73. Keys for the locks

A number of fae had gathered around Lark and his father, drawn like moths to the evening's latest spectacle. Both men were dressed as grand nobility, though their expressions were nothing short of animalistic.

"You are no son of mine," hissed the man.

"Choosing not to live my life in chains did not drain your blood from my veins," Lark said.

"And is this why you have come?" said the man. "To taunt me? To try and bring more ridicule to the Vulpent name than you have already wrought?"

Lark gave no reply, and his father's eyes gleamed brighter than his golden adornments.

"Whatever madness has driven you here, you shall find no sympathy from me," he warned.

A Hound approached them, hooded eyes fixed hungrily on Lark. "Shall I have him removed, Lord Renard?"

"How did you get in here?" demanded Renard, ignoring the Hound.

"I walked in," said Lark, speaking boldly despite their growing audience. "We do not all forget family quite so easily as yourself."

"You gave up your family's name the day you left our house!" screamed Renard, the stem of his goblet finally snapping between his fingers. "You have no right to be here. And no right to wear the Vulpent crest."

"You make me ashamed to be bearing it." Thin strands of hair were stuck down Lark's temples and his chest was heaving.

Renard surged forwards, the tip of his nose against Lark's, spittle flying from his bared teeth.

"You are a lowly bastard of a boy who can do no better than play strings for copper coins," he snarled. "I bear no greater shame than you."

A hand clutched Ada's elbow and she gasped, turning to see Diane standing beside her. Around her wrist was a circle of keys, which jangled as she tugged Ada through the crowd drifting towards the banquet table. Ada stretched onto her toes, trying to catch Lark's eye, but the fae were all too tall.

"Come," whispered Diane, pulling her along. "It is the perfect moment. Nobody will be watching us."

They wove through the final dregs of fae, striding away from the window and into the creases of curtain that moonlight could not reach. In the corner, an edge of fabric gave way beneath Diane's hand, and they slipped from the ballroom with scarcely a ripple.

There were no wide windows beyond the curtain. Moonlight fell through barred slits in the stone walls, gathering on the floor like pools of mercury, and the echo of voices had become muted and dull. A grand staircase rose before them, although the landing above was drenched in darkness.

Ada squinted into the shadows, counting several large doorways leading out from the main chamber. Some were cut across with shafts of metal, while others had no doors at all, their moulding layered high with dust. Opposite the staircase was a stone arch, carved around with strange faces, their eyes wide and weeping, their mouths twisted into silent shrieks.

"That way," said Ada, a shiver of certainty running down her spine.

Diane did not argue, and together they hurried towards the arch. Words had been engraved between the faces, deep enough to read despite the shadows. As above, so below. The phrase had haunted Ada throughout Wysthaven, and here they were again, cruel and mocking and out of reach.

Diane had not paused, already descending into a second chamber, which was only a number of paces wide. The walls bore racks of unlit torches, though when Diane removed one from its sconce there came the hiss of striking flint. The torch flickered alight, burning as bright as sage-fires from their clever mechanism.

The small flame illuminated Diane's pale face, her hair shrivelling from the torch like fine embers. Ada stood with her a moment, both breathing heavily in the tight room. Then Diane nodded, held her torch aloft, and continued down a steep stairwell.

The steps twisted like a serpent, falling deeper and deeper beneath the Barracks until the only sound came from the roaring torch. Ada followed behind Diane, the fae's thin dress flowing from her like a spectral mist. She kept her attention on it, trying not to notice the walls becoming tighter with each turn of the stairs.

When they finally emerged into a frigid corridor, Ada's legs were trembling. She took a deep breath but found that the air was thick with dust, choking her.

"I see another door," said Diane, the dust flying up around her skirts as she hastened down the corridor. "There's a keyhole!"

The door stood alone and ancient, built from a wood so dark that Ada had to trace its outline with her finger. There were no weeping faces or engraved words here, but set around the lock in the middle of the door were twisted pieces of metal. They may once have shimmered beneath a flame, but in the light of the torch, they were faded shades of green and black.

Triumphant, Diane handed Ada the torch. She placed a key into the lock, turning once, then twice. The door didn't open.

