easily granted, should I find you less than honest.”
The plump woman came forward, her rat running the length of her arm to jump onto the tabletop, scurrying over to Alucius, snout raised to sniff at his sleeve. “Don’t smell a lie on his sweat,” she advised the young woman in coarse, street-born tones.
“My sweat?” Alucius asked, feeling a fresh trickle of it trace down his back.
“Liar’s sweat’s gotta sting to it,” the plump woman advised. “Beyond us but Blacknose here smells it well enough.”
She extended her hand and the rat trotted over to her, jumping into her arms and settling into a contented huddle.
The Dark, Alucius thought. How delighted Lyrna would have been to see this. He forced the thought away; remembrance of Lyrna was painful and likely to provoke distracting grief at a time when he should be focused on continued survival. “Who are you people?” he asked the young woman.
She stared back in silence for a moment then raised her left hand, the fingers flat and level. She blinked and one of the darts rose from the table, hovering no more than an inch from her index finger. “Ask another question,” she said. “And this goes in your eye.”
“Can we move this along, sister?” the guardsman said in a strained voice. “This one’s mind is easily clouded but I can’t do it forever.”
The young woman blinked again and the dart slowly descended to the table. She clasped her hands together, her eyes unwavering from Alucius. “Aspect Elera sent you?”
“Yes.”
“What is her condition?”
“She resides in the Blackhold. Unharmed, save a raw ankle and sore need of a bath.”
“What did she tell you of us?”
“That you had wine.” Alucius risked a glance around the chamber. “I’m guessing she lied about that.”
“She did,” the young woman replied. “We also have scant food or water remaining and our forays into the city above yield us nothing.”