Chapter 330 You Have Been In The Sanctum

She laughed.

"And then," said Kaelen, "he’ll say yes. He always does, in the end."

She smiled up at him.

"I like your odds," she said.

***

She did not tell the others where she was going.

It was not a decision. It was only that she walked down the stair from the wall, and Corin fell in three steps behind her, and she heard herself say, "Not the study," and he said, "My lady?" and she said, "I’ll go to the east wing," and he asked no more questions.

The pale room was at the end of the guest corridor.

She had been there once. She remembered a long cold hall, and a door that had opened by itself, and a woman with white hair standing at a window. She stopped in front of that door now, with her hand lifted, and it swung inward before she could knock.

"Thank you," she said, to no one.

"You are welcome," said a voice from within.

She went in.

The room was as she remembered, high and pale and still. The walls were grey stone. The ceiling was lost in shadow. A single tall window let in the morning, a bar of cold white light that fell across an old stone floor and a shelf of scrolls and a narrow bed no one seemed to use.

Astraea stood at the window.

She wore white. Her hair fell to her waist, silver in the light. She did not turn when Morgana came in. She stood with her back to the room and her hands folded in front of her, looking out at the grey courtyard, and she said, in a voice as light and clear as a bell:

"You have been in the Sanctum."

"Yes."

"They called you."

"Yes."

"And you stood before them, and heard what they said." Astraea turned. Her pale eyes were calm. "You look tired."

"I haven’t slept."

"No." A faint smile. "I did not expect you had. Sit."

There was a single chair, plain and straight-backed, set at the foot of the bed. Morgana sat in it. The coat pooled around her. Astraea did not sit. She crossed the room, slowly, and stopped a few feet away.

"You have come to ask me something," she said.

Morgana drew a breath.

She had thought about it all the way down the corridor. She had rehearsed a dozen questions, careful and clever. They were all gone. What came out was small and plain.

"What is the chain?"

Astraea’s expression did not change.

"The dragons told you."

"They said it was forged from their fire. That it holds Atheris. That it’s killing them." Morgana’s hands twisted in the coat. "But they didn’t say what it is. Not really. How it was made. Who made it. Whether it can be...." She stopped. "Whether it can be undone. Another way."

"Ah."

"Is there another way?"

Astraea looked at her for a long time.

It was a strange look. It was not cold, and it was not kind. It was something older than either, the look of someone who has seen a very great many people stand where Morgana stood, and has never once been able to give them what they wanted.

"They told you the truth," she said.

"They did?"

"All they knew." Astraea’s voice was soft. "Auryn is wise. Aeris is sharper than she lets anyone see. They have carried the weight of that chain longer than your kingdom has had a name. But they do not know all of it."

"What don’t they know?"

"How it was made."

Morgana stared.

"They gave their fire. They remember that. But they do not remember who asked." Astraea’s pale eyes were distant. "They were young. They were grieving. A very clever voice told them there was a way to end the war, and the price was small. And they paid it." Her mouth thinned. "I think they have never quite forgiven themselves."

"Who was the voice?"

"I will not say."

"Why not?"

"Because I am not certain." Astraea’s expression flickered, just for a moment. "And because if I named a name, and I were wrong, you would build your whole road on it."

Morgana swallowed.

"Is there a way," she said slowly, "that nobody has to die?"

"There is always a way."

"Then...."

"It is rarely the one you were offered."

The words fell between them.

Morgana’s heart gave a strange hard thump.

"You’re saying there’s a third door."

"I am saying nothing of the kind." Astraea’s voice did not change. "I am saying that the two doors you were shown were shown by people who could see only two. It is the nature of the frightened. They are very certain there are only two."

"But you can see more."

"I can see a little more."

"Will you tell me?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you would try to do it at once." Astraea’s eyes held hers, steady and clear. "You would go north in a fever, with your hands out, and you would fail. And someone would die for it."

"That isn’t fair."

"No."

"You can’t just tell me there’s a way and not say what it is."

"I can tell you one thing."

Morgana held her breath.

Astraea lifted a hand. It was pale and slender, and in the cold light it looked almost transparent. She did not point. She only held it open, palm up, as though weighing something small.

"A chain is only heavy," she said, "to the one who carries it alone."

Silence.

Morgana turned the words over, once, twice. They sat in her mind like a stone dropped into a deep pool. She could feel something under them, vast and slow, something shifting. But when she reached for it, it slid away.

"I don’t understand."

"No. Not yet."

"Is that all?"

"There is one more."

"Yes?"

"The ritual." Astraea’s voice lowered. "The one your elder spoke of. The claiming."

"What about it?"

"It is not what you think."

"What do I think?"