Page 109 of The Serpent Prince

Imani crept deeper into the small, narrow hallway between the cells. After what felt like an hour of walking, she found a door standing at the end of the corridor. It looked nondescript, and she wondered if anything important would be on the other side.

Only one way to find out.

She placed her hands, one holding her wand, flat against the wood and asked her shadows to unlock it. Veins blackening, her shadows slinked out from her wand and fingertips, swirling through the keyhole. A loud clank sounded, and Imani stared in wonder at the door, which was now glowing around all edges, peeking through the cracks. Her power groaned at the strength of the door. There was intense magic protecting it. She’d never had this much trouble unlocking a door before.

With a twist of the knob, she grunted as she turned until the door finally creaked open. It was heavy, and without her shadows for support, she wouldn’t have been able to open it.

More bright light came barreling at her, enough that she had to squint her eyes as they adjusted. Once the door was open enough, she slid inside, careful not to touch anything.

There it was—a slip. And just like the one she’d seen in the mountain with the dwarves, this slip was stabilized, with nasty-looking lightning and churning Fabric contained in a tunnel. The blazing light made it impossible to see what was on the other side, but if Imani had to guess, it was the royal vaults.

Steeling herself for another walk through a slip, Imani imagined herself holding the Drasil. She imagined its power thrumming beneath her fingers and running her hands over the smooth wood. It was enough to push her feet forward. She took a deep breath and held it.

The slip was similar to the dwarves’—nothing like the doorway that took them to the Under—but far longer. Imani was gasping for breath by the time she reached the end, where another door greeted her.

Fumbling with her wand, she called on her shadows. They obeyed and, once again, a locked door was opened for her. This one had even more wards and defensive spells coating it, but Imani shrouded herself in shadows and stepped through.

Such defensive magic was useless against her doraca power.

The light faded, yet sconces with flames made shadows—her shadows—dance along the stone walls.

Sucking in deep lungsful of air, she surveyed her surroundings. She was in a vault, but one with many doors. None of her clues had given her any indication which door to choose, and Imani stood frozen with indecision for several minutes. Finally, she decided trial and error would be her best bet. She hoped if she made a mistake, it wouldn’t be a deadly one.

More defensive spells and wards shielded the doors from intruders, but Imani cloaked herself in shadow again and went to the first door on the right.

Inside was a vast room with high shelves, storing everything from jars of gods-know-what to books and scrolls. More sconces lit the walls, and Imani started weaving between the stacks. It seemed to be a library of some kind, albeit an old one in poor disarray and quite disorganized. The thick coat of dust on everything told her no one had been here for a long time.

At the end of the room were tall, dark windows, too dark to see anything but her reflection. Imani raised her wand and let her darkness swoop through the room, extinguishing the flames. Impenetrable darkness overcame her, but she expertly called it back and held her face up to the glass.

Squinting as her eyes adjusted to the dark, Imani could just make out a house and a few buildings. Then houses, then gleaming streets made of what looked like gold. No sky or stars shown above, just inky blackness. Indeed, Imani could barely make out anything in the dim light, but as she looked higher, the buildings became larger and more ornate until she was staring at a looming castle towering high above everything else.

This was a city, hidden deep inside the mountain.

She gasped.

This was Zorah.

CHAPTER 39

Still in shock over what lay out before her, Imani almost forgot her reason for coming—but then she came to her senses and lit the end of her wand again. She was in the royal vaults in a library—the royal library of Zorah, if she had to guess—and she had a manuscript to find. Manuscript 1148 was what Ara’s note had said, the one she’d found in the trunk all those months ago. Her last and final clue.

She grew frustrated working through the mess on the shelves, but manuscripts were rolled and easy to spot amongst the clutter. She vaguely wondered how long she’d been down there and if morning had come yet up above. She’d be missed by mid-afternoon if she didn’t hurry up.

An entire shelf of manuscripts held nothing. It must have taken her another hour to go through two more shelves. The fourth shelf held a mix of items—jars, books, and manuscripts all piled together in an intricate stack of items.

Then she sensed something different. Defensive magic swirled around her head and pulsed against her palms. This magic seemed unique to any she’d encountered before. It felt old—ancient, really.

Her shadows responded to her call, but as much as they pressed against the barrier, they couldn’t penetrate it. It reminded her of the magic—also old—that guarded the master witches’ restricted section in the library back in Stralas.

Imani remembered the complicated spells she had to wield in order to crack a hole in the previous shield, an alteration spell with a gravity shockwave enchantment then coupled with shadows to pass through. It was worth a try.

With her wand out, Imani began casting.

While it was similar to the master witches’ defenses, this was far more sophisticated and powerful. After almost a dozen tries, she collapsed on the floor with her head in her hands. What was she even doing? She had no idea what this spell hid. It could be nothing.

But a gut feeling told her it was something important—something critical.

So, with a sigh, she stood again and cast. But this time, she let her shadows build up even deeper and darker around her. Then she pushed. And pushed. And pushed.