Although Guillot knew he could never be accused of being an art aficionado, he liked to think he had a discerning eye, and to him, the quality of the painting was exceptional—easily on par with the statuary—and would do credit to a great museum or even the king’s palace. They depicted great battles between man and dragon, and Guillot noted that some of the Chevaliers depicted in the scenes bore a strong resemblance to the statues before them. What tragedy had led to them being hidden here for who knew how long? He advanced down the cellar—might it more appropriately be called a hall?—eager to see what lay at the far end. Armed with a spare torch and the bottle of fuel, which he was trying not to think of as drinkable alcohol, he had no fear of being caught down there in the absolute darkness.
He walked past rank after rank of noble-looking statues, his predecessors in the Silver Circle. He wondered what they would think of what the Silver Circle had become—or if, stories to the contrary, perhaps that was what it had been like all along. The silver ring pressed into the breastplate of each statue’s armour was new to Guillot. Neither he nor any of the Chevaliers he had known had one on their ceremonial or service armour, not that the latter saw a great deal of wear, and wondered when they stopped using it.
Guillot reckoned he was well beyond the boundaries of the old house when the end of the space appeared out of the gloom. When he approached the feature at the end of the hall—two more statues flanking what looked like an altar of some kind—his jaw dropped.
One of the statues held out an open hand, palm up; its other hand held a stick, or straw. A small object resting on the open palm caught Gill’s attention. Despite it being carved from marble, he knew it. Small, nearly spherical, with an inscribed rim. He scrabbled in his purse and coaxed out the odd little cup he’d found in the dragon’s cave. There could be no mistaking it, they were one and the same.
Reaching up, Guillot placed the cup next to its stone doppelgänger. Of course, there might have been many such cups. Perhaps it was the preferred style at one time? Why anyone would make a cup from Telastrian steel was a mystery to him, but a mystery that might be starting to reveal itself.
What significance did this scene—the two statues, and the altar—have to the old Chevaliers? What role did the cup play? How had it ended up in the dragon’s cavern? He shook his head and rubbed his brow. As fascinating as it was, it raised more questions but answered none. It also occurred to Guillot that Leverre had been very interested in taking possession of the cup. At the time Guillot had found it irritating and curious, but not enough to become overly suspicious. Now, though, it made him wonder. Did Leverre know more about it than he had let on? Once again he felt as though there was far more going on than he was aware of. It wasn’t a feeling he liked, and if past experience was anything to go by, it usually ended badly for him. It was what he hated about Mirabay, why he had left, and why it took a dragon attack to get him to go back.
He doubted there would be any way to determine the meaning of what he was looking at or to learn anything about the silly-looking little cup. So much had been forgotten. If the Chevaliers had stayed true to themselves, it was unlikely Guillot would be the only one left, and the dragon would likely be dead.
He circled the room, studying the frescoes. Perhaps if they were contemporary to the actions depicted, they would give him a hint as to how the old Chevaliers achieved their supposedly great feats. He was quickly disappointed; they were far more style than substance. Men didn’t defeat something so terrifying as a dragon while looking as though they were hoping to make a dinner engagement that evening.
He looked around the hidden cellar and swore. How did all the pieces fit together? He spent hours studying the paintings and statues, then camped out by the house, prepared to continue his exploration the next morning.
CHAPTER 37
Solène woke to the discomfort of her face pressed against a hard surface. She sat up abruptly, disoriented, and took a moment to work out where she was. The archive. She wondered how long she had been asleep, but since she was underground, there was no way to tell what time it was. Day or night, she was famished, so she headed for the exit.
As she walked, the concerns she had fallen asleep with returned. The Silver Circle were empowered by drinking from an ancient cup, the location of which was unknown; mages did not seem to have been able to kill dragons by themselves. How little to show for a day’s work! Having discovered how to read the documents and to locate what she was looking for quickly were significant achievements, but she could only find something as long as she knew what she was looking for.
She walked up the spiral steps to the cathedral, legs stiff and protesting from the hours spent at the desk. Light came in through the stained-glass windows, so she must have slept through the night. She hoped her absence at the Priory that morning wouldn’t get her into trouble. She had planned to call at a café near the cathedral for something to eat before returning to the archive, but now wondered if she should go back to the Priory first.
Her attention was caught by the sharp footfalls of a grey-haired man who had just entered the cathedral, the door shutting behind him with a reverberating boom. His cloak billowed, revealing the Prince Bishop’s livery.
“Sister dal Bastelle,” he called.
It took Solène’s sleep-deprived mind a moment to realise he was referring to her. “Yes?”
“Good. I called at the Priory first, but they told me you weren’t there. The Prince Bishop wishes for you to attend on him at the palace to update him on your progress.”
It seemed the Prince Bishop wasn’t the most patient of men, and it worried her how little she had to give him. The man stood looking at her hopefully.
“Now?” she said.
“That would be perfect. I have a carriage waiting.”
“I was hoping to get something to eat.”
“I’m sure the palace kitchens will be able to provide you with far better fare than anything you can find on the Isle.”
Clearly, he wasn’t going to accept any delay and he was right that the food in the palace was going to be better than any of the cafés, plus, she wouldn’t have to pay for it. She nodded and followed him out of the cathedral.
The carriage waiting outside wasn’t the Prince Bishop’s personal vehicle, but Solène knew it wasn’t a good idea to get too used to such treatment—it had simply been the honey to catch the fly. She was, at least, allowed the privacy of the cabin, as the messenger sat outside with the driver. The seats weren’t cushioned, and there was no gilding in sight, but it still beat having to walk through dirty streets to the palace. She watched the city speed by, but without the interest she’d once had. She was quickly coming to realise that everything in Mirabay had a price higher than it first seemed.
The carriage came to a halt outside the palace gate, and Solène didn’t wait for anyone to open the door for her. Pushing it open, she hopped down and paced toward the palace doors. She had no idea what she would say to the Prince Bishop. How would he take the news that their only source of salvation was a cup that had been lost for a millennium and was unlikely to ever be found again? Unless there were a magical way to find it, which she had not yet figured out.