Shay’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded.

“I’ll go too,” Connor said suddenly. “If it’s gonna be the last party, I’m sure as hell not missing it.”

“It’s settled, then,” Monroe said. “Silas?”

“What?” The Scribe had been poring over his notes.

“Can I trust you not to report to Anika . . . at least not yet?” Monroe asked.

He started writing again but nodded. “I’ll make you a deal. Find out how they got Grant and I won’t run back to the Arrow. The report I can make right now is sparse at best.”

“Thank you,” Monroe said. “Ethan, let’s talk about logistics. Isaac, could you fix this boy something to eat? Connor—”

“Already on it,” Connor said, heading toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder at Adne, Shay, and me. “Come on, guys, I won’t be able to carry all of them myself.”

I glanced at Ansel, but he’d returned to staring at his hands and shuddering. Better to leave him alone right now. I wanted to help him, but if I was heading into a fight, I needed focus. Looking at Ansel tied knots in my gut. All I could see was his brokenness and a vision of my mother’s body bleeding on an altar. I swallowed bile and rose to follow Connor. Adne was already leaving the kitchen.

“Carry all of what?” Shay stood up.

“Weapons.” Connor grinned and strode through the door.

SIXTEEN

“WEAPONS?” SHAY REPEATED, watching Connor’s jaunty gait as he strode across the training room.

“Oh, just go after him.” Adne groaned. “Boys and their toys. You’d think he’d grow up.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, falling in step beside her. “Doesn’t he already have his swords?”

“Only two,” Adne said.

“Two isn’t enough?” Shay muttered under his breath as we followed Connor.

At the opposite end of the room was a narrow door. Connor unlocked it and we followed him inside. Darkness swallowed us fully since the room had no windows. I frowned, shaking my head, which had filled with a strange humming.

“Ow!” Connor shouted. “God dammit. I think Silas left his training manuals on the floor again. Now where is the stupid light . . . ?”

“Here,” Adne called, and in the next moment dingy light from the bare bulb washed through the room.

I gasped and Shay whistled. All four walls of the room, floor to ceiling, were covered with weapons: wickedly curving swords, ranging in length from a foot to the height of a full-sized man; daggers with hooked and jagged blades; single- and double-headed axes; maces and clubs; quarterstaffs and pole arms. All the weapons gleamed, even in the poor light.

The room pulsed with Old Magic;it poured off the enchanted weapons filling the room, making the air around us vibrate with power. My amazement gave way to a sickening twist low in my belly. Gazing at the weapons reminded me that Searchers spent their lives perfecting ways to kill Guardians. And this was how they did it. As if on cue, my shoulder throbbed. The muscles seemed to remember the damage done by these weapons.

“Look at this,” Connor said, kicking several sprawling texts out of his way. “If Silas loves his books so much, why does he leave them lying around?”

“Silas trains here?” I was still staring at the weapons, but the thought of the Scribe using any of them was bizarre. “I thought Scribes didn’t do combat.”

“They don’t, but all Searchers learn how to fight. Every one of us does a rotation at an outpost,” Connor muttered. “Even Scribes. Including the useless ones.”

“He’s not useless, just forgetful.” Adne crossed the room to climb a ladder that gave access to the topmost weapons hanging on the wall. “What do you want?”

“Get the French gladius,” Connor said. “And bring down a couple kataras too.”

“You’re so predictable,” Adne said, pulling weapons from their hooks. One appeared to be a standard short sword, but the pair of stunted blades she grabbed next were unfamiliar to me.

“I know what I like.” Connor grinned, catching the sword she dropped into his hands.

“How many blades do you carry?” Shay asked as Connor took the next two broad-bladed punch daggers from Adne.

“Depends,” Connor replied. “I think six is ideal. Maybe seven.”

“Ethan and Connor think their manhood is equal to the amount of steel they have tucked beneath their clothing.” Adne snickered. “I think they’re trying to make up for something.”

“Hey, now!” Connor said.

“They once had a competition to see who could carry the most at once,” Adne said.

“Who won?” I asked.

“I did,” Connor said. “Twenty-two.”

“Really?” Shay’s eyebrows shot up. He began eyeing the various shapes and sizes of weapons on the wall.

“Great.” Adne rolled her eyes. “Looks like you’ve got a new challenger.”

Connor shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it, Shay. Once you get past fifteen, things start to poke in nasty ways anytime you move.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Shay grinned.

“Besides.” Ethan was leaning on the door frame. “Connor cheated. Poniards are not real blades.”

“One through the eye or jammed under the throat kills just fine,” Connor said.