When the message came, she should have been sleeping. Over Agethlea, muted lightning ran through low clouds that shifted restlessly against one another and before sprawling across the tops of buildings. Twisting, thrashing, the storm threw rain against the glass panes of the Lord's Manor and the water clung to the windows, almost pleading to be let inside. Vera was already awake when Agethlea shivered under the harsh hand of the wind -- a violent variation of what blew out the candles of mourners. She couldn't sleep here. She could only lay staring at a ceiling with perfect paint and a spider too lazy to catch much other than its own floating web. That was when Vera felt that terrible burn inside her skin, the one the High Lord told her not to ignore again. A guardsman came with a brief, unsigned note not long after:
It is happening now.
There was no meeting this time. No group vote to determine a team, no advice from the High Lord. Vera found all four members of the group she wanted-- Eithne, Eragos, Grees, Sleeping Tiger -- and woke them where necessary. "We are headed to the Great Libraries," she said to each one. "Bring your weapons and cloak... or go back to sleep."
Vera was equally blunt with Eragos, though her eyes met his for far longer than they should have. His eyes were beautifully dark when too much weighed on his shoulders. Vera remembered that expression from when she caught him practicing in the snow, all those years ago. She felt close to him then. Vera felt closer now, yet so much more removed. They had not been alone in the other's presence since Eragos walked away from her. She had wanted to stay. To open her mouth and speak to him again. But her marked wrist burned hotter. There was no more time. Vera left him to get ready without a word, as she had the others.
The fifth member, Rider Tirad, insisted on coming along. Vera did not know how he found her so late in the night when she stepped so quietly. Rain on the window panes cast small snake-like shadows on Tirad's sleeve as he had approached her in the hall. Vera would have preferred to leave him with Hasna, Bahn and Nieve. Still, she allowed it.
It felt like a dream. The mind never wanted to accept what happened suddenly. Brutal as the ride to the Arches was in the mud and flooding streets, the sky kept splitting open in flashes of hot light that seemed alien to her eyes. Vera could not remember mounting her horse, only the thunder that shook the stables. For the five minutes it took for them to ride to the Arches of Inalen, Vera felt her unease grow. Vera's fingers wound themselves in Dinaden's mane when her hood fell off in a scream of wind. No protection, nothing to lose. How many times had she thought that while riding alone into the night? Now she brought friends into this terrible work. She brought Eragos, whether he would tell her he came on his own or not.
"Alright, we're here!" she called out over the wind. Vera looked back and saw Eithne first. Pain skated across her heart before fading away. Her eyes moved to the rest of her group whose eyes she could not find in the shadows of their cloaks. "Leave your horses, or tie them up if you don't think they can handle themselves!"
She hopped down from Dinaden's back, water splashing against her calves as she walked over to the left base of the Third Arch. There was no use in concealing what they were doing, the weather was good enough for that. Clouds made it impossible to see the top of the monument or the tops of its siblings... Vera pulled her mask from her face and wiped the water from her eyes. Ripping the chain from around her neck, she looked down at the High Lord's ring that hung on the silver like a charm before she slid it over her finger, forming a fist.
The keyhole was on the long side of the Third Arch's base. It was small, almost like a small dent in the stone. There was no ornamentation around the keyhole, but it was cut to fit the stone on the High Lord's ring perfectly. If Vera slid the ring into the right position the marble would swallow her entire fist, a bit of frightening magic when not expected, and then she would be able to push the door open. Unfortunately Ridgar had not described how difficult this would be for someone of her stature to do.
Vera stretched high on her toes with her right arm extended, her body pressed against the marble while water flowed heavily from the top of the Arch. Her hood had fallen off again as she struggled to shove the ring into the small slot above her. Water plastering her hair to her face made it difficult to see what she was doing in the dark.
"You should just let someone taller than you do it," Grees said, for the second time. "Or at least swallow your pride enough to let me lift you up."
"The Knight said I had to...And if you comment on my height one more time, I'll..." Vera gritted her teeth. She felt the stone of the ring click into place. She swallowed some rainwater when she drew in a sharp breath. Her hand disappeared beneath the marble. Her arm now seemed to be welded to the Arch, almost as if she were an extension of the monument. Vera felt the stone harden. "I'll...forgive you. If you help me push."
She looked back at Grees when he didn't respond right away. He was surprised. She realized she hadn't told any of them of the magic, like a fool. Vera would feel badly later.
"Stop staring! Let's go!"
Grees snapped out of it immediately. The larger Rider came over and pressed his hands on either side of her stuck arm. Vera's boots slid against the slick platform as she pushed with him, feeling the stone squeezing her fingers together tighter and tighter. The fingers of her free hand were pale.
The marble door slid back with an awful grinding noise. Grees was breathless when he stumbled inside behind her. Vera was halfway into the large open hall when she finally realized that her ringed hand was free. She looked down at the red skin. The ring, which had been too big for her when she put it into the marble, now fit snugly under her knuckle.
"Son of a bitch," Grees muttered, leaning on his knees for a moment.
Vera tilted her head and looked up. Mirrors were suspended by thin wires above their heads; mirrors of different colored glass and a myriad of jagged shapes. In the space between them, stone staircases could be seen leading to mahogany doors of varied sizes. None were marked with plaques or lettering as one assumed offices would be. The Green Quill worked in the Third Arch too, though all of that Order had evacuated three days ago. Vera felt she could see up all the way to where the Third Arch began to bend. But staircases that she thought to spiral upward were actually more like snakes fighting and swallowing one another, not going in any one direction together. Patterns that Vera thought she recognized, recurring themes like grooved columns or statues or carvings in the marble, turned out to be something else when she glanced at them again. It was even hard to tell what color the tapestries around them were in the dim light -- was there red on that wall? Or a deep purple? Was that figure sewn with such care a bird or an eye? She lowered her gaze and looked straight ahead of them. Four lit hallways stretched from the Great Lobby, none of them looked the same.
"Welcome to the Third Arch of Inalen," Vera murmured.
Now was the time for that religious moment. She needed direction before she had to explain the madness of the Knight she'd met. Would they leave her if she told them that she had not really been given directions? Vera looked down at the floor. The image of the Lady Inalen looked back. It was an enormous mosaic made with shells and glass to portray the first Lady of Beit-Arnil. Inalen's eyes seemed a little too wide for her face. They were all blue, even her pupils. She wore a white dress and a necklace with a green gem at its center. In her hand was a broken hourglass. Sand, portrayed in the mosaic by bits of quartz, poured over her hand. Where the sand emptied, there was a compass with no needle.