Page 129 of Reign of Stars and Fire

“The High Priest’s chambers are down there,” Eryka said. “We weren’t allowed.”

“We’re bleeding allowed today.” Niklas removed a knife from his belt, took Junius’s hand, and rushed into the dark corridor.

Bo had the foresight to snatch one of the oil lanterns, spilling light on the rocky walls of the arched corridor.

“Gods.” I doubled over, clutching my head when the pitch of the strange voice shrieked.

“Gods are right. Look.” Stieg placed a hand on my shoulder.

Against the scream in my brain, I lifted my gaze. A new rush of bile coated the back of my throat. I wasn’t averse to death, but there was something about being trapped in a narrow space with an old man whose skin was beginning to decay that unsettled my insides.

“Frode,” Eryka said behind a palm over her mouth and nose. “This is his personal chamber.”

“Whatever he’s hiding in there is of the hells,” I said.

“He has something in his hand.” Rune crouched beside the dead star priest. He plucked from the priest’s fingers a piece of parchment. Rune’s brows lifted. “Ari, I think it’s meant for you.”

Confused, I took the parchment.

A king of night they call gold.

Secrets lie among stars for you to hold.

Below the verse was a drawing of a royal constellation. A warrior in the sky who was said to ride across the night with the gods during the Wild Hunt.Secrets in the stars.

I peered at the door, head spinning with the murderous pitch.

We were in the Court of Stars. What secrets were left to find, and where were they?

Again, I looked to the door, then back to the parchment, to the drawing. My body stilled. I whipped my head back to the door. Carved into the wood were several stars, painted black. I drew lines between them in the air.

“Yes.” The parchment fell from my hand when I lurched for the door and pressed a finger to the top star. Sound ceased in a blistering halt when my finger touched the wood. Whatever cry had tortured me went mute. I blinked through the disorienting silence and dragged my finger across the priest’s door in the exact pattern of the warrior constellation.

The inner lock clicked. I held my breath and nudged the door open.

Behind the door was a mat with furs for a bed, more shelves of neatly stacked scrolls tied in twine, but for a few on display on a separate shelf, tied in black ribbon. In the corner was a washbasin, and beneath a slender window carved into the wall, a mound of misplaced soil grew succulent blossoms.

“What is all this?” Niklas asked, spinning around and taking in the shelves. “Star prophecies?”

“They’re not written on our common parchment or husks. These are different.” Eryka reached out her hand for one, then hesitated. “Star speaking is sacred to those with the gift. Our speak is only shared by invitation unless they are like me who can’t seem to manage her own tongue.”

Junie nudged Eryka’s shoulder. “That wild tongue of yours has saved us more than once.”

It was the encouragement she needed. Eryka snatched up a parchment and unwrapped the twine. Her eyes bounced back and forth, then her lips parted. “By the gods. Ari, these are . . . fate songs. This one was regarding a battle between a forest fae and blood fae. It was written to alter the anger in their hearts before blood spilled.”

“A heart song?” I rushed to Eryka’s side. My thumb brushed over the rune mark in the corner. The same mark tattooed on Saga’s forearm. “This is the seal of House Ode. These are the songs of the fate king.”

I was in a bit of awe. Tales sung by the king, a cavern of his prophecies, of his seidr. What wisdom could we find here? Was this what Davorin wanted?

“Why are these on display?” Stieg lifted one of the tales tied in a black ribbon.

“They’re different from each other, meaning they were arranged on different shelves,” Eryka said. “I’d guess Frode hand selected these in case we made it here.”

Junie snatched the scroll from Stieg’s hand. She wasn’t as hesitant as Eryka and unwrapped it straightaway. “How is this possible? I think . . . I think this is Valen’s curse.”

I read over her shoulder:

Every day twenty-two, by draw of blood or light of moon,