I know what’s in it. I can remake the poison from it.”
Amara gives a curt nod, and I look back at her daughter. “I’ll need Silas’s help with some of it, or any alchemists, I suppose; I can’t remember it all. But I could do it. I could deconstruct the potion and we can remake the original poison from that. Give it to him. Flood him with it. Overcome whatever effects of Aurelia’s Elixir are left.”
Amara cuts across our excitement. “He must not get hold of any more Elixir.” She looks at me pointedly. “You’ll have to keep Silas far from him. He must never know a philtresmith still lives.”
I wonder how she knows about Silas, and a strange cold fills my insides, making me gasp.
“What is it?” Amara asks.
I shake it off. “Just a chill. He’s up there fighting,” I say. “We should get him away. You two and he are too valuable. We have to get out of here. There has to be a way, a secret back door or something. Silas will know. We can head back to Scarron.” I turn to Twylla, who is already standing. “It’s far enough away to buy us some time.”
We’ve taken no more than three steps when there is rumbling directly above us. Stones and dust trickle down from the ceiling and we stop, turning uncertainly towards Amara. On the left wall, a lone pelvis falls to the floor and shatters.
For a long moment the three of us look at one another. Then the rumbling comes again, louder now, more dust falling, the chunks of rock larger. The chandelier shakes and we all look up at it; the rattling of the bones is deafening, and there’s something hypnotic in watching them tremble.
Then it stops; a split second of peace.
“Run,” Amara says, and we need no further instruction. We fly down the aisle towards the door as the chandelier falls from the ceiling with an earth-shattering crash.
Shards of bone fly at us, stinging my back as I yank the door open. Without the muffling of the thick door, we can hear screams echoing, booming, rolling like wheels through every corridor in the Conclave, finally reaching us down here.
Two alchemists round the corner, each gripping one end of a large wooden box, forcing us to flatten ourselves against the wall as they make for the ossuary. Their faces are blank with terror. I grab Twylla’s arm and we race blindly back along the warren-like passages, retracing our steps, my right hand on the right wall this time. Behind us the Sin Eater’s breath is laboured, her footsteps slow and thudding, and I feel a stab of concern.
When we reach a wide, brightly lit passage that I hope is the same one we walked down earlier, I start to throw curtains aside, hoping to find people, or weapons, or a way out. The grating echo continues, like underground thunder. It seems to follow us and I’m flooded with the conviction that the ceiling really is going to come down and kill us.
A figure appears ahead of us. “This way!” it beckons, and we run towards it, to find ourselves back in the Great Hall. Nia and Sister Hope stand beside the table, both armed with short swords. Another woman, white-haired and fierce, is swinging a mace.
“You have to go,” Sister Hope says, herding us towards the curtain at the other end. “Silas is on his way; he’ll go with you.”
When the curtain is thrown back, both Sister Hope and I move towards it, but it’s Amara who stumbles in. Her face is bright red with exertion, her hand pressing into her side.
Twylla turns her back on her. “What’s happening?” she asks Nia.
“They’re inside. We’ve sent all the children and the elderly out through a bolthole; everyone else has gone to fight.”
“Is he here?” She doesn’t need to name him.
Nia nods and my blood runs cold. “With his golems. And his son. He’s here to conquer, like in Lortune.”
“Gods…” Twylla says, and my stomach clenches. “We need weapons.”
“You need to leave!” Sister Hope commands. “Nia, take the girls and get them out.”
“I want to fight,” Nia protests. “This is my home!”
“It might end up being your grave,” Amara pants, her hand now clutching her arm. “Get my daughter and Errin out. And the boy if he arrives in time.”
“But—”
“There’s no time to argue—” She’s cut off by a huge chunk of stone crashing to the ground three feet from where we stand.
A piercing scream rings