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Isak frowned, but he’d learned not to ignore Viskae when she was focused like this, so he slowed his steps and stared at the wall to his left. He hadn’t even noticed them, but Viskae was right. Crude symbols had been engraved in the stone around them, small and cramped and of no alphabet he recognised.

But I do,Viskae replied with something he rarely heard—excitement.

Any time you want to share what they mean would be great.

That one there is an instruction for making a traditional saltcake. It’s served on birthdays.

Isak pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation giving way to a sudden wish that he could glare at Viskae. Hard to do that when the saint was inside his own head.You’re telling me someone went to the trouble of carving a birthday cake recipe on a crypt wall?

I doubt it was a crypt back then. All this has been built on top of the old buildings. But yes. There are other things—reminders to oil swords for the soldiers, a list of attendees at the queen’s memorial, a chronicle of an epic ball game.

Lucky bastards.No one had been playing with Isak’s balls lately, and his dick reminded him of that every time his mind drifted.

It usually drifted to how damn hot Maia looked when she was glaring and snarling at him.

So this staircase is carved with miscellaneous shit? That’s helpful.

It is,Viskae agreed, ignoring his sarcasm.This is my native language. It means this building once belonged to us who became saints.

Isak let out a low whistle, getting everyone’s attention.

“Ah, yes, you’ve noticed the carvings, “Tynenn said with a bright grin. “They’re the first of the treasures kept down here. It’s estimated these walls are over a thousand years old, maybe even two thousand years old. They Saintsgarde itself.”

“Impressive,” Isak murmured, wondering how much further until they reached the bottom. He was already feeling claustrophobic and they hadn’t even reached the crypt yet. Plus, these archives being named after a place that usually housed the dead didn’t fill him with sunshine and happiness. Dread and rain clouds, more like.

He sucked in a slow breath to ease the tight anxiety sitting on his chest and shuddered when power tingled along his tongue. Similar to how it felt to breathe Saintsgarde air with magic so thick around the Nysavion Hold, but darker. He drew another breath and felt the monster within him respond with a slow uncurling, like a cat stretching in front of a roaring fire.

It’s here,Viskae breathed, reverent in her excitement now. Isak got the sense if she’d had a body, she’d be grabbing his arm and jumping up and down.It’s here, I can feel it. This is what’s been drawing me to Saintsgarde.

Her words were a shot of liquid relief through his veins, a bright burst of hope to his cloudy soul. The monster in himwas almost purring at the thick magic all around them. All at once, the persistent pain from his bad leg eased, tingles moving through the muscles. He didn’t want to think about that too long—how the air was so rife with the dark saints’ power that it had sunkintohim.

“Whatisthat?” Harth breathed, the prince’s shoulders stiffening, his next step hesitating.

“Poison,” one of his guards muttered with revulsion—Grumpier, the black-haired fae male with a wicked tattoo running from his cheek down his neck. Beside him, Grumpy and Grumpiest grunted in agreement.

“Old power seeped in these walls,” Tynenn explained. “Fae lived and died and bled here. That leaves a residue.”

A shiver went down Isak’s spine. Lived and died and bled. Like the sacrifices to the saints that opened the Venhausian circle.

“How many?” Isak asked before he could convince his mouth it was a bad idea. “How many people died here?”

“It’s impossible to know,” the librarian answered. “We have the biggest surviving collection of books from that era, but we’re still missing so many records, whole decades a blank we’ll never be able to fill. It was a turbulent time in history, as I’ll be able to show you very soon because the crypt is right below.”

Well, if Tynenn Cassel was going to murder them, they’d find out about it soon. Isak looked back to share a glance with Anzhelika. She nodded, her hand already resting on the handle of a dagger sheathed at her hip.

Isak watched the three guards between him and the librarian tense as they reached the bottom and took that as validation for his own paranoia.

“If you’re looking for an ancient relic,” Tynenn said, preceding Harth into a warmly lit, low-ceilinged space thatcontinued for as far as Isak could see, “the first place to search is the display.”

Isak was about to ask what the displaywas,but that seemed unnecessary when he took a few steps into the cavernous space and found what must be fifty glass cabinets, each holding an object. He spotted vases, swords, shields, half-broken pots, utensils he couldn’t name, and even a doll with a shattered face.

“It’s a museum,” he murmured, standing in place to take in the area around him. There was so much history here it was like walking back in time.

It’s like going home,Viskae sighed wistfully. He remembered all those stories that hinted the saints had been fae before they’d become powerful, immortal beings worshipped as gods. What had her life been like before that? He hadn’t had the nerve to ask if she recalled it.

“Remember we’re looking for a box,” Isak said, scanning the display and stepping asidejustas Anzhelika was about to elbow him out of her path. A little smirk curved his mouth. She scowled. “I don’t know how big it is, only that it’ll be gold.”

“If it’s as old as you suspect,” Tynenn mused, watching the group of them disperse to search the glass cases, “it could have tarnished or rusted. There’s no box in this collection, but there could be shards of it over here. We don’t entirely know what these used to belong to.”