The stone steps curved, funneling me into more darkness, something I was becoming accustomed to in this hellish city, and then suddenly I heard a rumble and the stair beneath me gave way. I fell, tumbling in the darkness, losing the lantern, my cloak wrapping around me, my hands scraping walls, stairs, anything to try and stop my fall. Finally I landed with a glorious hard thump on a floor. I lay there, momentarily stunned, wondering if I had broken anything.

A cold burst of air washed up from below, carrying the scents of smoke and oil. Faint light revealed an immense root crawling down the wall beside me like a heavy-footed creature. Above me, thin tendrils of other roots hung down like slithering serpents. If not for the light and the scent of lantern oil, I’d have been certain I had fallen into the hellish garden of a demon. I sat up, the cloak still twisted around my shoulders and chest, then rubbed my knee, which hadn’t had the benefit of padding. There was a bloody tear in the trousers. Piece by piece, I was shredding Kaden’s clothes. How would I ever explain them? I got to my feet, shaking the cloak free, and something hard knocked against my leg. I reached down and squeezed the fabric. There was something rigid sewn in the hem. I ripped it open, and a thin sheaf of leather fell into my hand. A small knife was tucked in it.

Natiya! It had to be. Dihara would never take such a risk. Neither would Reena. But I remembered Natiya’s defiant raised chin when she brought the cloak to me. It was neatly rolled up with string around it to secure it. Kaden had grabbed it from her, saying it would have to go in my bedroll.

I turned the knife over in my hands. It was smaller than my own dagger, a three-inch blade at most, and slim. Perfect for Natiya’s small hands—and perfect for hiding. It couldn’t do much damage if thrown, but at close range it was lethal enough. I shook my head, grateful for her cunning, picturing how nervously and quickly she would have had to work to sew it into the hem with no one the wiser. I slid it into my boot and continued cautiously down the winding staircase. Then, like a gift, with a few more steps, the stairs ended and soft golden light rushed up to meet me.

I stepped out into a room and suppressed a gasp.

It was a vast cavern of white stone, glowing with the warm buttery light of lanterns. Dozens of columns rose up, sprouting into arches across the great expanse. Giant roots like the one I saw in the stairway had bored through the ceiling and snaked down along pillars and walls. Smaller vines dangled between—the whole room looked eerily alive with creamy yellow snakes. The floor was part polished marble, part rough stone, and in some places, piled rubble. Shadows flickered between arches, and in the distance I saw robed figures walking away. I tried to peer after them, but they quickly disappeared into the dark.

Who were they, and what were they doing down here? I hugged my cloak close about me and darted out, hiding behind a pillar. I scanned the cavern. What was this place? They have elaborate temples built far below the ground.

A ruin. I was in an excavated ruin of the Ancients.

Three robed figures walked past just on the other side of the pillar, and I pressed closer to the stone, holding my breath. I listened to their shuffling feet on the polished floor, a strange softness to their steps. The sound of reverence and restraint. I stepped out into the light, forgetting caution, and watched the sway of their plain brown robes as they departed.

“Stop!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the cavern.

All three halted and turned. They didn’t draw weapons, or maybe they just couldn’t because their arms were full of books. Their features were hidden in the shadows of their hoods, and they didn’t speak. They simply faced me, waiting. I approached them, keeping my steps steady and assured.

“I’d like to see who I speak to,” I said.

“As would we,” the one in the middle answered.

My chest clamped tight. He spoke in perfect Vendan, but even in those few words, I heard the difference, the way he formed his words, the erudite air. The foreignness. He was not Vendan. I kept my chin tucked low to keep my face in the shadow of my hood. “I’m only a visitor of the Komizar, and I’ve lost my way.”

One of them snorted. “Indeed.”

“Little wonder you keep your face covered,” another said, and pushed back his hood. His hair swirled in intricate braids across his head, and a deep line cut between his brows.

“Is this a dungeon of some sort?” I asked. “Are you prisoners down here?”

They laughed at my ignorance, but came forth with the information I fished for. “We’re the amply rewarded purveyors of knowledge, and the gut of this beast has much to keep us busy. Now be on your way.” He pointed behind me, telling me to take the second stairway up.

Learned men in Venda? I stared at them, my thoughts still racing with the who and why.

“Go!” he said, as if he were shooing off a one-eared cat.

I whirled around and hurried away, and when I knew they could no longer see me, I ducked behind a pillar and leaned back, my head pounding with questions. Purveyors of what knowledge?

I heard footsteps and froze. More of them walked past, a group of five this time, mumbling about their midday meal.

The gut of this beast has much to keep us busy.

A whole army of them prowled through these caverns.

A chill crawled up my neck.

Everything about them was out of place here. What were they being amply rewarded for? I dashed out and found the second stairway, taking two steps at a time, the sweet, smoky stench of the cavern suddenly turning my stomach.

CHAPTER TWENTY