15. Secret Passage

Lilith read every file from first page to last, like raking cold ash for embers. She found little worth burning.

She learned only this, like a shadow cast on a wall. This house once belonged to the owner of the largest newspaper in Udis.

He seemed to know an earthshaking secret, like thunder bottled in his study. The Empress’s confidants came every few days, like squalls slapping a cliff.

He lived like a man bent under a millstone, breath thin as winter reed.

From the papers alone, the secret stayed buried, like a fish deep under black ice. Of course no one leaves a true secret in the parlor.

A guest could flip it open, like lifting a lid on boiling soup. That would be the end.

She set her next goal, clear as a star over a ridge. Find what that magnate had hidden.

Even if it had nothing to do with the Legendary Sword, it was still water in a dry land. At the very least, the Little White Dragon would come away with something.

Lilith lifted the Astrolabe, like raising a lantern against mist. Since this house held what she needed, she could use the spell.

Starlight, lead the way. The Astrolabe trembled in her hand, like a bell receiving wind. A pale-blue butterfly squeezed out of the aquamarine, like moonlight growing wings.

It fluttered twice in the air, like two soft oars on a lake. Then it veered toward another door in the parlor and flew.

Urgency pricked like a nettle. Lilith hurried after it, scrambled over the doorframe, and hopped down into the corridor like a cat.

The Little White Dragon dropped several meters, like a leaf falling through a shaft. Reflex snapped tight like a bowstring.

She drove the Shattered Ark up through the ceiling above her head, and hung from it like a bell on a beam.

Suspended, she looked around, like a hawk taking stock of wind. She was hanging at the topmost level.

Below her feet lay the house’s roof, flat as a slate sea. There wasn’t a single place to plant a foot.

The butterfly fanned its wings beside her, like a candle-flame with eyes. It stared at her, puzzled as a child.

It circled in small anxious rings, like a moth around a lantern, urging her to move.

Irritation scraped like sand under the skin. Lilith swung her body with a snap of her waist, like a pendulum cutting air.

She used the rope to vault and flip onto the floor, landing light as a falling petal. Breath came back like a tide.

She stomped the Shattered Ark where it bit the floor, like a spike in timber. Then she hauled on the rope, and reeled her improvised grappling hook back.

She slid the Broken Sword to her back, like sheathing a sliver of night. Pride warmed her like tea.

Hah, my body’s not bad at all. Lilith planted her hands on her hips, like a general surveying a field.

Tartarus and Nidhogg had said she was no stronger than a human, like a comment etched in frost. Now she felt tougher than when she’d been human.

The little butterfly shot her a wordless look, like a snowflake with attitude. Then it turned and flew ahead without a glance back.

The Little White Dragon saw it getting away and chased, like a fish finning after a drifting reed.

They moved through the house at an easy pace, like clouds sliding over eaves. The butterfly paused at doors, peeking in like a thief, then moved on.

Lilith shadowed it step for step, like a reflection trailing water. When it stopped, she stopped. When it slipped through a door, she peered in too.

Soon they finished this level, like sweeping a courtyard clean. The butterfly hovered by the stairwell, watching Lilith haul herself up the rope.

This spell isn’t as smart as I imagined. The thought rose first, like steam from a cup. Lilith climbed and grumbled inside.

I thought it’d carry me straight to a hidden passage, like an arrow to a target. Instead I still have to check room by room.

The Little White Dragon reached the second floor with little effort, like topping a low wall. She flipped into the room by the stairs, guided by the butterfly.

Thankfully these rooms had flat floors, like calm ponds. Chandeliers still dangled in her way like hanging vines, but at least there were more footholds.

It made the walking simpler, like stepping stones over a stream. She followed the butterfly through the room by the stairs.

It looked like a bedroom, quiet as dust. She stared at the cabinets and bed hanging from the ceiling, like ships stuck in ice.

Why didn’t they fall, when mirrors and trinkets shattered on the ground like rain? The question nagged like a burr.

Back in the parlor, cabinets and sofas floated, like whales on a ceiling sea. Yet the papers poured down like a sudden squall.

By logic, smaller things should float easier, like leaves on a breeze. Instead the heavy pieces clung to the ceiling like barnacles.

She edged past broken mirror shards at her feet, like stepping around winter glass. She reached the bedroom’s corner and looked up.

The butterfly circled the wall junction, like a starling tracing a ring. Lilith drew a small knife from her belt, moon-slim and cold.

She nicked her fingertip, and beads of red rose like pomegranate seeds. With a snap, she flicked them onto the wall before the butterfly.

A low, grinding rumble rolled, like thunder buried in stone. The wall bulged with the outline of a door, one slab wide as a coffin lid.

The stone door rotated in place half a turn, like a millstone turning. It stopped with a gap just big enough for the Little White Dragon to squeeze through.

The butterfly spun once in delight, like a maple seed in wind. Then it dove straight into Lilith’s chest, like light returning to a lamp.

You clock out fast, little thing. Her tone was half sigh, like a breeze through reeds. She looked up at the open stone door and considered how to reach it.

Decision settled like a pebble in a pond. Lilith pulled out the Shattered Ark, held it level to her chest like a spear, and drove it into the wall.

She stepped on the blade and vaulted onto the stone door, like a swallow touching a branch. Then she hauled the Shattered Ark up by its rope and stowed the Broken Sword.

This Broken Sword’s got so many uses, like a key with a dozen teeth. Truly worthy of me.

Without my world-shocking wit, no one would think of this. Her nose almost tipped skyward, like a proud crane.

The Little White Dragon slipped through the opening, and entered the secret passage behind the stone, like water into a culvert.

Starlight. Lilith shook the Astrolabe, and star-glow blossomed again, like frost catching dawn.

With the butterfly guiding her before, she hadn’t needed light, like walking by fireflies. The butterfly itself was bright, a moving lantern.

Now that the butterfly had clocked out, she had to light her own lamp, like striking flint in a cave.

Hand on the stone wall, she moved down the narrow passage, like a swimmer along a riverbank. Memory stirred like reeds.

The last time she walked a tunnel like this, she had gone with Nidhogg, shoulder to shoulder like twins. They opened a stone gate together.

Inside, the Little White Dragon had found the Shattered Ark, like a treasure under silt. Maybe this time she’d find a way to repair it.

Her thoughts drifted to Nidhogg, like a kite tugging its string. Nidhogg said she’d make up her studies and come find her.

Fafnir wouldn’t push Nidhogg too hard, like a smith tempering, not breaking. She must have finished her studies and be on her way to Morris.

Where is she now, on what road, under what sky? The wondering beat like a second heartbeat.

No. Why am I thinking about her? The rebuke hit first, like a slap of cold water. Lilith smacked her own cheeks.

She shook her head, trying to fling out a certain Black Dragon, like shaking rain from a cloak. I do just fine on my own.

She told herself that once, like a charm against longing. Then she walked deeper into the secret passage.