Chapter 45 THE HEART OF STONE
The palace library was silent as a graveyard at night, but the dead had no peace here.
On the thick wool blankets they had spread on the floor, the smell of century-old dust and ink burned Serra's throat. Dorian sat amidst a pile of parchment, illuminating a massive architectural blueprint with his flashlight. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his hair messy from constantly running his hands through it. He looked less like an Alpha and more like an exhausted student staring at an unsolvable equation.
"There is a mistake here," Dorian said, his voice raspy with fatigue. He pressed his finger onto the yellowed paper of the map. "My father's drawings... look here, Serra. The foundations of the East Wing and the support beams beneath the Throne Room... they don't align."
Serra crawled over to him, leaning on his shoulder. His body heat was her only shield against the library's chill. She looked at the map. The lines were complex, like a labyrinth.
"Maybe it changed during a renovation?" she suggested, rubbing her eyes. It was three in the morning, and her brain was shutting down.
"No," Dorian said firmly. "My father didn't make mistakes in architecture. He was a perfectionist. If he drew a void here, there is a void there."
Dorian stood up, holding the map to the light. "This isn't a mistake. This is concealment. There is a massive room not shown in the palace plans. Right here."
He tapped his finger on the center of the map, directly beneath the Throne Room.
(THE STAR CHAMBER)
Dorian pulled another scroll from the shelf. This wasn't a plan of the palace, but of the city’s sewer and energy lines. He laid it over the first one.
"Damn it," he whispered.
"What do you see?" Serra asked.
"Energy lines," Dorian said, his eyes widening. "The main ley lines feeding the palace shield... they all converge in that void. He labeled it 'The Star Chamber'."
Serra read the faint, handwritten note on the map: The Star Chamber. Where the roots meet. If the seal breaks, lock it from here.
She held her breath. "This palace isn't just a building," she said, grasping the truth. "This palace... is a massive sealing machine. And that room is the engine."
Dorian turned to her. His face was ashen. "And the spot where Vespera left that figurine... that corner in the courtyard... it's exactly the outlet for this room's ventilation shaft."
The pieces were falling into place. That nausea in Serra's stomach returned.
"The enemy isn't inside the walls," Dorian said. "The enemy is in the heart of the palace. They are connected to the shield generator, the energy lines, everything. Whatever is poisoning the palace... is spreading from there."
"We have to go in," Serra said, throwing the blanket off her. "Now."
"We can't," Dorian said. "There is no entrance. Look at the plans. No door is drawn."
"My father's journal," Serra said, rummaging through her bag. "There was something about Shadow Age architecture. 'Doorless rooms open with blood.' Dorian... we don't need to break down the wall to get in. To enter, the palace needs to recognize you."
(THE VOW BEFORE THE BATTLE)
Dorian dropped the maps onto the table. He walked to the massive windows of the library. Outside, a storm was raging; lightning illuminated the forest.
Serra went to him. He was staring at his reflection in the glass. In that reflection, she saw not just a leader, but a scared man, a father-to-be.
"We're going down there tomorrow," he said, watching the glass. "And I don't know what we'll find. Maybe something worse than Lorden. Maybe my father's ghost."
"Whatever we find," Serra said, taking his hand. "We will destroy it."
Dorian turned. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the windowsill. He was so close she could count his eyelashes.
"I want to ask you something," he said. His voice was trembling. This wasn't fear of war. This was something else.
"Ask," she said.
Dorian touched the new, obsidian and red gold ring on her finger.
"When this is over..." he said, swallowing hard. "If we walk out of that room alive... Will you marry me tomorrow night?"
Serra's eyes filled with tears. "Dorian, we're already engaged. Wasn't that the plan?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "The engagement was for the Council. That ring was a symbol. But I... I want something real, Serra. No protocol. No politics. Just you and me. I don't want you walking into that room as my 'fiancée'. I want you to walk in as the woman who will be my 'wife'. Because if I die... my last thought must be that I belong to you."
A lump formed in Serra's throat. Stupid, stubborn, wonderful man.
"You won't die," she said, her voice cracking. "But yes. Yes, I will marry you. Tomorrow night. After we clean that room."
Dorian rested his forehead against hers. "Is that a promise?"
"A promise," she said.
When their lips met, it was more than a kiss. It was a seal. A challenge. A laugh in the face of death.
(PREPARATION)
Dawn was breaking.
They left the library. They didn't go back to the room. They went to the armory.
Dorian chose not his heaviest armor, but a light leather suit that allowed for movement. He strapped on silver-coated swords and daggers.
Serra prepared the mixture mentioned in her father's notes: Ash, silver powder, and a few drops of her own blood. She filled glass vials with it. Handmade bombs.
Kael and Valeria were waiting for them in the corridor. Kael had refused the wheelchair and was leaning against the wall, standing. He held a massive sledgehammer.
"Good morning, kids," Kael said with a grin. "Saving the world before breakfast?"
"We're going to gut the heart of the palace," Dorian said, sheathing his sword on his back.
Valeria showed Serra her tablet. "I tracked the energy lines. The heat under the Throne Room is rising. Whatever is down there... is waking up."
Dorian looked at Serra. Those lava-red eyes were glowing.
"Ready, my future wife?"
Serra smiled and drew her silver knife. "Always, Alpha."
The four of them began walking toward the Throne Room. The silence in the corridors was that final, deep breath before the storm.