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Her fingers stalled over one spine. The title was in an unrecognised script. She frowned and pulled it from the shelf. She saw, with a quick flip through the pages, that the same unknown language filled the entire book.

But one of the other witches must’ve put it there.

She thought it similar to the script on her torn page, but with Lysander so close, she didn’t want to check.

Tucking the book under her arm, she made to leave the chamber.

Lysander grabbed her arm as she passed. “Why do you need a book on Thaalrun?”

Idonea looked from the book to him. “You know this?”

“I know it is the written form of Drakthaal.” His eyes narrowed. “The original language used for dragons.”

She hummed lowly. “Nellith never taught me.”

His hand fell away. “Does this have to do with the relic?”

“You mean the relic of a dragon’s heart?” She smirked. “The more knowledge I have, the better.”

She held the book out. “Can you read this … or you just know what it looks like?”

“The Order’s Archivists had some translations,” he said. “But I never learnt.”

She kept her eyes on him, watching the twitch of his jaw. The way his left hand flexed.

“While we wait for night, I’m going to study this.” She tucked the book back under her arm.

Lysander walked with her to the cottage but didn't go inside.

“I must see to other matters,” he said.

She looked back out through the door. “And the door?”

He sighed. “I must lock it. It’d be expected.”

Idonea gave a sharp nod and watched while the door closed, locking her in once more. At least she’d hear anyone’s entry; the door bar wasn’t silent.

She went over to the table, placing the book down. After a momentary thought, she pushed it aside. The hatch was heavy, her muscles straining to open it.

Alone, her boots rang against the steps, echoing louder. In the dark, she guided herself with touch against the rough wall. She lit the first sconce she came upon.

She checked if the hatch into Alcaeus’ was locked, and to her dismay, it was.

Back down in the hallway, she looked at the walls, and where the passage led. It didn’t add up. This space surely had to be more than a passageway. The houses were so close together.

She took a deep breath. She had to have missed something. The walls themselves gave up no more secrets. No more hidden panels. But those Lodamante sheets meant the basement was larger than the walls gave. They had to slide somewhere.

Idonea turned her attention to the wall sconces. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. The lamp she'd brought made little light against the stone, and the seams between the sconces and the wall were narrow. She would have to look closely. One by one, she ran her fingers along them, pushing and pulling.

It wasn’t until the final one, the one near the stairs to Alcaeus’, that she noticed it. A copper fixture jutted out below the sconce, small enough to be missed by a passing eye.

She pulled it down. The wall ground as it swung open, stale dust stirring and itching at her nose.

The dust was the least of her problems. The stagnant stench of old blood assaulted her senses.

Someone once slept in the secret room. A wooden framed bed sat shoved in one corner. A dampness pervaded the air.

Against her better judgement, Idonea walked in.