The Agrista (Between the Lines Book 1) (29 page)

  “Ouch!” Bria jerked her hand away. “He bit me!”

  “Serves you right,” Cayden laughed.

  “I’m glad to see you’re all in good spirits, but considering the circumstances, it seems highly inappropriate.” Gustav’s words shamed the others to silence as that morass of what lie ahead settled onto their shoulders. It left each person acutely aware of the world’s dependence, unifying them in their need for levity. “Let’s get right to it, shall we?” Gustav peremptorily cleared his throat. “The Agrísta was made from Evangeline’s blood and sealed with the blood of her five descendants. Therefore, it can
only
be opened with your blood. When the Agrísta is opened, a door shall appear, and inside the Agrísta is the door’s only key.”

  “What lies beyond the door?” Fallon asked eagerly.

  “What lies behind the door is something that will test all of you. It will test your faith in each other, and in yourselves.”

  “I hope this isn’t some elaborate scheme our mother concocted to force us to bond. She’s meddlesome even in death,” Laylia reflected bitterly with a cursory glance at Gustav.

  “How do you know so little, and so much at the same time?” Cayden spoke up before Fallon could retaliate. She was fiercely protective of their mother, departed or no.

  “You’re just a slave,” Bria said disparagingly, causing a wave of eye rolls to flow through the seated circle.

  “I wasn’t always a slave, or a mousling.”

  “Oh? Were you someone important?” Bria squealed with delight.

  “Bria, really,” Laylia groaned.

  “Cailene didn’t limit her torture to the palace guards. Anyone that refused to swear fealty and remained loyal to the old Queen suffered a similarly tragic fate. I grew suspicious of Cailene long before she came into power, but unfortunately, no one believed me. Least of all the Queen herself.” Gustav recalled. “While I was unable to prevent the fates of the people I worked closely with, I was able to spare myself. You see, I was one of Evangeline’s royal advisors. I transformed myself into a mousling and took on an alias, so that I might integrate myself among the common fray and keep an ear to the ground.”

  “I’ve known you for twenty years, and I never knew that about you,” Alex remarked with a scornful laugh. “You’re a mousling. How is it possible that you didn’t stick out?”

  “All manner of creatures room these halls. There are millions of servants constantly in circulation. One can’t be expected to know every face, especially one of Cailene’s assumed caliber. I used that knowledge to my advantage,” Gustav proudly squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “While Evangeline would never outwardly admit to her reservations about her trusted companion, she could not ignore that small shred of doubt tugging at her heartstrings. She took precautions, just in case. Hence, the Agrísta.”

  “How did you learn about the Agrísta?” asked Marie.

  “I found Evangeline as she lay dying, and told her who I was. She entrusted me with the Agrísta, and told me that it contained the key to Cailene’s mortality. How she knew what was to transpire, I’ve no idea, but she seemed to be prepared.” His sad smile flickered at the edges as he recalled that fateful day when everything changed. “I know naught more than that.”

  “If it means putting an end to Cailene’s reign, I’m willing to face any possibility.” Fallon’s thick eyebrows drew together in determination.

  “I take it Johanna’s told you all about Aemilius’ maze, and what you must do? I assume you’ve formulated a plan of some sort,” Gustav arched an inquisitive brow.

  “Cerin and I both have Clamans rings,” said Johanna.

  “She and I will be following the lucky servant summoned to the maze,” Cerin remarked dryly.

  “They are lucky, indeed. For in succeeding, you will save their lives,” Gustav beamed.

  “
If
we succeed,” Cerin concluded morosely.

  “The others had
no
chance. You offer hope,” Gustav said sternly. “Unfortunately, Aemilius’ daily meal has already been delivered today, so you will have to hide here until tomorrow. I know it’s not ideal, but it will give you time to prepare yourselves.”

  “I’m not sure you can really prepare for this sort of thing,” Cerin nervously ran his fingertips over the light stubble at the base of his skull, digging his fingers into a tight knot of muscle.

  “You know of the dangers that exist within the walls of the maze, but there is more to it than meets the eye. There isn’t a simple switch that turns it on or off. When a slave ventures forth into the maze, each trigger is deactivated with every first step, and returns to its original state once the weight is lifted,” Gustav explained grimly.

  “What does that mean?” Marie asked, nervous for Cerin and Johanna’s sake.

  “It
means
that no one can follow the person sent into the maze, and that he or she can’t turn back or hesitate, either. Both actions would result in detonating the triggers,” Cerin sighed. “In conclusion, the only way to avoid setting off the triggers is to walk in perfect synch with the person sent into the maze, while distributing the weight evenly.”

  “Yes, in
perfect
synch,” Gustav emphasized. “Aemilius’ lab is elevated so that he can see everything that happens in the maze. He’ll notice if a slave is walking in an odd fashion, and he’s quick to suspect. There’s
no
room for error, and there’s too much risk in arrogant assumptions. If you haven’t already, you may want to consider an alternative option to simply tagging along and hoping for the best,” Gustav frowned. “You have several hours to formulate a solution. If you all put your heads together, I’m certain you can think of something,” he said cheerfully, offering nothing more than words of encouragement.

  Slave Quarters were no better than the filthy prison. Foolish, Marie thought, for what’s to stop anyone from refusing the Queen? Being incarcerated wasn’t any better, but it certainly wasn’t any worse.

  The slaves were packed in tighter than sardines; an amalgamation of sweaty flesh that became the catalyst for streaks of black mold racing up the bare walls, adorned with vomit stains and splashes of crimson.

  Copious amounts of ammonia had burned through the varnish and soaked through the wood paneling. It churned the air with a pungent, sour odor that continued to intensify with each new body, breeding their own species of superbugs and larvae.

