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“The fuck is this?” I mutter.

“Pretty sure it’s a dungeon,” she says.

“I’ve seen the dungeon.”

“Wait, you didn’t show me the dungeon?”

“You were too busy waxing poetic about pots.”

“Seriously? How could you not show me the—”

“Key,” I interrupt, pointing behind her. “Look.”

She turns to see what I’m seeing, both of us staring at the etches in the wall that seems random at first, but upon further inspection, it’s clear they’re carvings of some kind.

“They’re so perfect,” Key notes, running her fingers along the grooves. “It’s like a machine did this.”

If I hadn’t lived the life I had, it would almost feel silly to say, “Or magic.”

“Oh my God,” she gasps, almost sounding excited. “Do you think…?”

“I think the writing is on the fucking wall.”

The carvings depict a woman—a beautiful one, one that looks too real to be carved—with wild curls and a willowy frame. There are dozens of eerily perfect etchings of this woman in different scenarios; the highest image shows her offering up something, something that looks suspiciously like the bridle I’ve been desperately searching for. In another, we see it being held by a large man with shoulder-length hair draped in fur and a kilt.

“Do you think that’s your ancestor?”

“It has to be,” I murmur, my eyes still scanning the other carvings.

There is a carving of the woman—thekelpie, no doubt—weepingin the dark. Another where she looks enraged, baring her teeth. We see more depictions of my ancestor: leading his army, standing on a hill holding the bridle high…but it’s the very last carving that gives me pause.

“It’s them,” Key breathes, touching the last image.

The kelpie holds the bridle out to my ancestor, and then he takes it, holding it high above his head. There’s triumph etched in his features, and something like anger grips my chest.

Why did you betray him?

Even as my heart starts to race, I can hear Key’s soft breathing beside me, and oddly, it’s soothing. It reminds me I’m not alone. Not right now, at least.

“What do you think it means?”

I rise from the crouched position I’m in, dusting off my pants as she does the same. “I don’t know,” I tell her. “But it seems like this is where he kept her locked away.”

“You did say he locked her up…after.”

“I did.” I stare at the last image, my mind reeling. “I don’t know if I blame him. Not after what she did.”

From the corner of my eyes, I see Key’s eyes avert to the floor, and hear her whispered “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” I turn to once again press my knuckle to her chin, forcing her eyes up. “It’s not your fault. All right?”

Her eyes, even in this light, are so bright that they seem to cast a glow about the entire room. “It’s not?”

“You’re no more to blame for the past than I am,” I say, surprised to find that I mean it. “You’re here now. You’re trying to make things right. That’s what matters.”

Her lip quivers, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of how close we are. I can viscerally recall the memory of her warm breath againstmy mouth back in that barn, can feel the heat of her skin pressed against mine.

Would it be so bad?