The Keep - Page 43/48

I edged down, keeping low and out of sight—unless, of course, there was someone looking out the window, in which case, I was totally busted. But nobody spotted me.

I reached the ground, inching my way closer, careful not to tangle myself in the thorny hedges growing along the side of the cottage.

I stole a peek. She was old, with weathered skin that’d been so thinned by the years, it seemed to sag from her bones. Row after row of mud-brown cloaks billowed in the breeze, and she worked her way down the line, reaching in her basket, pulling out a cloak, pinning it up, stepping over, reaching down, and so on. Each robe was the same color, the same size, with the same long hood drooping down the back. They looked like something Druids might’ve worn.

She hummed as she worked, and it was such a normal thing, it gave me courage to show myself. I carefully peeked out from a wall of hedges. “Excuse me…hi?”

Her wizened face burst into cartoonishly wide-eyed shock, her nearly lipless and mostly toothless mouth forming a gaping black hole. She looked like a witch carved from a dried apple.

I put up my hands in the universal gesture of Relax; it’s cool, but unfortunately she wasn’t acquainted with universal gestures, because she shrieked the kind of shriek generally associated with haunted house tours.

Crap. I put a finger to my mouth, desperately motioning for her to be quiet. “Sorry, sorry. It’s okay.” I stepped closer. “I’m sorry I scared you. I was—”

“Oot nooo.” She waved at me, shooing me like an animal, repeating, “Oot. Oot nooo.”

Was that even English? I spoke slowly, just in case. “I don’t mean any harm. I’m looking for—”

Frantic, she shook her head, looking like a madwoman. She seemed like she might shriek again, so I sped it up. The last thing I needed was for this woman to call for backup. I dared not tempt whatever shrieking might happen then.

“Shh, please don’t scream. Do you know—” Ronan, I’d wanted to say, but I stopped myself at the last second. For all I knew, this woman adored the vampires. I couldn’t get him in trouble. Going off half-cocked through the countryside was exactly what he’d warned me about. “Do you know the way back to the beach?” I asked, in the lamest topic swerve ever.

Staring at me like I was the nutty one, she stabbed her finger back toward where I’d come from. “Ye best oot nooo.”

I best out now? Was that what she’d said? Apparently, teeth were for more than just chewing—they also really helped with the whole diction thing.

What a twisted, isolated world this was. I should’ve learned my lesson with the janitor—old didn’t necessarily mean kindly. But now that I was here, I had to know more. I had to press it. I ducked between the robes to get closer. “Who are you?” I brushed my fingers over the brown fabric. “What are these?”

“Fer auld ones. Nae touchin’!” She waved her hands at me, but her mania had toned down a notch. I was no longer a homicidal interloper, just a stray cat sniffing at her stuff. “Shoo!”

Old ones. Now we were talking. I took a tentative step forward. “The old ones? You mean the vampires?”

Her eyes grew wide, terror making the irises expand till her gaze was all watery red and pale blue. The vampires, then.

Again, I touched one of the robes—the texture was coarse, like burlap—and she snatched it from me. “Antonsmas,” she shouted. “Antonsmas oonly. Dinna touch.”

Antonsmas. That was one of the names Ronan had given to the festival.

I heard men’s voices in the distance. Sound would carry across this valley—how far away were they? I spoke quickly. “They wear these for the festival?”

“Shoo,” she hissed. Panic had seized her again but, tellingly, she quieted her voice to a frantic whisper. “Go, you. Away,” she pleaded. “Right away.”

I heard the voices again. The clatter of tools. A faraway slamming door.

I didn’t know what I’d been thinking. I’d never spot Ronan here, and if I did, would he even claim to recognize me? For all I knew, the men in town all had shotguns and dined on girl flesh. Later, I’d be sad I hadn’t gotten to see him once more, but I couldn’t get killed before I’d even begun.

And so I shooed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The day came. Antonsmas…Up Helly Aa…whatever they wanted to call it. I didn’t care. It was my day. The day I’d break into the castle and stake Alcántara.

In a stroke of luck, Frost was nowhere to be seen as I left. Usually, she spent every free moment lurking at her desk and studying, followed by gloating about how much studying she was doing. Briefly, I wondered where on earth someone like her got to this time of day, but mostly I was just psyched. Her absence meant I didn’t have to explain to anyone why I was heading out with my wetsuit on a bitter cold night, under a pitch-black moonless sky, with only an hour left till lights-out.

