Page 14

Talysse

“ G

ale?”

My voice echoes down some unseen corridors. The darkness around me is so thick that it’s nearly palpable. A distant dripping of water is the only sound around.

The Shadowfeeders prefer spawning in the Wastelands, but they won’t shy away from a meal trapped in stonework, too. My bruised legs protest when I stand up and summon a tiny shimmering hallo.

Elders, what is this place?

The steep stairs open to a surprisingly wide passageway. The ceiling is concealed in shadows. The green mosaic floor looks like grass dotted with colorful flowers. Paintings hang on the walls, showing a beautiful woman with long black hair and wide brown eyes. She is dressed like a queen and smiling, but there’s sadness in the curl of her lips. Seems like the pounds of golden jewelry and the diamonds couldn’t make it up for something.

Could that be the concubine of Ornatus? The bards are still singing about her legendary beauty and her black hair, draping to the floor. Ornatus was once a powerful mage and a holy man who took a vow of celibacy before Seuta. But he couldn’t resist the great beauty of Soraya the Songstress and took her as his own, the legend says. To keep up appearances, he hid his lover away from the world, and she was never seen again.

The colors on the paintings are still vivid: there is Soraya, holding hands with a man with a shaved head and tall brow. Ornatus was not very handsome, and now the resemblance to the dead monstrosity above is very obvious.

So, he had found some dark, twisted way to keep guarding his home and his concubine centuries after the city fell to the shadows.

If that was him, then this—

These are the secret chambers where he kept her.

Or her tomb.

The thought makes me shudder. Elders know what dwells here, and all I have is a pocket full of rocks.

Looking around for a weapon, I march down the corridor, followed by my timid light spell. Doors gape on the walls, leading to chambers, untouched by time, save for the layers of dust and the delicate veils of spiderwebs. A peek into the first one nearly gives me a heart attack. A bloodied face with wide, feverish eyes and messy hair stares at me. I immediately throw a rock, and it dissipates into a shimmering net.

It was a stupid mirror.

Well, at least my aim is on the spot.

The room looks like some kind of music salon, with dust-covered instruments lying around. The violin’s strings are broken, and the keys of the clavichord are ripped off as if in great anger. The rage of whoever did this still simmers in the depths of the room. Grabbing a violin and holding it like a club, I sneak to the next one.

It is a lavish bedroom drowned in feminine colors and suffocating luxury. The silk sheets still bear the outline of a lithe body, as if the woman who lived here just left. A mother-of-pearl-incrusted hairbrush is tossed at the nightstand, long, dark hairs still stuck into it. The scent of perfume still lingers, and—is this a hallucination, or is that female voice humming a beautiful melody? I whip my head left and right. Silence. Probably, my tired mind is playing tricks.

Could it be that…Ornatus’s concubine is still here? He was still here! What if he had cast a similar spell on her?

Yet, there is nothing but darkness and memories around. And that faint whiff of perfume and dry roses. Moving deeper into the corridor, another sensation prickles my skin—old magic, rippling the air and buzzing with power. The artifact is close.

I search room after room—nothing. There are also no weapons or even heavy objects like candle holders. It looks as if someone has taken precautions and removed all dangerous objects. Only melancholy lingering in the corners, and extravagant objects witnessing a lonely, isolated life.

The light flickers, a reminder that my arcane powers will be soon depleted. Then I will be all alone in the dark, alone with that eerie melody. It is growing stronger now, louder than my thoughts.

The corridor ends abruptly in a pile of rocks and gravel.

Atos’s hairy armpits! How do I get past it without moving tons of stone?

Hope is fading just like the light above my head.

Maybe Gale is searching for me. The man is resourceful; he overpowered an armed warrior. He’ll probably find some clever way to open that trapdoor and get me out.

Still, there is one last door left. I raise the dusty violin and push the door open.

My feet sink in a crunchy carpet of dry leaves. The room is wider than the rest, and I crane my neck up to see the tall, arched vault. Tiny shimmering crystals are embedded into it, artfully arranged to mimic the stars in the night sky. They bathe the hall stretching before me in cool blueish light. Thank the Elders for the scarce light! Right on time because my meager spell dissipates with a pop. That was it. If something attacks me in this gilded dungeon, the best I can do is smack them with the violin.

Dead trees and dried flowers stretch into the hall; cages with songbirds—now only piles of dusty feathers and bones, hang among the branches.

This must’ve been Soraya’s secret garden. The humming gets louder, and I rub my temples. I can barely tell if it’s still in my head or if it resonates under the vaults.

