She extracted Kai’s uncle’s pendant, then looped it a couple of times round her right wrist to make sure that she didn’t drop it - wincing as the chain tugged on the fresh bruises left by Lord Guantes. It was a draconic thing. And there was - or at least, there should be - only one dragon in the area.
Irene raised her hand so that the pendant was dangling in front of her face. ‘Like calls to like,’ she said clearly in the Language. ‘Point to the dragon who is the nephew of the dragon who owns you.’
The pendant trembled, then swung out at an angle, pointing in a direction about forty-five degrees from where they were facing. Poised there, it tugged at her wrist.
‘There,’ she said, and tried not to go weak at the knees with relief. Or possibly exhaustion. This time it had worked. Focusing the pendant had drained her, and it was still draining her, like blood trickling from a small cut. ‘I think we have it.’
‘Well done, Winters!’ Vale exclaimed. ‘Will it last for long?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Irene had to confess. ‘But I can do it again, if we need to triangulate.’
Vale nodded. ‘In that case, let us hope it’s not too far away.’
Their footsteps echoed on the stone as they set off into the vast emptiness. It was as if they were walking across some vast stage set, with an unseen audience watching from the wings.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
They had been walking for at least half an hour before they heard any noise other than their own footsteps.
The pendant was holding up nicely, tugging at Irene’s wrist like a dowsing pendulum, although it somewhat inconveniently pointed in a general direction, as the crow flies, rather than changing its bearing at each crossroads or staircase. o;Let us find out.’ Vale started up the stairs again, going fast enough that Irene wondered if he felt he had something to prove. But then he came to a halt and pointed. ‘Look, here.’
Irene followed his pointing hand, where the stairs finally came to a halt - like the end of a vertical tube, with the ceiling still lost somewhere above. She felt vertiginous just thinking about the distance they’d climbed. And there was another archway in the side of the staircase ahead. From this gap, a bridge of the same iron as the staircase arced out over the circular chasm that surrounded them, spanning a steep drop, to join some paving on the other side.
The staircase was a single point in the middle of a wide emptiness, and beyond that emptiness there was an incredible, impossible architectural landscape. Stone walls with arches set into them rose in the distance, on an inhuman scale, like a cathedral built to cover an entire country. Bridges made of both stone and iron ran between these arches and across small chasms, pale grey and dark grey in the half-light. Staircases curved down along walls or hung from long cables, which in turn were fastened to some ceiling high above. Tiny grilles marked windows in the sides of flying buttresses and towers, minuscule from Irene’s and Vale’s distant vantage point. The wind soughed through the stonework, humming against the high stairwells and whispering past the rows of arches. It was a maze. There was probably far more of it than they could even see from where they were, and no way of knowing how far it went on. There were no clear walls and no countryside beyond.
And there were no people anywhere. None.
‘A very baroque, convoluted method of entry,’ Vale said in tones of dissatisfaction.
Irene was thinking this through. ‘Perhaps,’ she said slowly, ‘the only entrance or exit to this place, for Fae at least, is through this stairwell. The iron steps would weaken any Fae trying to get in - or out. After all, it wouldn’t be much of a prison if they could travel between worlds and just emerge within this space, as they normally would if they were powerful enough.’
Vale nodded. ‘Well, we will have to hope that it is not proof against dragons or Librarians. They must be restraining Strongrock somehow. But if they can restrain a dragon, we’ll just have to hope we can remove the restraint.’
Irene sighed. She took off her mask, enjoying the feeling of cool air on her face after the climb. ‘I’m afraid that I’d need a library to open an exit myself, or at least a good collection of books - and that would be assuming it worked here, when it didn’t work in Venice proper.’
‘Ah well,’ Vale said. He gave her one of his rare smiles. ‘You did extremely well with that iron plating, when the guards were questioning us. My compliments.’
Irene smiled back. ‘We make a good team.’ It was unusual enough to have him actually compliment her, rather than simply accept her proficiency. But she didn’t want to get too emotional and embarrass him.
‘We do,’ Vale agreed. He turned to the ironwork bridge and started to walk across. It was wide enough for two to walk abreast. Fortunately there were rails on either side, but even so it was a worryingly fragile construction - no, Irene corrected herself mentally, it was solid enough. It just seemed flimsy when compared to the sheer scale of everything around her.
Vale halted again once they stepped off the bridge onto the stone paving beyond, looking around thoughtfully. ‘The area to be searched is unfeasibly large. However, the guards escorting Strongrock must have passed this way within the last couple of days. If we can find their traces—’
‘Actually, I have another idea,’ Irene said. ‘I tried it below in Venice, but there was too much ambient chaos interfering with it. Since this area is supposed to be a prison for Fae, it may work better here. Give me a moment, please.’
Vale nodded and stepped back to watch.
She extracted Kai’s uncle’s pendant, then looped it a couple of times round her right wrist to make sure that she didn’t drop it - wincing as the chain tugged on the fresh bruises left by Lord Guantes. It was a draconic thing. And there was - or at least, there should be - only one dragon in the area.
Irene raised her hand so that the pendant was dangling in front of her face. ‘Like calls to like,’ she said clearly in the Language. ‘Point to the dragon who is the nephew of the dragon who owns you.’
The pendant trembled, then swung out at an angle, pointing in a direction about forty-five degrees from where they were facing. Poised there, it tugged at her wrist.
‘There,’ she said, and tried not to go weak at the knees with relief. Or possibly exhaustion. This time it had worked. Focusing the pendant had drained her, and it was still draining her, like blood trickling from a small cut. ‘I think we have it.’
‘Well done, Winters!’ Vale exclaimed. ‘Will it last for long?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Irene had to confess. ‘But I can do it again, if we need to triangulate.’