Fie reckoned she’d found what Rhusana had done with the plague victims after all.
But there was no sense troubling herself with them if they did not stand in her way. Whether that was intent or the Pigeon witch’s tooth, she could not say. Fie called off the Phoenix fire and kept running.
She passed the Midnight Pavilion, the Sunset Pavilion, found the stone arch with its phoenix perched on skulls. The Well of Grace hummed its dirge somewhere above. The doors of the catacombs were open, ghasts dribbling out of the long tunnel like spittle from a poppy-sniffer. Fie steeled herself, lit her Phoenix tooth again, and plunged into the dark.
She tried not to mind the ghasts slipping past, tried not to start at the dead master-generals watching her stumble down the long stone road, tried not to let the song of so many Phoenix bones rattle her again. Fie heard it more clearly this time: Welcome, Ambra. Welcome.
“That’s not who I am,” she hissed through her teeth, and kept going.
Finally the dissonance grew too great for her to bear. She weighed the Vulture tooth and the Pigeon tooth, then let the Vulture tooth grow cold. There were only so many places to lock up Tavin in the catacombs. Judging from its residents, there was a dire shortage of luck.
Columns loomed out of the dark as she reached the main chamber. She cranked the wheel, lit the brazier, scoured the room for any signs of Tavin. All the blooming fire-lines revealed were more skin-ghasts crawling from every crypt, save for the Tomb of Monarchs dead ahead.
“Tavin?” Fie called. No answer.
The currents of fortune surged. One of the double doors of the Tomb of Monarchs creaked open.
She took the hint.
But when she burst through the doors, the fire-lines only showed the Tomb of Monarchs, just as she’d last seen it—or almost. Ambra’s casket still had its skull, but it was short a crown, an uneven ring of gold rimming her brow where it had been chiseled off. The wheels of caskets still towered above Fie, all those skulls glaring down at her, and four empty caskets waited on the ground level to be fed—
No, three. One had a lid. But it bore no skull.
“Tavin?” His name came out in a half breath. How long could he last in there? If he heard, he wasn’t answering—she had to get him out—
Breathe, her Chief voice said. Panic and you’ll foul it up.
She had good luck, if she knew how to use it. The Pigeon witch-tooth was all but begging her to let it help.
Fie closed her eyes, let fortune guide her steps, move her hands. Her fingers found a lever. She pulled it, tried not to think about the scrape of stone. The tooth guided her to a wheel and turned it. The scraping turned to a roar.
There, she could have sworn the Pigeon witch told her. Was that so hard?
Fie opened her eyes. The wheel was turning. The lid lifted. She rushed to the casket as a hand gripped the edge.
Tavin dragged himself up, wincing at the firelight, and it was him, not Jasimir’s face but him, all his scars and scuffs and marks.
“Fie?” he asked in disbelief.
“Aye.” She seized his forearms, helped him climb out. His knees wouldn’t hold him, and Fie discovered neither could she as his sudden weight sent them both to the floor. “Are you—”
“Fine,” he gasped, propping himself against the foot of his casket, “relatively speaking. A little light poisoning.”
“Poisoning?”
He cracked a faltering grin. “I didn’t exactly climb in there looking for treasure. Don’t worry, it’ll burn off in a bit. Healing and all. Rhusana just wanted to make sure I stayed put.” He reached for her, hesitated. “Fie, I’m—I’m so sorry—I know you have to be furious with me, just let me explain—”
“You absolute ass,” she said, choking up. “I already know.” Tears rolled hot down her cheeks as she pulled him to her and kissed him, finally without reservation, without glamours, without secrets. His arms wound around her, deliciously tight, and he was kissing her back so fierce and sweet she thought she might drown happy in it. “I’m still mad at you,” she told him before kissing him again. “You didn’t apologize in advance, so I get to be mad at you as long as I want.”
“If this is how you get mad at me, I can live with that,” he murmured.