"No," Diane muttered, trying another key. Then another. None of them worked. "No, no, no! They aren't working! This mustn't be the right place!"

She was wild-eyed, dust rising thicker around her feet as she turned desperately back towards the stairwell.

"Wait," said Ada. "She's got to be here. We're so far beneath the Barracks, there can't be anywhere else."

"But the keys won't fit the lock!"

Ada was looking again at the door and the curious curves of metal stuck inside it. "Or maybe it's the lock that doesn't fit its key."

Very carefully she took hold of one of the metal pieces. It was stiff and stubborn, but with an effort, Ada managed to turn it. There came a hollow click as it slotted into place next to another metal twist, their ends meeting to form a link.

"It's like a puzzle," Ada breathed, her fingers shaking even as she went to make another link. "I think it's supposed to look like a chain."

As she worked and more links clicked together, a long chain was indeed taking shape. It snaked around the lock in a rough circle, though most of the links had been worn smooth. Diane darted to the other side of the door, grabbing a twist of metal and then gasping in pain. Blisters were forming on the pads of her fingers.

"The chain is forged from iron," she said, staggering away from the door. Ada continued to work, her heart beating faster. She could see Diane trying to focus on her face. "Ada..."

"I can explain it later," Ada said quickly, forcing the final links into place. "But let's focus on finding Solen first."

Diane didn't move, looking from Ada to the now completed chain in pale horror.

"Please, Diane," Ada begged. "I promise you can trust me. I swear it."

Tangles of hair were stuck down Diane's arms, and her eyes shone bright with fear in the torchlight. But then, with a weak nod, she stepped again to the door and placed a key in the lock. This time, there came a low creaking from inside the door. Diane pressed against the key with all her strength, and as it turned, so too did the circle of chain.

The door opened onto a low room that had never known light or warmth. Ada took a step inside and immediately gagged. It was as though the air had rotted and was now festering in her mouth with a sweetness that could only come from death. She wished her sleeves were thicker as she shoved her arm over her nose, moving again past the door and holding up the torch.

"Solen?" cried Diane, her voice falling flat under the shallow ceiling.

They walked deeper into the room, the fire from the torch tempting all kinds of scuttling insects out from their cracks and crevices. Ada kept her eyes from the ground, raising their light higher and illuminating two metal lattices spanning either side of the room. Diane cringed back, and Ada knew that they must have been made from iron.

She approached the lattice on their right. A length of stone ran along the wall, parallel to the ground, and split through again every few feet. The result was two rows of stacked cells, stone on all boxed sides apart from the grate of iron—the cells' only entrance.

"There are people in them," Diane whispered in disgust.

But Ada had already seen the first emaciated form, curled at the back of their cell and unmoving. Bile rose in her throat as she stooped down, looking instead into the cell beneath it, and finding a face staring back at her. The fae's eyes were all whites and they wore no clothing on their body; only grime could mask the iron-burns pierced deep into their chest.

Ada retched, stumbling backwards over her dress, when Diane shouted, "I've found her! She's here!"

Diane was crouched a few cells along, skin peeling back from her hands as she struggled to shove keys into a small iron lock. Ada knelt down and took the keys from her gently. She could just make out a figure folded up against the wall, their short hair matted and their arms crusted with blood.

"Solen?" Ada whispered, though the fae did not stir. A key clicked in the lock, and Ada heaved back the iron grate. "Solen? Is that you?"

Diane was already scrambling into the cell, strength surging through her slender body as she gathered the fae into her arms.

"It's ok" she was repeating. "It's ok. I've got you, now. You're safe."

The fae's eyelids trembled, her hands coming up as if to push Diane away, before falling back against her chest. She took a rasping breath and opened her eyes.

"Diane?" croaked Solen, her stare shot through with red. "Am I dreaming?"

"It's not a dream, love." Tears were trailing down Diane's cheeks. "I'm here. I've got you."

Diane placed a hand against Solen's cheek, lifting her as tenderly as if she were made of cracked porcelain. Solen breathed her in, tears now spilling between Diane's burnt fingers as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips.

"I've got you," she said again. "It's going to be ok."