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The walls in the cavern were etched with various symbols. Dagmara scanned the entirety of the stone, her eyes landing on letters. Squinting her eyes, she saw a sentence written in large text. The words were strikingly similar to words in the Ilusaurian language, and she almost thought the sentence was in Ilusaurian at first. However, she couldn’t translate it.

Dagmara’s head began to spin. She reached out to the wall for support, then slowly sat. She could sense Martine glancing in her direction, but Dagmara ignored her guard. As long as she sat nonchalantly, maybe Martine wouldn’t catch on that something was wrong with her.

Dagmara caught her breath, letting her vision refocus, and spotted a disfigured boulder against the wall. Her eyes narrowed, unable to make it out in the dim light. She rose slowly despite her throbbing head and neared closer, realizing it wasn’t a boulder at all.

It was an animal.

CHAPTER 29

Dagmara

Darting over to the figure, Dagmara dropped to a crouch to examine it closer. “Martine!”

Martine was circling the perimeter of the room, running her hand against the stone to confirm there were no other exits. She halted, immediately at Dagmara’s side.

On closer inspection, this animal wasn’t anything Dagmara recognized. It was the size of a wolf, but its fur was an iridescent silver, and its underbelly was replaced with something scale-like. Its fur had a violet tint. Its jowls were gaunt, mimicking a skeleton, and its rib cage protruded from its chest at an awkward angle. Long talons extended from its webbed paws, and the creature’s eyes were sealed shut.

What was this animal? Was it responsible for the crater or the clearing of the town?

“It looks dead,” Martine noted.

She was right, of course. Its chest was unmoving.

“Then we shouldn’t touch it,” Dagmara replied, shuddering. She rose from the ground, returning her attention to the sentence on the wall.

“Martine, what language is this?” Dagmara asked.

Martine straightened, back on her feet. “It is a dialect of Ilusaurian, usually only spoken in the southern region.”

“Any chance you speak it?”

“It is what we spoke in Nouchenne.” Martine nodded, taking a step closer and squinting her eyes in the dim light.

Impatiently, Dagmara waited. It was no longer than eight words, so it couldn’t be taking her that long to translate. What was taking Martine so long? Would she tell her the truth of what was etched into the stone?

Then Martine snapped her head to Dagmara, her eyes surprisingly wide. “Tell me again why you wanted to come here.”

Dagmara startled. “What?”

“Tell me.”

“I was curious.”

“Enough of the lies, Princess,” Martine demanded, her hand shifting to the sword at her waist. “Why?”

“I saw it circled on a map,” Dagmara blurted out.

“A map?”

“Sabien said it was business for the king, and that’s all I know,” Dagmara said. She gestured to the wall. “What does it say?”

“It says ‘The First Prince will rise.’” Martine’s face was hardened like a soldier, but a glimmer of fear flashed across her eyes.

A pit formed in Dagmara’s stomach. The First Prince. That is who the assassins were connected to. Why would King Claude have this city cleared? Was he the one who wrote the text on the wall?

There was a clatter of hooves above them, and both girls slipped into the shadows, away from the harsh light that cut through the opening in the earth. A shadow raced across the sun, and the loud hooves signaled that there were multiple horses above, moving fast.

“Are there others in town?” Dagmara whispered.