“I think because he needs to use this horn thing.”
“That’s obvious, but that doesn’t explain why we need him here. We could just have brought it to him. Why does he have to come with us?”
“We think that, being the heir, he can cross that room,” Hadrian told her.
“What if you’re wrong?” she asked. “We also need him to blow the horn. If he dies—”
“He can’t blow it if he doesn’t have it,” Royce interjected.
“But that’s where you come in,” Hadrian said. “You need to shield him, just in case. Can you do that?”
“Maybe,” she said without the slightest hint of confidence. “Everything with me is try-and-see. What are your other ideas?”
“Only have one other,” Royce said. “Someone walks in and diverts its attention while the rest make a mad dash for the far side in the hopes that at least one of us makes it. Hopefully blowing the horn can somehow stop the beast.”
“Seriously?”
They nodded.
She glanced over her shoulder. “I guess I’ll break the bad news to him.”
“Absolutely not!” Degan Gaunt declared, rising to his feet, his hat tilted askew and flat on one side from his lying on it.
When Myron and Magnus had returned, Arista had gathered the group in a circle around the lantern. While they ate sparingly from their remaining provisions, she explained the plan.
“You have to,” Arista told him.
“Even if I do, even if I succeed, what good is that? We’re still trapped!”
“We don’t know that. No one has ever crossed this room. There could be a means to escape on the far side, another exit, or the power of the horn could be such that we could escape with it. We don’t know, but an unknown is far better than a certainty of death.”
“It’s stupid! That’s what it is—stupid!”
“Think of it this way,” Hadrian told him. “If you fail and that thing eats you, it will be over like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Don’t do it, and you linger here starving to death for days.”
“Or smother,” Royce put in. Everyone looked at him. He rolled his eyes. “The air is getting stale. We have a limited amount.”
“If you’re going to die, why not die doing something noble?” Hadrian told him.
Gaunt just shook his head miserably.
“That’s just it,” Mauvin said, disgusted. He held his wound, a pained look on his face. “Hadrian, you’ve got it right there. Gaunt is not noble. He doesn’t even know what it means. You want to know the real difference between you and Alric? You made fun and lurid speeches about nobility, about blue blood and incompetence, but while you might have the blood of the emperor in you, it must be diluted until it is practically nonexistent. Your lineage has long forgotten its greatness—your base side is firmly in control. Your wanton desire is unchecked by purpose or honor.
“Alric might not have been the best king, but he was courageous and honorable. The idea of walking through that door, of facing death, must terrify you. How terrible it must be to give up your life when you’ve never taken the chance to live it. How cheated you must feel, like losing a coin before spending it. To what can you hang on to and feel pride? Nothing! Alric could have walked through that door, not because he was king, not even because he was noble-born, but because of who he was. He wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes, but never on purpose, never with an intent to do harm. He lived his life the best way he knew how. He always did what he felt was right. Can you say that?”
Gaunt remained silent.
“We can’t force you to do this,” Arista told him. “But if you don’t, Hadrian is right—we will all die, because there is no going back, and there is no going forward without you.”
“Can I at least finish my meal before I answer?”
“Of course,” she told him.
She ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath. She was still so tired—so exhausted—and everything was so hard now. She knew it would be difficult to convince Gaunt, but worse than that, she had no idea what to do if he tried and failed.
Gaunt raised a bite to his lips, then stopped and frowned. “I’ve lost my appetite.” He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes drooping, his lip quivering, his breathing coming loudly through his nose. “I knew this would happen.” His hand rose absently to his neck as if searching for something. “Ever since I lost it, ever since they took it, nothing’s been the same.”
“Took what?” she asked.
“The good luck charm my mother gave me when I was a boy, a beautiful silver medallion. It warded off evil and brought me the most marvelous luck. It was wonderful. When I had it, I could get away with anything. My sister always said I lived a charmed life, and I did, but he took it.”
“Who did—Guy?” Arista asked.