It was dicey moving around in the dark, when so many other creatures came out to play, but I couldn’t risk being caught. For once, my main concern wasn’t the guys—if Ronan was right, the vampires and Trainees would be busy in the keep, whereas I could think of a dozen Initiates who’d love nothing more than to tell on me for sneaking around like this…assuming they stopped pummeling me long enough to think about it.

I’d actually worn my wetsuit under my coat and congratulated myself on the stroke of genius. The neoprene material was thick and would keep me warmer than my catsuit, yet was also snug enough to move freely and climb in. And who knew? If I slipped, the thing might even protect me from superficial wounds. In my first year, I’d mended enough tears in my uniform not to underestimate that particular side benefit.

I’d already scoped out the best and least steep spot to make my descent. Now that I knew the exact location of the sea gate, I hoped to have an easier time navigating the hillside, picking my way across and down—with an emphasis on down. The tide was at its highest peak, and wetsuit or not, I had no intention of setting foot in that water. A freezing night swim in that black churning sea frightened me more than the vampires’ keep did.

I shed my coat once I reached the cliff’s edge, rolling it into a ball and stashing it by a rock. Would I survive the night to retrieve it, or would some nosy Acari eventually find it instead? Everyone could wave it around and celebrate how tenacious me had finally met my end.

I couldn’t think that way. As low as I’d felt lately, I needed to be positive. To taste success. To imagine it as an inevitable thing.

This is for you, Emma.

And for me, too, I thought. I’d reclaim myself, no matter the risk. And the risk, I knew, was tremendous. It could very well be my last.

Sucking in a deep breath, I looked out into the vastness, taking in the night. The moon was just a tiny crescent hanging low in the sky, and water swept before me, rippling like black satin sheets tucked somewhere beyond the horizon. Ronan had once told me to embrace the darkness, and I saw now what he meant. I felt cloaked in it. One with it. The night was mine.

The darkness was far from complete, though, and it was due to more than merely my improved vision. It was the stars. Millions of them clung here at the edge of the world, spattered across the sky like paint flung from a brush. Magnificent, they stole my breath, as though I’d never even known stars before Eyja næturinnar. The island’s one gift to me.

Or rather, one of its gifts. I would receive something more tonight, only it was something I’d steal: the truth. I would wrest the secret of this island if it took my dying breath to do it.

I was resolved. Time to do this thing.

I did a body check, wriggling my feet, feeling the stars tucked in my boots. I flexed my arms, testing the stakes I’d jammed up the sleeves of my wetsuit…stakes whose ends were carved like so many triangles.

The cloak I’d stolen was lashed across my chest like armor. I hoped it would be my armor in truth, disguising me enough to get into the castle unsuspected. I needed only enough time to find Alcántara. To take him by surprise. Stake him.

My night from there looked iffy, but I was okay with that. Because I’d be me until the end. Not Alcántara’s creature. Not a dupe in service of vampires.

Starlight hummed on my back as I descended. Confidence and resolve guided my hands and feet. I found holds so easily, it felt like magic. Thank you, Carden. He’d taught me about climbing. Me, his dove with wings of fire.

The thought was a blade, quick and deep, there and rejected just as quickly. I’d be even more than what he’d believed possible—I’d have a heart of fire, too.

I came to a thick shelf of brush. I knew the gate was concealed just below. I shimmied around and down, and then I was there. On the rock plateau.

The porch, I thought with a smile.

I was so close now, and oddly, my heartbeat was slow. My hearing was hollow, my vision focused to a narrow point. This was it, and I was calm.

I pulled the gloves from my hands, wadded them up, and shoved them inside my suit. Twining my fingers around the bars of the gate, I leaned close and held still, holding my breath, opening to the universe to feel if anyone was near. But the tunnel was dark and silent.

It was time to break in.

I had five crude stakes in varying lengths and sizes; two hadn’t been thick enough to carve into a triangle, but I had three possible fits. This gate and its lock were a mystery to me—if one of the stakes actually slid into place, whatever happened next would just have to be a surprise. At this point, I hoped there’d be a surprise. The thought of climbing back up that hill, defeated again, was too much to bear.

I inserted the first triangle and gave it a jiggle. Too small. I told myself no big deal and went to the next one. But the angle on that one was slightly too obtuse. I could use one of my stars to whittle it to size, but I didn’t want to waste the time if I didn’t have to. I willed myself to be calm as I tried the next and final one. It slid in perfectly.