Crimes of the Vault

Chapter Seventeen

The day slipped by with Tempest locked in her office trying to ignore the pull that had buried itself in her stomach, trying to tug her out of her seat and into the corridors of the Stronghold. Every bit of her senses was enveloped by that intoxicating spice. It set her on edge every time she came to realize that it was there again, it sent her her appetite away, made her sleep yet hyper-aware of everything at the same time.

She felt as if she was suffocating every time she took a breath, and she was almost positive that sitting in the cramped office filled with stale air and the scent of residual fruit that she had left untouched after the meeting, wasn't helping.

Rather quickly after their conversation, Mac left to warn the guards around the Vault that they might have a sudden surge of new arrivals with the hunts of the Imperials, whilst Reed went with him with the sole intention of setting up more patrols for the border.

Wixar had left her with several books collected from the library that he thought might benefit their search for loopholes into the prophecy, or doorways into the Underworld. At the same time, he had tasked her with writing an appeal to the Vampires and the Hellion.

It had been hours of writing and rewriting these letters over and over again until her hand began cramping, and each time she decided to take a break, she was taken by the spice and set herself back to work as fast as her stiff hands would allow her, desperate for a distraction.

By the time she came out of her stupor again, finally with the letters finished to her liking, the wording perfected and the wax seal already pressed over the envelope, it was dusk outside in the Vault, the sun lingering a little ways above the horizon still, though darkness was quickly descending on them.

Tempest leaned back in her seat and revelled in the silence of the room, though she could hear the noise beyond the stone walls of the Stronghold, people excitedly preparing for the bonfire of that evening.

She found herself smiling at the idea. It had been a fair few days since she'd attended the bonfire, and Tempest was beginning to miss it, and the people she always saw there. She missed them despite seeing them constantly throughout the day when she visited the farms and the village, it was a different mentality than what they always had at the bonfires.

That, and she knew for a fact that Gar would be breaking out the ale as he always did, and while she wasn't the biggest fan of the drink, she needed something to help her loosen up.

Tempest stood from her seat, pausing as a wave of dizziness hit her, coupled with the spice that kept her senses in a constant state of fuzzy haze. Her arms stretched over her head for a moment, sighing at the popping in her back, stiff from hours of staying seated, and finally she shuffled around the desk, tucking the letters into the pockets of her trousers, but she left the books sitting on the desk where she would get them tomorrow.

And though she had spent hours reading in the office, she had come out with nothing. Wixar had been right, there was so little information on the Underworld, and what they did know was second and third hand information given to them by Warlocks that had long since met their demise.

Not for the first time, Tempest felt a swell of disgust toward the Imperials that had murdered her kind under the command of the Emperor.

She strode quickly through the empty halls, all the helping hands having gone out to the yards to prepare for the bonfire, running up the stairs to get to her door, though she struggled with the key when it came time to go inside.

She could have sworn she felt eyes on her back, stabbing into her skin, leaving her casting glancing over her shoulder every few seconds as she fumbled to unlock the door, somehow managing to put it in upside down before she got it right. She slipped into the room quickly, nearly slamming the door behind her in the anxiety-induced flood that had become her body.