Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,55

my chest. I try to tell it that the danger has passed, but no dice.

Then Nahteran turns to Graylin, and I see the surprise and recognition spread over Nahteran’s face again, same as when he saw me.

“Do you remember me?” Graylin asks softly.

Nahteran nods, lips parting like he’s trying to think of something to say. He drifts toward Graylin. A smile breaks across Graylin’s face, and his arms rise slightly, ready for the hug. But Nahteran doesn’t go in for it. Instead, he produces something from inside his cloak. A small, flat golden object, strangely shaped, like a many-pointed star.

“This might help,” he says, pointing at the pillar. “With that.”

Graylin takes the star, and for a second he looks as confused as I feel. Then comprehension clicks in. He turns and paces around the pillar, stopping on the far side, and fits the star into what seems to be an indentation in the stone. I realize—it’s an oddly shaped key.

I glance at him, confused. He didn’t make it sound like he’d been to the vault before, just that he knew about where it was.

“What is that? Where did you get it?” I demand.

Nahteran seems not to hear me, but before I can repeat the question, a ponderous creak splits the room’s silence. Then a deep, muffled crack. The stone pillar shudders and cleaves in two. I can see light through the middle of it. For a moment, the halves of the pillar stay upright … then they crash to the ground with a thud that makes my ears ring.

There in the nothingness where they stood, something shines.

At first, I think it’s a body, or a skeleton. There are arms and legs and a torso, elegant gold lines I can’t make sense of, like a rib cage dipped in gold. Then I realize with a shock.

Armor.

It’s not a knight’s full-coverage suit of armor, more like a series of curved golden ribs held together by gold chains. The corset is shaped like a person’s torso, and there’s one gauntlet that matches the one I’m wearing now. Suddenly, I realize something else. It glows. The light all around us seems to brighten. Somehow the armor had been lighting the room, even encased by stone; and now that it’s been freed, the phoenix flame shines even brighter.

The armor sits on a wooden stand almost as high as the pillar. Almost too high to reach, but Graylin is able to unhook it with a sword. His eyes are wide. Everyone is silent.

It’s clear that the armor holds power; I can feel it in the air. If we’re right, this is how Cadius has been creating openings between the worlds.

I expect something to happen when he lifts it down. Like the sand cave in the movie Aladdin, collapsing around him as soon as he took the magic lamp. But nothing happens. The room is utterly still—just we four, the armor, and Winterkill’s guards, who will never draw blades again.

Graylin uses his sword to set the armor down carefully, separating the pieces. He unzips one of the duffel bags we brought. I’d been so focused on finding the armor, I didn’t think about how we’d get it out of the castle. Luckily, Graylin did.

Then I feel something beneath my feet. Something so subtle, I probably wouldn’t have known had I not grown up at Havenfall, eager for every speck and thread of magic, attuned to anything out of the ordinary. I’ve felt this before, and I know I’m not imagining it. The floor is ever so slightly trembling.

I look down, instinctive fear making my mouth dry. We’ve already gone so far down below the main floor of the estate, I wouldn’t have thought there could be anything else beneath us. But the tremor is growing, like something enormous far beneath us is clawing its way up. In the bright light from the armor, the floor is more visible. I can see the scratched and weathered flagstones, the Winterkill guards’ blood collecting in the cracks.

Then the floor shimmers. Like water after a single stone is dropped in. I back to the wall, looking up to see that Graylin and Brekken have done the same. Only Nahteran has stayed where he is, gazing down at the armor.

“Nahteran!” I call.

His eyes snap over to meet mine, wide and a little wild. I point at the floor, which is now undeniably shifting and rippling. But he doesn’t move.

“A doorway is opening,” he says quietly. He looks at me and beckons. “Come