Chapter 3: I Was Here

Mara woke to someone staring at her.

She knew this before she opened her eyes.

There was a particular weight to being watched. A pressure between the shoulder blades. An ancient instinct left over from the days when waking beneath a predator's gaze generally meant you were about to become breakfast.

Mara opened one eye. Two black ones stared back.

She screamed.

Aurellian sighed.

"Again?"

Mara sat upright so quickly the blanket tangled around her legs. "What is wrong with you?"

"An ambitious question for this early in the morning."

She looked around. Black stone. Candles. Columns disappearing into darkness.

Chains.

Memory returned all at once. Her father. The cathedral. Seven locks. Twenty-six Keepers. Blood in a glass orb.

Which lie did they tell you about me first?

Mara closed her eyes.

"Oh."

"Yes."

She opened them again. He was still there.

"I was hoping you were a nightmare."

"How flattering."

"You aren't?"

"Unfortunately for both of us."

Mara rubbed her face. She had slept badly. That seemed generous.

She had spent most of the night lying on the narrow bed, listening to every sound the crypt made; the whisper of candle flames, the occasional scrape of Aurellian's chains, water dripping somewhere beyond the columns. Once, something had moved in one of the dark passages.

At least, she thought something had moved. Aurellian had refused to confirm it. He had also refused to deny it. She hated him. Probably.

Mara pushed the blanket aside and lowered her feet to the floor. Cold immediately seeped through her stockings.

"How long was I asleep?"

"I don't know."

She stared at him.

"You don't know?"

"I am chained beneath a cathedral."

"So?"

"So my access to clocks is limited."

"There must be some way to tell time."

"There was."

Mara waited.

Aurellian did not elaborate.

She narrowed her eyes.

"What happened to it?"

"I broke it."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "It annoyed me."

Mara stared at him for several seconds.

"Of course it did." She sighed. 

She stood and stretched. Every muscle protested. Her shoulders ached. Her knuckles throbbed beneath the strip of cloth she'd wrapped around them.

The iron door remained closed at the top of the stairs.

She looked at it anyway.

Some small, stupid part of her had apparently expected morning to change things. Perhaps Bishop Severin would return. Perhaps her father would be waiting outside. Perhaps someone would open the seven locks and announce that there had been some terrible mistake.

Perhaps it had just been a nightmare. 

Nobody came. Nothing faded away. She was wide awake. 

Mara looked away. Aurellian was no longer smiling. That irritated her more than if he had been.

"Don't."

His eyebrows rose.

"I haven't said anything."

"Exactly."

"An unusual complaint."

"You're doing the pity thing again."

"I don't pity you."

"Good."

"I barely know you."

"Even better."

Aurellian's mouth twitched. Mara turned away before he could see hers do the same.

She found yesterday's bread on the table. It had gone slightly hard overnight. She tore off a piece anyway.

Then stopped.

"Did you watch me sleep?"

"Not continuously."

Mara slowly lowered the bread.

"That is not the reassuring answer you seem to think it is."

"I wasn't trying to reassure you."

"Why were you watching me?"

Aurellian considered the question.

"You talk."

Mara froze.

"In my sleep?"

"Apparently."

"What did I say?"

His expression became thoughtful.

"No."

"No?"

"I've decided I enjoy having information you don't."

She threw the bread at him.

He caught it. Mara stared. Aurellian stared at the bread in his hand. They both looked at the chain around his wrist. Then at each other.

"Well," he said. "That was rude."

"Give it back."

"You assaulted me with it."

"It's my breakfast."

"Then you shouldn't weaponize it."

"Aurellian."

He took a bite.

Mara's mouth fell open.

"You—"

He chewed slowly.

"You absolute—"

"Stale."

"Give me my bread."

"You threw it at me."

"I didn't know you were going to eat it!"

"What did you expect me to do with it?"

"I don't know. Be offended."

"I was."

He took another bite.

Mara marched toward him. His smile widened.

She stopped.

"No."

"No?"

"That's what you want."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You said I'd have to come closer if I wanted to hit you."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"How forward of me."

Mara turned around. Behind her, Aurellian laughed. She decided she would let the Church keep him. That thought lasted approximately three seconds. Then she remembered the scars. The chains. The fresh cut inside his arm.

Her anger disappeared as quickly as it had come. That was becoming irritating too. Mara picked up an apple instead. She ate in silence. Aurellian finished her bread.

Neither mentioned it.

Eventually, Mara looked beyond the central chamber. Yesterday she had noticed the passages but hadn't explored them. There had been too much else to understand.

There still was.

But sitting beside Aurellian and waiting for him to answer questions he clearly had no intention of answering seemed unlikely to improve her situation.

She took the lantern.

"Where are you going?"

Mara glanced back.

"Exploring."

"No."

She blinked. It was the second time he'd said the word like that. The first had been when she'd reached for the chains. Mara looked toward the nearest passage.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

She laughed.

Aurellian didn't.

That made her stop.

"You don't get to tell me what to do."

"No?"

"No."

"Interesting."

