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“Ready?” Dante whispered.

“Yes.”

True to his word, Dante waited as she took her first steps down the stairs. The solid stone walls quickly turned into blocks of open spaces, large enough for a body to be laid in.

Catacombs.

The scent of bone and old material surrounded her as she continued to trace the wall, trying to memorize the path. Occasionally, she accidentally grazed crumbling cloth or smooth bone.

“Stay on the main path. We haven’t explored the other tunnels or openings,” Idris added, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

She tightened her grip on Dante. The stairs were unstable as she slipped on the uneven surfaces. In response, Dante slowed down.

“We are here,” Idris said.

His voice sounded like it was coming from behind them. Rieka tried to focus, but everything was black. Her only anchor was Dante—the warmth of his hand telling her she hadn’t floated out to space. She didn’t want to let go.

Yellow flames burst into life as the smell of oil exploded around her. The dark room erupted with light as the hundreds of lamps instantly were lit.

Rieka blinked at the onslaught.

“If you move forward ten feet, you will see it.”

Reluctantly releasing Dante, she followed Idris’s advice. The yellow oil lamps grew brighter and brighter until she could see everything.

Time stopped.

It was just as Lilian had described it.

Chapter 21

DantestaredatRiekaas she stood transfixed.

She hadn’t moved in five minutes. He would have been the same if Rieka hadn’t distracted him. She was fast invading all his thoughts. But the image of her standing in front of the mosaic was seared into his mind. Just like the vision Sypha had shared with him. The faceless woman; the key to finding the tomb. Except the woman was no longer faceless. She was undeniably Rieka.

“I think it’s the original,” Idris said. “The colors have survived this long because it has been kept in complete darkness for over eleven thousand years.”

Dante nodded as he moved to stand closer to Rieka. She half-turned and slowly blinked at him. Her eyes were almost entirely tinged red.

The mosaic was breathtaking. It followed the circular room and created the illusion that anyone who stood at the center of the room was a part of the scene. Monstrous waves crashed along the pristine white foreshore. A lone golden temple stood in the distance, towering over the island. Its golden archway was engulfed in violet flames.

The fall of Atlantis.

The island was a perfect snapshot in time. Its white shores continued to be battered by a tumultuous ocean. A twinkling night sky was painted above them; a constellation Dante did not recognize. It was likely to have not been observed in more than eight thousand years, or however old the Arx was.

Idris hovered near the door as he watched them intently.

“Will this still be open when the vault closes?” Rieka asked.

“We are searching to see if any of the other tunnels lead to the Arx,” Idris answered. “But if we can’t find one, this entrance will be closed off with the vault.”

“At least it will be protected.” Rieka moved closer to the mosaic until she was standing almost nose to the tile. “Vandana has a sword in this version.”

Like the statue.

Dante looked at the silhouette of the lone figure, a woman. Her long, vibrant red hair hung in a loose braid, and she stared out into the distance. In the mosaic, Vandana wore a flowing black gown, not armor. Vandana loosely gripped the sword with her left hand, her fingers tinged red. With blood. In the reflection of the polished metal of the sword, glimpses of fallen, mutilated bodies could be seen strewn across the once-white sand. A massacre.

When had the myth of the warrior queen disappeared and been replaced by the image of the martyr and maiden? His mother, Dion, would have dedicated her life to finding the tomb, just like his father, if she’d known Vandana was a warrior.