When Verran struck the boy so violently, Liel cried out. The spell she was witnessing was so different than her own healing, which drew on memories of old-growth forests and windswept cliffs, the warm dens of small creatures, and the infinite beauty of life’s detail. Verran’s spell was the antithesis of that. Here was life’s bloodletting, murder in reverse. It called upon every catacomb, every ream of twisted flesh, and every layer of humiliation. That healing could come from such a place made no sense.
Verran jerked his hand away, leaving a bloody handprint on Kitto’s chest. Again, the elixir pooled unnaturally on top of the skin, only it took the shape of a bloody, clawed hand. The clawed fingers rose off Kitto’s chest and plunged deep into his skin. Kitto arched off the floor as the blood-hand clenched around his heart. Still chanting, Verran slammed his fist onto the blood-hand, sending red droplets across Kitto’s body and onto the legs of the people standing nearby. The blood-hand evaporated into the air, and Kitto jerked upright, his head thrown back. His arms were up in a defensive posture, and his eyes rolled into his head.
“Kitto!” Harp said, dropping to the ground beside the boy.
But Kitto’s arms shot out from his side, and his body jerked in seizure. Harp placed his hands behind the boy’s head to keep him from slamming his skull into the tiles.
“Grab his legs,” Harp shouted. But before anyone could move, Kitto became quiet and still. He opened his eyes and looked around in fright.
“Kitto! You’re safe.”
“What happened?”
“You drowned,” Harp said, helping him sit up. “I told you not to drown.”
“I had the worst dream.” Kitto’s eyes were watering, and he blinked rapidly as if to clear his vision. “I was in chains.”
“You’re all right now,” Harp reassured him. “Can you stand up?”
“I was in chains,” Kitto repeated as Harp and Boult helped him to his feet. “And there was an army of serpents.”
Kitto turned to look at the door. The silver stones and lock had vanished, and all that remained was a plain door made from rough-cut, redwood planks. “Did I open the lock?”
“You did a great job,” Harp told him, pressing the case of lockpicks back into Kitto’s hands. “You got rid of the water.”
“I drowned?” Kitto said in amazement.
“No, the pool was cursed,” Liel explained. “But Verran brought you back.”
Harp caught Verran’s eye. Verran had an odd mix of emotions on his face. He looked like he wanted to cry, fight, and hide all at the same time.
“Thank you,” Harp said to Verran.
“I owe you,” Kitto said sincerely.
“Can we leave?” Verran pleaded. “I don’t feel very well.”
“That was quite a spell,” Liel said, picking up Verran’s pack and handing it to him. “You’re going to feel drained for a while. What type of elixir was that?”
“Something my father gave me,” Verran said, his expression suddenly closed.
Boult cleared his throat. “I agree with Verran. Let’s get the Torque and get out as soon as possible.”
They followed the ramp as it curved around the gilded pillar and through the opening in the floor. The ramp ended in a long room with a low, tiled ceiling. Two rows of flared columns supported the ceiling. Raised walkways divided the rectangular room into four shallow pools, each paved in a different color tile-crimson, royal blue, deep green, and violet-that stood out dramatically against the whitewashed walls. Water dripped off the ceiling, a sign that the area had been filled with water before Kitto broke the spell.
“Is it a bathing hall for serpents?” Harp asked. “Look at all the colors. It’s as festive as a carnival.”
“It’s where they incubated their creations,” Liel explained. “The crimson pool was for bleeding out the slaves to feed the new hatchlings.”
“So, not like a carnival,” Boult said.
“Not any carnival I want to go to,” Harp agreed.
While they were talking, Verran wandered up the walkway and crouched down to look at something on the base of one of the columns. The stone pillars had been painted, but the water had eroded most of the plaster and pigment, leaving only clumps of color sticking to the surface.
“What do you think that does?” Verran asked, pointing to a metal square bolted to the wall with a round indentation in the center. “Do you think it’s a trigger?”
“Whatever you do, don’t-” Boult started to say, as Verran reached forward and pushed it. “Touch it.”
“Verran!” Boult shouted angrily as the sound of a metal gear began grinding ominously from somewhere below them. Verran hurried away from the pillar sheepishly as the grinding intensified. A continuous clanking noise that sounded like chains running through a metal pulley echoed against the tiled walls.
“I’d say we have only moments before something really awful happens,” Harp said, pointing to the black goo that was bubbling up from the drains in the middle of the pools.
“I don’t think it’s a trap,” Liel disagreed. “It’s too obvious.”
“If it were a trap, would anyone be stupid enough to just walk up and press the button?” Boult asked. “No offense, Verran.”
“Whether it’s a trap or not, we should leave,” Liel said. The gunk was seeping faster into the pools, covering the bottom, and rising quickly.
“There’s only one way out.” Harp pointed to the archway at the end of the southern walkway. “Unless we go back up the ramp.”
“Let’s go back up the ramp,” Verran urged them.
“The Torque is close,” Harp said. He gestured to the open door at the end of the southern walkway. “We can’t leave it there for Tresco.”
Without waiting for the others to follow, Harp strode down the walkway and disappeared through the door. Liel was close behind him. The gunk was already gushing out of the drain. Boult grinned at Kitto and Verran.
“Do it for Princess Ysabel!” Boult shouted.
“Do it so we don’t get swallowed by that,” Kitto replied as the sludge jetted up into the air. Kitto and Boult hurried into the tunnel behind Liel and Harp. Verran hesitated for a moment, looking longingly at the beam of sunshine streaming down into the pit. Then he ran after the others, moving through the door and into the tunnel just as the geyser of gunk coated the walls and ceiling in thick black sludge.
“What was that?” Verran asked as they stood a safe distance inside the arched tunnel.
“More proof that yuan-ti are the most vile creatures on the planet?” Harp said, shuddering.
“It was probably a cleaning system,” Liel suggested. “They sprayed the room down periodically.”
“With putrid sludge?” Verran asked dubiously.
“I imagine they used water,” Liel said. “But it has sat in the tanks for a long time.”
“They needed some way to clean up after the eviscerations,” Boult said. He led the way down the short tunnel, which ended at a thickly lacquered door that was not much taller than Harp.
“Got those picks ready?” Harp asked Kitto.
“There’s no lock,” Kitto pointed out.
“Any thoughts on what’s on the other side?” Harp tapped lightly on the door with his fingertips. “When you’re planning your palace, what comes after the torture chamber?”
“Why don’t you just knock and see if the monsters will let us in?” Boult scoffed as Harp gingerly tugged open the door.
The small door opened onto an unexpectedly enormous hall. Twice as long as it was wide, the hall had high, vaulted ceilings supported by two rows of slender columns along each side. Another gallery ran the along the perimeter of the hall. Instead of wall mosaics, stained-glass windows lined the walls of the gallery. When the palace had been above ground, sunlight flooding through the blue and red glass would have lit the hall in patterns of colored light. But now only dim shadows filtered through darkened windows that looked out on the dank subterranean remains of Hisari.