Once Sandis cleared her vision of spots, she saw Rone had brought her somewhere that looked very much like a library—rows of shelves and drawers, trees of information spotting mostly bare brick walls. She noted words on the end of each aisle—last names, sometimes solitary letters. Her heart quickened as she read them. Ls, Ks, Js . . . Gs.
She hurried ahead of Rone and began picking through the bins that filled the shelves. Scanning them, she paused at the second-to-bottom shelf. Gwenwig should be in this one. She knelt down and pulled the entire bin from its place on the wall. “Bring the light closer,” she whispered.
Light dusted the records. Near the back, she found the first Gwenwig.
A small sound like an airy squeal eked from her throat. She pulled the file out. Santos Gwenwig. That was her paternal great-grandfather. She pulled out another, then another. She found her father’s record—it was outdated, listing that he only had a daughter. It included her mother’s name and the date they were married.
The next name jumped out at her like a fish out of water. Talbur Gwenwig.
Her breath caught.
“You found it?” Rone crouched beside her.
Sandis pulled the file from the bin and arranged the papers in the direct light of the lamp. She wasn’t practiced enough to read speedily, but she pushed herself over the words.
Though she had no memory of Talbur—or his name—the family tree in the file indicated he was her father’s uncle, the half brother of her grandfather. So there was still blood connecting them. Sandis smiled.
She pressed her finger to the information, dragging it down as she read. Birthdate . . . he was sixty-eight years old. No death date listed, but of course he’d still be alive if he recently traded at the bank. Male, of course. No marriage record or children, and— Her finger stopped. Oh no.
“What?” Rone pressed his shoulder to hers, trying to see better, but it blocked out the light. Sandis pushed him back.
“It says he lives in Thaughtez.”
Rone glanced at her. “That’s about two hundred miles out.”
Sandis shook her head. “He can’t. He wouldn’t travel clear from Thaughtez to make a gold exchange at a bank in Dresberg. The record is outdated.” Just like her father’s.
She sat back on her heels.
“You’re sure?” Rone took the record and read it himself. “Hmm, yeah. This stamp says the last entry was seventeen years ago. Whoever keeps these needs to be fired.”
A dead end. Hope dribbled out of her body and puddled on the floor.
She sucked some of it back in. At least she knew who the mystery Gwenwig was—her great-uncle. At least she had that. She opened her grandfather’s record and skimmed over the family tree—there was Talbur’s name, written a few lines below her father’s.
She glanced back at the bin. Fingered through it. Frowned. Opened her father’s record.
“What is it?”
She shook her head. “When do they start records for citizens?”
“When they’re born. Why?”
She searched one more time. “I don’t have one.”
Rone paused, brows skewed. “Please don’t tell me you’re under seventeen.”
“I’m eighteen. I’m on this record, here.” She pointed to her name on her father’s record. “But I don’t have my own file.”
Rone looked over the record himself, then searched those in the bin. “Huh, yeah. I bet it was stolen.”
“Stolen?”
Rone shrugged. “You’re Kolin, yeah? Kolin citizens can’t be sold as slaves. I wonder if your master or whoever had it taken so you couldn’t be traced.”
Sandis’s lips parted. She’d never considered the idea. Did the government think she was dead? Did they know she existed?
Did they care?
Sandis closed the records she’d opened and carefully returned them to their cradle, then shoved the bin back onto the shelf. What would she do next? Where else could she look?
Rone stood. “We should go.”
She nodded and followed his light. As she passed the shelves, something caught her eye.
She moved toward it as if mesmerized. Rone groaned and hurried after her. Yes, it was a Noscon symbol, painted on a book spine—what it said, she couldn’t be sure, but she recognized the art of it. As Rone neared, his light illuminated a few more ledgers beside it, crammed together inside a small bin, which bore a Kolin label. Sandis sounded the words out in her head: Noscon records.
“We need to go,” Rone whispered.
Sandis nodded, but let her fingertips touch the ancient script.
Her eyes exploded with fire.
Hot air pressed in on her from all sides, crushing her until she couldn’t breathe. Need. Hurry. Need. Emotions that weren’t hers crawled along her skin like centipedes. The pressure increased, then built in her skull, pushing outward. She grabbed her head.
Ireth, stop it. Stop it!
The pressure built until Sandis felt she would crumple like old paper. A single pulse of fire blazed from her crown to her toes. Fear.
Sandis turned around and saw two slitted eyes like hot iron bearing down on her. Hot darkness engulfed her. Living shadow. The smell of burning flesh filled her senses—the smell of Heath.
An earth-shattering roar pierced her ears and rent her to pieces.
Sandis screamed.
Chapter 9
Her scream echoed between shelves and walls, threatening to shatter glass.
“Sandis!” Rone hissed as she fell backward. He grabbed her by the shoulders, then yanked his hands back, palms burning. Sandis collided with the floor. She stared upward, unblinking like a corpse.
Her hair steamed.
Rone’s stomach dropped to his knees. Cursing, he crouched at her side. “Sandis? Sandis?” He carefully touched her arm—the heat had receded, but it was still unnatural. He took her face in his hands and gently shook it. “Sandis? The hell? Sandis!”
She blinked, her eyes coming into focus, then rolled over and coughed as though her lungs were full of tar.
Sweat broke out along her skin. Her entire body trembled.
This was no sewer disease.
He slapped her back a few times. Once she caught her breath, he grabbed her shoulders. “Are you all right? What happened?” He glanced at the records. But no, it couldn’t have been those.
What had those grafters done to her?
She pressed her palms to the floor and pushed herself onto her knees. Breathed heavily. On the fourth exhale, she muttered, “Kolosos.”
Nonsense. “What?”
She shook her head. Sat up and pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I . . . I’m sorry. I’m . . . fine.”
Rone flexed his hands, pulling the burned skin tight. He stared at her. How . . . ?
He heard footsteps on the floor below. God’s tower, anyone in the courtyard would have heard her.
“We need to go.” And figure out what the hell just happened later. “Come on.”
He took her elbow and hefted her to her feet. Was she always this light? His own fear was probably fueling his muscles. He reached for his amarinth, hoping he wouldn’t need to use it.
They went back the way they’d come—the way Rone had already mapped. He didn’t like going into things without some knowledge of what he was doing. Sandis faltered once on the stairs, but otherwise kept the pace.
“Come on. Hurry.” He opened the door. Peeked out. Sprinted for the manhole cover. Lifted it and ushered Sandis down the ladder.
He scanned the area one last time before jumping in. A shadow moved by the science building. The glint of eyes, then the man turned away and vanished.
Rone stiffened. A witness. And if he was moving away instead of coming toward them, it wasn’t security or police. But how could the grafters have followed them here? Even if they’d found his flat, they couldn’t have tracked them through the sewers.
Unless they knew Sandis was searching for her great-uncle. Then they might plant a solitary lookout. One who would have heard her scream.
They had to hurry.
He could ditch her after this, right?
The question spun in his mind as he pushed himself through knee-high water, trying not to splash Sandis as he went. He’d done his part. He’d gotten her to the records. It wasn’t his fault the information had been lacking. It was very much her fault that the rats of the city may or may not have been pursuing them.