“Okay. What’s the trap?”
Pyrrha took up a piece of trash from a box that had half-tumbled over—a piece of broken pipe—and tossed it, underhand, toward the door.
It shivered into bits before Nona’s eyes, and a fine patter of dust came out the other end and dribbled on the corridor floor.
“It’s a shit version of Mercymorn’s old entropy trap,” said Pyrrha. “Not half as good. Done entirely through wards—brilliant—but entirely reliant on wards—f**king ridiculous. Good at keeping people out though … and almost impossible for anyone but another Lyctor to break. See what it’s made out of? That’s blood. Blood wards age, and they burn out if you make them work too hard … And I’m sorry, No-No, but that’s where you come in.”
Nona didn’t understand. “If you want us to stand here chucking stuff at it we’ll be here all day.”