"I've had quite enough of men deciding things for me recently."

Something in his expression changed. Mara regretted the words immediately. Not because they weren't true. Because for a moment, Aurellian didn't look amused. He looked tired. Ancient, impossibly tired.

Then it vanished.

"Fair enough," he said.

Mara tightened her grip on the lantern. "What's down there?"

"Which one?"

She looked around.

There were four passages that she could see. One disappeared behind the staircase. Two opened between columns on opposite sides of the chamber. The last was narrower than the others and partly hidden behind Aurellian's platform.

"That one."

"No."

Mara stared at him. "You just said—"

"I said you were correct that I couldn't tell you what to do. I didn't say I would help you do something stupid."

"You don't even know which one I meant."

"The one behind me."

Mara frowned.

"How did you know?"

"Because everyone chooses that one first."

The humor had returned.

Mostly.

Mara looked at the narrow passage. "Why?"

"Perhaps there's something inviting about it."

"There isn't."

"Then perhaps people are stupid."

"That's your explanation?"

"It's served me remarkably well for three centuries."

Mara raised the lantern. The passage remained black.

"What happened to the people who went down there?"

Aurellian was silent. Mara slowly turned toward him. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I am an excellent liar."

"That was terrible."

"Perhaps I wanted you to know."

"Know what?"

"That you shouldn't go down there."

Mara stared into the darkness again. Something cold crawled across the back of her neck.

"Fine."

Aurellian looked surprised.

"Fine?"

"I can occasionally make sensible decisions."

"I'll treasure the memory."

She chose the passage to the left instead.

"Mara."

She stopped. "What?"

"That one is safe."

She studied him.

"You're helping me?"

"No."

"You just told me it's safe."

"I told you it was safe because watching you stand there deciding whether I'm lying was becoming exhausting."

Mara considered him. "Are you lying?"

"Constantly."

"About this?"

Aurellian smiled. She hated him.

Probably.

Mara entered the passage. The air changed almost immediately.

The central crypt was cold, but this corridor was colder. The walls narrowed until she could touch both sides if she stretched out her arms. Her lantern revealed niches carved into the stone.

Most were empty.

Some weren't.  

The first contained a broken cup. The second held the remains of a candle. The third contained nothing but dust.

Mara continued.

"What is this place?" she called. Her voice traveled strangely through the corridor.

"Old," Aurellian called back.

"Helpful."

"I try."

There were doors farther down. Small rooms. Cells, Mara realized. No. Not cells.

Bedrooms.

The first contained a bedframe with no mattress. A wooden chest sat beneath it. Mara opened the chest. Empty. The second room was much the same. The third contained shelves.

Mara raised the lantern. Books. Dozens of them. Some had rotted beyond recognition. Others leaned against one another beneath thick layers of dust.

Mara touched the spine of the nearest.

"Are these yours?"

"No."

Aurellian sounded farther away now.

"The Keepers?"

Silence.

That was answer enough.

Mara stepped inside. The room smelled of dust, old paper, and something faintly sweet she couldn't identify. She pulled out a book. A collection of prayers. Another. Church history. Another. A romance novel. Mara blinked. She opened it.

Someone had drawn horns on the handsome man illustrated inside the cover. Mara laughed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Mara."

"Someone improved a book."

"Ah."

"You know about this?"

"I remember Elian."

Her fingers stopped on the page.

"Elian?"

"The Keeper who owned it."

Mara looked at the little horns again.

"When?"

A pause.

"Two hundred and forty-seven years ago."

The book suddenly felt different in her hands. Not ancient.

Personal.

Someone had sat in this room two hundred and forty-seven years ago and decided the hero of a romance novel needed horns. Someone who had eaten through the same hatch. Climbed the same stairs. Pounded on the same door.

Died beneath the same cathedral.

Mara carefully returned the book. She moved deeper into the room. Names appeared once she started looking. Not carved ceremonially.

Scratched.

Written.

Hidden.

Initials beneath shelves. A date behind the bedframe. A sentence written so faintly along the edge of the wall that Mara nearly missed it.

She brought the lantern closer.

I was here.

Her throat tightened.

Below it, in different handwriting:

So was I.

Another beneath that.

Unfortunately.

Mara laughed despite herself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You keep saying that."

"I'm learning from you."

"How distressing."

Mara crouched. There were more words lower on the wall. Some had faded. Others had been scratched deeply enough into the stone to survive centuries.

Names.

Elian.

Sabine.

Corren.

Lysa.

Matthias.

More.

Mara counted.

Eight.

Only eight here. She touched one with the tip of her finger.

"Did you know they did this?"

Aurellian didn't answer.

"Aurellian?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't ask."

Mara closed her eyes.

"I am beginning to understand why someone drew horns on that book."

"Elian was difficult."

"I liked him."

"You've been acquainted for thirty seconds."

"That's been enough."

Aurellian made a sound that might have been a laugh.

Mara stood. Something had been wedged behind the shelf. A scrap of cloth. She tugged it. The cloth came free, bringing a cloud of dust with it. Behind it was a narrow gap in the stone.