And there, on a gilded lounger, covered with a blanket of dust, is Soraya. Ornatus’s beloved.

Death has shrunk her, but her long black hair sweeps the floor and still glistens like gossamer in the cool light of the false stars. A wreath of wilted flowers still hugs her brow and some distant light shimmers in the empty eye sockets.

My heart sinks at the tragic revelation. Trapped in her gilded cage while the Shadowfeeders devoured the rest of the city, while her lover clashed his magic with theirs and became a mindless abomination, still obsessed with the idea of keeping her locked, holding her in his possession. The scribbles on the walls above—how many centuries did he spend reminding himself of the only reason he was still alive, until the words that could lead him to her became a mindless ramble, and he became a monster?

Her dry, bony fingers press something to her heart, something that pulls all my senses in like an enchanted maelstrom. It shines through her palm with black iridescence—light that consumes all colors around.

The artifact.

I step closer and reach out. Scrunching my nose, I force the mummified fingers apart, the gray teeth and hollow eyes of Soraya’s skull just inches away from my face. Seconds later, the Flint lies on my palm—smooth and black, like polished onyx.

Something has changed. The humming is nearly deafening now. A smell of old dust and mold hits my nose, but there is also a trace of sweet, feminine perfume.

Quickly slipping the Flint into my pocket and closing the button, I take a step back.

A sound rolls down the corridor behind. It starts with pebbles rolling, then larger stones dragging over the floor.

Sweet Cymmetra, why does it have to be always so difficult?

Raising my violin, I prepare to turn around and face the intruder, their heavy steps already approaching, when—

I’m really born with the luck of a lamb among a horde of Tainted Ones.

The mummified remains of Soraya the Songstress slowly come back to life. Cool shimmer veils her, and her skeletal body rises, her magnificent hair dangling around her bony limbs, blown by an unnatural breeze. She’s floating two feet above the floor.

Elders! What blasphemous, tainted nightmare I’ve been dragged into? The humming melody is a roar now, echoing under the vaults. She faces me, her jaw hanging loose, and shrieks.

“Wraiths are dangerous when disturbed. They are bound to this world by some object they value highly. Their shrieks paralyze their victims, and they relish draining them of their life force. Often, their victims become wraiths too,” Friar Ben’s academic, matter-of-fact tone surfaces in my mind, shaking me out of my stupor.

Keep a cool head, Talysse.

Without a doubt, Soraya is a wraith bound to the Flint. Time to get out of here. I back up toward the corridor, where the other horror is probably waiting for me. No idea what has made its way here through the heap of rocks, but even a Shadowfeeder is a better option than becoming a specter and haunting this Elders-forsaken place.

The wraith follows, floating, her jaw hanging, her hair and ragged dress sweeping the floor.

“Give it baaaack—” she screeches.

I take a few more steps before crashing into something solid.

And pleasantly warm.

My reaction is impeccably fast. The violin lands on something, followed by a satisfying grunt of pain. The makeshift weapon instantly disintegrates into dust and splinters. I take a better look at what I hit and nearly run back to the wraith. Because right now, she’s the safer option.

What’s before me is far more deadly than a screeching pile of old bones.

Prince Aeidas rubs his bleeding forehead, his eyes flashing in the twilight with the disturbing fluorescence only night creatures possess. His silvery hair and face are powdered with dust.

“Is this a wraith?” he asks incredulously.

“No, it’s an old friend. Of course, it is a wraith!” I spit, trying to push past him. Without any success, it feels like trying to break through a wall of solid muscle.

“Then we should—” he starts, his gaze fixed on the spirit behind me.

“—burn her, I know,” I say, surrendering to the thrumming call of my magic. One flick of my wrist staggers the wraith.

While I desperately search for the next spell, the prince demonstrates the terrifying dark powers the Elders have bestowed upon Fae. He stretches his hand, his long fingers spread, and a fireball forms upon his palm. The air crackles with energy, and the fireball shoots forth, a blazing sphere of fury. The battle spells of old seem to still live in the royal Unseelie bloodline.

His aim is lethal. The wraith ignites instantly; the old bones and rags dry as tinder. She shrieks, her form melting away, the smoke of her burning hair choking us. With a sigh, she crumbles into a steaming pile of ashes on the floor.

I pat my pocket, making sure the relic is still there, and look around. “All right, I’ll be going now.”

His fingers close around my arm, his grip tight as steel.

“Where do you think you’re going, little thief?” he asks darkly.