"Indeed," Caelan said, his voice a low, dry murmur. He did not take his eyes off the grotesque, pulsating eye in the center of the door. "It is also our way forward. Corvus was always a sentimentalist. He believed a prison's heart should have a heartbeat."
Lucien made a sound of disgust. "He gave it high cholesterol. What does it want? A staring contest?"
"It wants a toll," Caelan replied, the answer whispered to him by the living map in his mind. The lock was bio-arcane, a fusion of flesh and sorcery. It was keyed to a specific bloodline, a security measure to prevent unauthorized entry. A blood offering.
Lucien, ever the pragmatist in a crisis, drew a dagger. "Well, I can't imagine it's picky. A splash of Virellion vintage should do the trick, yes?" He made to slice his own palm open.
