Guardians Of The Moonlight Ruins

The iron edge of Elian’s sword scraped against stone as he wiped a smear of black blood onto his trousers. The air inside the archway smelled like hot copper and burnt fat. Outside, the rain pounded down, but under the vault, the only sound was the heavy, uneven breathing of four people who had just barely survived the night.

"That wasn't an attack," Kael said, leaning his shoulder against a carved pillar. He was unbuckling his left gauntlet with his teeth. "That was a distraction."

"They were light-footed," Vane muttered from the gloom near the broken stairwell. "Cultists don't move like that. Soldiers do."

Elian didn't answer. He kicked a piece of shattered iron out of his path and walked toward the heavy oak door leading to the inner sanctuary. The iron bands reinforcing the wood were twisted, snapped outward like split twigs.

Lyra was already kneeling by the threshold, her hands hovering an inch above the floor. She wasn't touching the stone. She knew better.

"Well?" Elian asked, stopping behind her. "Did the ward collapse?"

"No," Lyra said. Her voice was flat, stripped of any warmth. "It didn't collapse. Look at the hinges."

Elian crouched beside her. The metal surrounding the lock keyway wasn't melted or smashed from the outside. The heavy steel bolts had been drawn back cleanly. The keyhole was scraped raw where someone had forced a key into the mechanism, turned it twice, and pulled the doors open from the interior side.

"The seal was opened from within," Lyra said softly. She looked up at him, her grey eyes sharp in the pale light. "Someone unlocked it. Someone with access to the master key."

Behind them, Kael froze. The leather straps of his armor creaked as his grip tightened on his hilt. "There are only four master keys in existence, Lyra. And all four of us are standing in this corridor."

"I have mine," Vane said instantly. He pulled a silver chain from under his collar. A heavy, notched key dangled from the end, dark with age.

Kael produced his next, tossing it lightly in his palm before slipping it back into his pouch. "Lyra?"

Lyra unclipped a small velvet pouch from her belt and tipped her key into her hand. She didn't offer it up for inspection; she just held it out so they could see the jagged tooth profile.

They all turned to Elian.

Elian reached for his chest pocket. His fingers hit flat cloth.

He unbuttoned the leather flap, reached deeper, and pulled his hand back out empty. His pulse spiked, hitting hard against his ribs.

"I had it when we crossed the perimeter," Elian said. His hand hovered over his belt. "It was in the inner pocket of my coat."

"Check your boots," Kael snapped, taking a half-step forward. "Check your pouch. Don't play around, Elian."

"I don't play around with the keys to the gate," Elian growled, turning his pockets inside out. Nothing fell out except a few copper coins and a scrap of dried leather. "It's gone."

"It didn't sprout legs and walk away," Vane said, his voice dropping an octave. He shifted his stance, bringing his center of gravity low, ready to draw. "We were fighting side by side in the courtyard for two hours. Nobody got close enough to pick your pocket without you noticing."

"Unless it happened before the fight started," Lyra said. She stood up slowly, her knees popping in the quiet hall. She walked past Elian, stepping carefully over the rubble toward the center of the threshold.

The floor near the lock mechanism was dusted with gray ash and dried mud. Lyra dropped to one knee again, her gloved fingers picking through a small pile of debris near the doorframe.

"What did you find?" Kael asked, his blade sliding an inch out of its scabbard with a faint shhhk.

"A signet ring," Lyra said. She didn't turn around. "Solid brass. Heavy band. Scratched on the left side from an old parry."

Elian’s mouth went dry. He looked down at his left hand. The skin on his middle finger was pale where his ring had sat for seven years—a ring he hadn't worn since yesterday morning because the band had bent during training.

"Hold your hands up, Elian," Kael commanded, his sword coming all the way out of the sheath now.

"I left that ring in my quarters," Elian said, taking a step back toward the open courtyard. "It was on my desk. Someone took it when they took the key."

"Convenient," Vane said, stepping around to flank him on the left. "You lose the key, your ring shows up at the breached door, and the cultists happen to strike the exact moment the inner gate is unlocked."

"I didn't open the door!" Elian barked, his fingers twitching near his own sword hilt. "Think about it. If I opened the gate, why would I stay here to fight the vanguard with you? I could have walked out two hours ago!"

"Unless you needed us alive to take the blame," Lyra said. She finally stood up and turned around. She held the signet ring between two fingers. Blood was smeared across the brass face. "Or unless you didn't mean to drop this."

"Lyra, listen to me—"

CLANG.

A heavy iron grate dropped from the archway above, crashing into the stone floor with a force that shook the dust from the ceiling. The heavy bars slammed down right between Elian and the other three, splitting the corridor in half.

The weight of the iron sealed the exit behind Elian, trapping him in the narrow outer vestibule alone.

"Kael! Lift the winch!" Lyra shouted, slamming her hands against the iron bars.

"He's on the other side!" Kael yelled back. "Elian, don't move!"

Elian backed away from the grate, his heels catching on the uneven flagstones. "I didn't do this! Someone is setting this up!"

Before he could take another step back toward the courtyard exit, a hand reached out from the shadows behind the broken stone pillar. Cold, calloused fingers grabbed his collar, yanking him backward, and the biting edge of a steel blade pressed directly against the skin over his carotid artery.

"Don't breathe," a voice whispered in his ear. "Or I'll let them think you died running."