  The haunting bellows of anguish that filled the air and trapped them in darkness became nothing more than white noise. It broke Marie’s heart to see how desensitized these people had become to pain, though it was understandable. One would
have
to numb themselves just to get through the day. How they held onto hope in such dreadful conditions was beyond her, but by the smiles that graced their sallow, sunken faces, it was evident that they had.

  The eight of them had come prepared, with satchels chocked full of nonperishable food, fresh water, and medicine. They would’ve packed more, but the corridors of the prison were narrow and the journey was long. No one complained about not having enough, though. The slaves’ gratitude was a humbling reflection of battered humility and resilient humanity.

  Every person that was given aloe for their burns, a piece of food for their rumbling stomachs, or a sip of water to ease their dehydration was extremely appreciative; not just for what they were given, but for the kindness bestowed upon them. It was quite phenomenal, Marie thought.

  If she’d been forced to live the way these people had, she’d be furious with anyone who bore the symbol of the crown, and feel entitled to everything they had to offer and then some. But these people had proved themselves obsequiously kind, taking absolutely nothing for granted. It moved Marie to tears, and she found herself repeatedly excusing herself to hide the shimmering moisture welling in her eyes.

  Spending time in Slaves’ Quarters brought things sharply into focus. She no longer saw these people as a burden. They were no longer simply slaves that needed saving, but individuals who’d been denied the natural right to embrace their humanity and experience free will. She couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for them, and was determined to put a stop to it as soon as possible, at whatever cost.

  Marie didn’t get any sleep that night. Fallon’s thunderous snore sent shivers down her spine with every rumbling exhalation. She couldn’t fathom how that woman could sleep knowing what tomorrow would bring; or better yet, not knowing.

  Alex, Cayden, and Bria were able to sleep as well, thankfully. Considering what they’d been through, it came as no surprise. Laylia, Cerin, and Johanna weren’t so fortunate, and served as a welcome distraction from each other’s thoughts.

  The four of them laid in silence for hours, taking comfort in the occasional agitated ruffle of clothing that accompanied tossing and turning and signified mutual consciousness. The dawn couldn’t come fast enough. Every tick of the clock eroded their nerve. Feeling the undeniable pull of exhaustion at the waning darkness, Marie prayed silently for a second wind.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you all,” Gustav said apologetically as he poked his head into the room, “but you only have a few hours left to prepare. I thought you might need to be roused?”

  “Has today’s slave been chosen?” Cerin asked without preamble.

  “Yes. Her name is Chrystina.” Gustav opened the door all the way to reveal a frail, avian-faced girl in her mid-teens with tearstained cheeks and a quivering bottom lip.

  “Oh no, Chrystina! Your sisters must be beside themselves!” Johanna rushed to her feet and swept the lanky girl up in a hug.

  Chrystina fell apart beneath Johanna’s touch, like a thin piece of parchment cast into a roaring fire. She shriveled into nothingness as her arms fell limp at her sides and she dropped to her knees.

  Johanna sank to the ground with her and held her upright. Chrystina buried her face in the crook of Johanna’s neck, finding little comfort in the gentle sentiments whispered into her hair.

  Her three sisters – Anya, Kirsten, and Anne – flocked to her side and clung to her like flies drawn to a carcass. They swarmed all over her with murmurs of confusion and racking sobs, already mourning her loss. It didn’t help Chrystina’s growing hysteria, and Gustav eventually found it necessary to shoo them away.

  The three sisters huddled together in the corner. Their cacophony of shrieks came together in a discordant harmony, blaringly dissonant without their fourth counterpart. Chrystina was the stem that held their voices together, and her absence ripped them apart at the seams, forcing the notes to fall flat. The four seemed to always be in sync, even in grief. Over the years, it had earned them the title of The
Singing Sisters
.

  “Why are you crying?” Laylia knelt before Chrystina. The confusion in a stranger’s approach momentarily lapsed her inconsolable weeping, enough for the frail girl to take a shaky breath. “See that guy? That’s my little brother.” Actually, Cerin was her older brother, but no need to confuse the girl right now. “I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s unbelievably brilliant, and he’s going to be accompanying you. He won’t let
anything
happen to you.”

 
No pressure
, Cerin quailed.

  “Think of all the friends we’ve lost, Chrystina. Who knows what state they’re in? You can put their souls to rest!” It was Agatha who spoke up this time, smiling warmly at Chrystina and her sisters. Their parents had died, and Agatha took it upon herself to look after them, acting as a surrogate grandmother.

  “It’ll be okay,” Johanna said softly, rubbing a brisk hand over Chrystina’s rigidly set shoulders.

  “How are we going to do this?” Chrystina asked suddenly, forcing herself upright. Her face was slick with tears, but her eyes were hard and focused. “If you two walk behind me, you’ll set off the t-triggers,” The slight stutter gave her away, but she did her best to put on a brave face.

  “Yes, yes. We know that,” and all too well. Cerin spent the past several hours lying awake and grasping for ideas. He had nothing.

  “The maze isn’t wide enough for the three of us to walk in stride,” Johanna informed them.

  “That’d be far too conspicuous, anyway,” Cerin dismissed her concerns with an impatient wave of his hand.

  “It’s too bad that Flight’s Fancy potion you used in Artifex only works on paper,” Marie sighed.

  “It’s
not
limited to paper,” Cerin suddenly perked up, as if
he’d
just had the epiphany. “That’s brilliant, actually!”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” Marie snorted.

  “Lucidus and Vilhant! I don’t have enough for two people!” Cerin cursed as he angrily eyed the vial.