secure door,” Kelir said grimly, eyeing the entrance ahead. “It is but painted wood that would only need an axe to open it.”
“You are welcome to take your axe to it,” Preter responded with humor. “And we will wait outside forever while you try to chop through.”
“I will only wait until moonrise,” Aerax said. “Then I take Lizzan back to an inn.”
That drew a grin from Kelir, but he eyed the door anew. “It is spelled?”
“It is.” With his robes swaying around his ankles, Preter trotted up the steps to the doors. Lizzan didn’t hear the spell that he cast to open them, but she saw Aerax’s sudden tension in the set of his shoulders, the way he shook himself—as if ridding his skin of an unwanted sensation—and the scowl that darkened his face.
“You are well?” she asked him softly.
“I am.” His eyes caught hers and his gaze softened, heated. “But we’d best be out by sunset.”
When the full moon would rise. She grinned her agreement.
No sound came from inside. With a fluid ease and silent communication that spoke of the many dangers they’d faced together, Ardyl and Kelir went through first before gesturing for the others to follow. Lizzan stepped into a great hall that near took her breath at its size and height. Stone columns carved into statues paraded its immense length and breadth. Murals decorated the stone walls—even at a glance, she recognized a dozen legends depicted there—with passageways leading in all directions.
And all of it she could see . . . though the torches on the walls and columns were unlit.
“Where does the light come from?” she whispered as the Parsatheans fanned out, spreading toward the distant sides of the hall as if to determine whether it was as empty as it appeared.
“From a sun chamber,” said Preter. “It is open to the sky, and spelled to spread the light through all the chambers—or else we would be as pale as Farian savages fresh from their caves. At night, the chamber gathers the moonlight, too.”
Fortunate for them, but the moon did not always shine full and bright, or through the night. “No small task would it be to light every torch.”
“It is a small task,” Preter said, reminding her of how easily Tyzen had created a flame. “But over time, the smoke becomes an irritation. So they are not often lighted.”
She nodded and looked to Kelir as the Parsatheans returned.
“I see no one,” he said. “And no sign of battle or panic, or whatever led them to spell that door.”
Preter gestured along the hall. “These chambers are not arranged the same as they are in Toleh, but there should be a place nearby to greet visitors.”
Ardyl’s brow arched. “Though the doors are locked?”
“I do not expect anyone there. But a message might have been left, or some indication of where they’ve gone . . . and a map. Every monastery is a maze of chambers so that if ever they are under attack, an invading army will become lost—and every chamber has at least two exits, so no one fleeing from them can be trapped. But although I will never become lost, it helps to know which direction to go.”
Ardyl appeared bemused by that. “If you know not where you are going, how are you never lost?”
“I will not forget the route back to these doors. And if you always know a way out, you are never trapped.” He gave them a wry look. “Stay close to me. More than one visitor to a monastery has taken a wrong turn and never been seen again.”
“I would feel better with chalk to mark our way,” muttered Kelir as they followed the young monk toward one of the passageways.
“Could you lead us back?” Lizzan asked Aerax.
He nodded. “There is enough trace dust to mark our trail. But if we are gone too long, Caeb would come looking for us.”
And could find his way to them by their scent—which would also lead the way out.
“This way,” Preter said. “There is the offering bowl. Any visitor who wants something from the monks must sacrifice an item that is precious to them.”
As the young monk paused to dig through the bowl, Lizzan could only recall the finger in Vela’s temple, and the goddess’s cold command to never steal an offering from her. “You would take something?”
Preter shook his head. “I look to see what sort of people have come and what they believed was precious to . . .” He trailed