Chapter 42
Abigail's POV
We split up. Elodie headed toward the side door where two guards stood rigidly at their posts, while I circled around to the side door I'd secretly observed earlier. With my back pressed against the cold stone wall, I could clearly feel my heartbeat pounding violently in my chest.
A moment later, I heard Elodie's voice rise with deliberate panic: "Ow—I think I twisted my ankle! Can someone help me?"
The guards' footsteps immediately moved in her direction, exchanging a few muttered complaints between themselves. Their attention was successfully diverted—they probably hadn't expected anyone to try sneaking in.
I didn't waste the opening. Slipping through the side door, I entered a dim inner corridor. The air was thick with incense mixed with the scent of ancient stone, making me instinctively lighten my footsteps. Not far ahead at the end of the corridor stood a heavy wooden door carved with intricate symbols representing the moon.
I moved forward quickly with lowered center of gravity, my soft-soled shoes making almost no sound. The corridor was empty except for a faint humming from the direction of the main hall breaking the silence. As I approached the door, I instinctively slowed my pace, my outstretched hand hovering above the latch, pausing briefly.
Once I crossed this threshold, there would truly be no turning back.
But I had already come this far.
I gripped the latch and pushed the door open.
The inner sanctum was more spacious than I'd imagined, yet darker. Only rows of candles on either side struggled to dispel the darkness, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Heavy incense smoke coiled through the air, making my eyes sting slightly. At the far end of the chamber, beneath a massive statue carved from pale marble, a figure knelt in prayer.
Harper.
Her silver hair gleamed softly in the candlelight, her white robes spread around her like a quietly expanding circle of snow. She was completely absorbed in prayer, so still it felt almost sacrilegious to disturb her. For a brief instant, I felt a twinge of guilt for intruding on such an intimate and sacred moment.
But then I caught another movement.
In the shadows cast by the side wall, a figure was slowly moving along the wall, deliberately lightening their steps. They wore a priestess's white robes, but the right hand half-hidden in their sleeve gripped something that, even in the dim candlelight where it nearly disappeared, still reflected a glint of cold steel—a black blade.
I held my breath.
Harper remained completely unaware, her head bowed, her lips moving soundlessly. The assassin had already entered striking range, raising the knife with swift, efficient movements that showed clear training.
I had no time to think, and couldn't afford to think anymore.
I grabbed the nearest object—a heavy bronze candlestick—and charged forward, my voice tearing from my throat in an unmasked cry of alarm and warning.
"Matriarch! Watch out!"
The assassin spun around with terrifying speed, the blade slicing through the air in a cold arc toward me. I twisted sideways to dodge, but my movement was still a fraction too slow—the cold gleam grazed my upper arm, cleanly parting fabric and skin. Searing pain exploded, sharp and burning, but I didn't give myself any time to register it. My hands were already moving, swinging down the heavy candlestick with all my strength.
The candlestick struck the assassin's wrist with a teeth-grinding crack. The dagger clattered to the stone floor, the crisp metallic collision echoing through the chamber like some kind of death knell. For a split second, I thought I'd succeeded.
The next moment, his other hand shot out like lightning and locked around my throat.
Air was instantly squeezed from my lungs. I couldn't make a sound. Black spots began floating at the edges of my vision as brutal knuckles dug deep into my windpipe, rough pain spreading through my entire body along with the suffocation.
I clawed at his hand, trying to pry it loose, but couldn't budge it even slightly. The difference in strength was too obvious, and combined with oxygen deprivation, my power seemed to be draining away inch by inch.
My lungs burned in my chest. The candlestick slipped from my grasp and hit the floor with a dull thud that sounded as if it came through thick layers of water—distant and unreal.
Then noise flooded in like a deluge—urgent footsteps, the crash of the door being thrown open, and the overlapping shouts of guards. Someone lunged from behind me, grabbed the assassin, and violently wrenched him away from me.
I lost support and collapsed to my knees, my throat feeling as if it had been scraped raw with coarse sandpaper. Each breath came with violent coughing and stabbing pain. Blood roared toward my face. I could feel my cheeks swelling and burning hot, black spots still drifting through my vision.
"Abigail!" Elodie's voice pierced through the chaos, sharp and tearful. She practically slid to her knees beside me, her hands hovering above my shoulders, frozen in midair as if afraid to touch me. "Oh god, oh god, you're bleeding—are you okay? Say something!"
I tried to speak but only managed a series of hoarse gasps that sounded so foreign they didn't seem like my own voice. I instinctively raised my hand to my throat. When my fingertips touched that ring of tender flesh, I couldn't help but wince from the pain.
Behind us, the guards had already pinned the assassin to the ground. One pressed his knee into the attacker's back, twisting his arms behind him, while another kicked the dagger away. The blade scraped across the stone floor with a harsh screech. The white priestess robes had fallen open, revealing dark leather armor pressed tight against the body beneath.
"Enough."
The word rang out suddenly amid the chaos, cutting through the clamor like a knife through silk. Instant silence fell.
I looked up to see Harper standing at the base of the altar. Moonlight pouring through the crack in the dome above outlined her features with cold clarity. Her breathing was steady, her complexion showed not a trace of panicked pallor, and there was no alarm whatsoever. Her expression was calm to the point of coldness, the scrutiny in her eyes making my skin involuntarily tighten.
"Child," she said calmly, "how did you come to be here?"