Mara lifted the lantern.

Something was inside. A book. No, a journal. It was small enough to fit in one hand, bound in cracked brown leather.

Mara's heartbeat quickened. She reached into the gap.

"Mara."

She froze. Aurellian's voice had changed. He couldn't see her from the platform. Could he? She looked toward the corridor.

"What?"

Silence.

Mara looked back at the journal. "How do you know what I'm doing?"

"I don't."

"Then why did you say my name?"

Another pause.

"What did you find?"

Interesting. Mara pulled the journal free. "Nothing."

"Mara."

She smiled. "Annoying, isn't it?"

Silence. That smile widened. She opened the cover. The first pages were filled with cramped handwriting. Dates. Notes. Fragments.

Mara turned a page. Then another. Most of it was difficult to read. The ink had faded to brown, and whoever had written it had possessed the handwriting of someone perpetually being chased.

She found a name. Keeper Sabine Orrel. Mara remembered the wall.

Sabine.

"Sabine," she called.

The chains scraped in the distant chamber.

"What about her?"

"I found her journal."

Silence.

Not ordinary silence. Aurellian's kind of silence. The kind that meant she had found something he didn't want her to find. Mara's pulse quickened.

"Anything you'd like to tell me?"

"No."

"Wonderful."

She turned another page. Lists. Food deliveries. Dates. Observations about the crypt. Complaints about the cold. Several increasingly creative insults directed at Bishop someone-or-other.

Mara liked Sabine.

Then the handwriting changed. Not the hand itself. The pressure. Words became darker, lines uneven. Mara brought the lantern closer.

He lies.

She frowned. The next line:

Not always.

Below it:

That is worse.

Mara looked toward the corridor.

"Aurellian?"

"What?"

"Were you insufferable two hundred years ago too?"

"More so."

"Impressive."

She continued. Several pages had been torn out. Not neatly. Ripped. Mara ran her thumb along the jagged remains. Then she found another entry.

Only four words.

Do not touch the chains.

Her amusement disappeared.

She read on.

He told me not to.

Beneath it:

I thought he was lying.

The next page was blank.

So was the one after it.

Mara swallowed.

"Aurellian."

No answer. She stood.

"Aurellian."

Still nothing.

Mara carried the journal back through the passage. The central crypt slowly emerged from the darkness. Aurellian was exactly where she'd left him. Of course he was.

He watched the journal in her hand. For the first time that morning, there was no trace of amusement in his face. Mara approached the platform.

"What happened to Sabine?"

"She died."

"Everyone dies. You've established that."

His jaw tightened. Mara opened the journal.

"She wrote about the chains."

"I know."

"She touched them."

Aurellian looked away. Mara's stomach sank.

"What happened?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"That's becoming a very irritating sentence."

"Good."

"Aurellian."

"Mara."

She stepped closer.

His black eyes returned to hers.

"Did the chains kill her?"

"No."

The answer came immediately. Mara relaxed slightly. Then realized she shouldn't have.

"What did they do?"

Aurellian said nothing, of course. She looked down at the journal again.

"There are pages missing."

"I know."

"Did you tear them out?"

He looked pointedly at his wrists.

"Right."

Mara flipped through the remaining pages.

"Did the Church?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because they don't know the journal exists."

Mara stopped. That was an answer. A real one.

She looked at him.

"How do you know that?"

"Because if they knew, it wouldn't still be here."

Cold settled in her stomach.

"Why?"

Aurellian watched her.

"Read it."

Mara blinked.

"What?"

"You wanted answers."

"You're telling me to read it?"

"I'm telling you that if Sabine managed to hide something from the Church for two hundred years, it would be exceptionally rude to let all that effort go to waste."

Mara stared at him.

Then slowly closed the journal.

"No."

His eyebrows rose.

"No?"

"I'm not reading it in front of you."

For perhaps the first time since she'd met him, Aurellian looked genuinely offended.

"Why?"

"Because you'll watch my face."

"I would never."

"You absolutely would."

"I am wounded."

"Not enough."

His mouth twitched.

Mara tucked the journal beneath her arm.

Then something slipped from between its pages.

A folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

Both of them looked down.

Mara bent.

The paper was newer than the journal.

Much newer.

The edges had yellowed, but it could not possibly have been two centuries old.

Her pulse quickened.

She unfolded it.

One line.

That was all.

One line written in faded black ink.

Mara read it.

Then read it again.

The crypt seemed to become very quiet.

"What?" Aurellian asked.

She didn't answer.

"Mara."

Her fingers tightened around the paper.

The handwriting was hurried.

Uneven.

But the words were unmistakable.

If your name is Veyne, do not tell him.

Mara stopped breathing. Slowly, she raised her eyes. Aurellian was watching her.

"What does it say?" For once, there was no teasing in his voice.

No smile.

Mara folded the paper. "Nothing."

His black eyes narrowed. She tucked it into her sleeve.

"Mara."

She held his gaze. 

And for the first time since entering the crypt, she was the one who knew something he didn't.

"Annoying, isn't it?"