Free The Drowned Vault by N. D. Wilson Page B

floor. Through the door behind her, Cyrus could see the shower spasming out the last of the water still in its gullet.
    “Water’s cold this morning,” Antigone said. Cyrus caught her eyes and then rolled his own. “What?” Antigone glanced at Arachne and then her brother. “What’s going on?”
    Arachne straightened in her chair. “Rupert has given me a list of things to work on with you while you’re locked in.” She smiled. “And I’m going to help you clean and freshen this old place.”
    Antigone blinked in surprise. She looked at her brother, confused by his obviously dark mood.
    “That’s terrific,” she said. “Lists are terrific, and we could definitely use help in here.”
    “Oh, gosh …” Cyrus stood and moved past his sister toward the bathroom.
    “It’s cold!” Antigone said. “You might wanna wait.”
    Cyrus shut the bathroom door behind him.
    A really cold shower isn’t too terrible when you know that you’re going to walk outside into frying-pan heat. Tight cool skin, tight cool muscles, and a near ice-creamheadache were all solid preparation for a long morning in the sun. But Cyrus wasn’t going to have a long morning in the sun. A long morning, yes. Sun, no. Air, no. Grass, no. Sky, no. Spiders, probably. Dust, for sure. Two girls talking about paint colors and decor or whatever they called it, almost certainly. And a list that sounded a whole lot like homework. Training wasn’t supposed to be homework. Training was diving. Fencing. Running. Climbing. Sailing. Shooting.
    Cyrus shut his eyes and ducked his chin to his chest. That was the only way he could fit under the low showerhead.
    Water that had obviously been ice thirty seconds before, and would likely be ice again in another minute, splashed irregularly down his neck and back. Despite the loud pipes, Cyrus could hear the girls laughing.
    His new boss was smaller than he was, and she had a face like an almost creepy doll. If almost creepy dolls could also be incredibly beautiful. Her eyes weren’t real. They couldn’t be. Looking into them was like … what? Falling? Tripping? Like taking an awkward extra step on stairs when the stairs have already run out. Her eyes—that’s why she was in charge. Or at least why Cyrus didn’t argue about it. Her eyes were the only part of her that said she wasn’t just another pretty girl a few years older than him. Her eyes were all the way old.
    Like the moon, Cyrus thought. They had craters, butnot literally. There was a lot of damage in there. Old hurt. But they were young eyes, too. Not like Nolan’s. There was no anger in them, no hardness. They could sparkle like the sun on water. Like the sun through water.
    Cyrus let his mind drift away, and he was back under the lake’s surface, looking up at Arachne’s silhouette, looking at the sun’s golden rays slicing through the blue and the floating, weightless spider army all around. That’s what her eyes were like.
    He hadn’t argued with her, but he had sulked. No one likes a sulker.
    Cyrus bent his knees and tipped back his head, letting the glacier water tighten his face. The week was going to be awful, that much was obvious. But he wasn’t going to sulk again.
    The pipe shook in the wall. The showerhead quivered. Cyrus opened his eyes wide.
    “No.” He tried to jump back, but too late. Steam whistled at him. His bare feet skidded and he fell as the scalding water lashed across his skin. Yelling, he rolled on the tile and pinned himself into the corner, out of direct fire. But even the spattering drops were pure pain. Wincing, straining, he stretched his leg up through the lava lasers and grabbed at the handle with his toes.
    Outside, overlooking the tented green, the red-winged blackbird was sitting on a windowsill in the sun. Sheheard the yells, and she knew the voice. She knew the sound of water in the pipes. She wasn’t worried. She shut her eyes against the morning and nestled her head beneath her wing.
    When Cyrus