Page 46 of Wicked Prince of Shadows (Wicked Princes #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY

The wind slowed, calming almost entirely as I drew closer. My hand pressed tight to my chest, and throat hoarse and raw, I stared down at the newly revealed components on the tablets, my gaze instantly drawn to the image at the bottom.

Yes.

A theory formed in my mind.

My pulse thundered as I stared at the tablet.

Vetle had said it was a mirrored image of the top third.

And that figure did look somewhat similar when accounting for erosion and exposure to the elements and the perpetual draining magic along with the fact that anyone carving would unintentionally create subtle differences. But was it actually the same person?

No, I didn’t think so. Both figures were bare and sparse, their forms etched with flowing simple lines that did not allow for much individuality. But they weren’t exactly the same.

The other difference was that in addition to more script, the central panel with the couple had more people standing at the bottom, making it a circle of people.

All three central images depicted vines reaching up from the figure below, coiling up the column.

But on the one that showed only one figure on the column, the vines severed and bled with more ideograms for obliteration etched into the stone as if in warning.

All the vines slanted toward the portal.

Osric stood beside me, fidgeting as he looked between me and Vetle. “Did you find it? Does it say what to do?”

I drew back, heart racing. “Osric, your art magic. Is it based in words or do you need ink? Can you touch something and speak an incantation to draw out its color?” He’d done it so effortlessly with fabric and paint.

I'd seen him intensify the color in his friend's dress. Would stone be more difficult or less?

“Yeah.” He frowned, his brow pinching. “But…this isn’t the time—”

“Please.” My mouth dried as I swallowed. “Touch the tablet. Intensify all the colors.”

He cut his eyes at me as if confused, then stepped up to the tablet and pressed his hand against it.

He began whispering, the words so fast I couldn’t make them out.

Light flared into the stone, and the shades of black and grey sharpened as additional hints of color emerged, all transforming and expanding.

Not in the words. No. In the pictograms and the larger sketches.

Yes, those were two separate figures, above and below.

My dreams flashed back into my mind.

The figures.

Two.

There had been two.

One above.

One below.

Both reaching.

Desperate. Terrified. Perpetually reaching for one another.

Cut off from their people.

Severed from their communities.

Alone and frightened.

The Witheringlands wasn’t the tomb of a dead eidon. Not yet at least. It was the place where Aerithyn had been trapped and where Chaori was trying to reach her. Vetle had said Tanith called out to Chaori. That hadn’t just been the performance of ritual. Chaori was here. And so was Aerithyn.

“Did that help?” Osric asked, his tone uncertain.

“Yes.” I pressed a shaking hand to my mouth, unable to breathe around the sudden tightening in my chest. I looked at the other images.

The second panel showed the couple. They were surrounded on both sides.

With the enhanced contrast, the etchings of their expressions were easier to see.

Only in the second one was there joy on everyone’s face.

Everyone was holding hands. Were they two separate groups or were they moving across the chasm?

Though I wasn't certain on the latter point, another realization bled through me. Maybe the royal blood wasn’t actually what was required. Chaori and Aerithyn were wed in secret and cut off their community. Love had not saved them, though it had bound them. In their darkest hours, they were alone.

But what was the one thing that didn’t happen in an official royal wedding?

Isolation.

Royal weddings, regardless of whether there was love or magic, were matters that always involved the whole kingdom.

Family, friends, loved ones, allies, and neutrals alike came together to celebrate the joining and the pledging of two souls to one another.

When there was love, that was something magical in and of itself.

And community was the one thing that both Chaori and Aerithyn had lost.

“Osric.” I turned to face him, goosebumps spreading over my arms. “Osric, I need you to run back to the palace. Tell the adults that all the adults have to come together. The reason it shows a wedding is because it shows community and connection. It's a way for them to depict that. No one is meant to be alone. See? They’re all supporting the couple. Tell Maltric that there are two eidons. Tell him that Aerithyn’s will is in the vines, but she can’t get out and Chaori can’t reach her.

They’re draining life from the people who are here to try to escape, and he can’t reach her.

This isn’t a tomb. It’s a rescue.” A rescue that was destroying us.

“The vines…she’s trying to get out with the vines?” His eyes bugged as he stepped back. “There’s an eidon down there?”

“Yes. Can you remember all that?” I waited until he nodded. Then I pressed him toward the palace. “All right. Go. Run as fast as you can. I’m going to save Fahlda.”

Osric’s face set with determination as he balled up his fists. Then he turned and ran, his white hair streaming behind him.

I scanned the etchings once more to ensure I wasn’t missing anything else before turning back toward the chasm. It yawned before me, wide and impossible. Vetle stood on the column, wings flared out and shadows surging weakly, holding out against the draining weight of the vines.

I ran toward the edge of the chasm where the bridge lay.

As soon as I left the tablets, the wind picked up again.

It howled, and the sky above churned with clouds that never masked the dull red blood moon.

The chasm stretched before me, that awful hungry darkness that lurked and hungered.

My stomach lurched as I searched frantically for the bridge.

There.

My breath caught. The bridge was even narrower than I remembered, barely wider than a foot across with no handholds and a sheer drop on either side.

Just a thread of stone suspended over an abyss that wanted to swallow everything.

The darkness below writhed, hooking at my vision as if it could drag me down just by looking at it.

My legs locked, and my stomach churned, making the spinning in my head worse.

My eyes shuttered. Maker, give me strength!

The garden walls had been bad enough, but this—this was worse. So much worse. One misstep and I'd plunge into that void, and there would be nothing left of me. Not even a memory.

But Vetle would die if I didn’t.

Already, the vines had wrapped around his legs, his waist, his chest—black tendrils squeezing tighter with each passing moment. His wings strained against them.

His shadows pulsed and poured from his body in desperate waves, holding the vines back from crushing over him.

His eels circled him, cutting through the air and twining around him as if desperate to give some comfort and create more space between him and the vines.

Even from here I could see him weakening.

His shoulders sagged forward. His head dipped, then he forced himself back upright and flared his wings again.

Their smoky translucent shape stood out darker now around their skeletal frames.

I could do this. I had to.

I stepped toward that thread of a bridge.

Two vines suddenly shot upward from the chasm's depths, rushing toward me like striking serpents. They moved with terrifying speed, their surfaces slick and oily.

"No!" I threw up my good hand, stepping back instinctively.

"Aerithyn, don't grab me! I'm coming to help!

" My voice cracked as I shouted into the wind.

It ripped my words away from me. "I'm coming to help both of you, but you and Chaori need to be more careful! Otherwise you’ll kill us, and everyone will die, including you! "

The vines slowed, hesitating in mid-air, the tips curling and uncurling. Then they shot forward again.

Terrified, I dodged them and leaped over another coiling out of the void. All I could do was launch myself straight ahead.

With a solid crack, I landed on the bridge. My knees slammed into it, pain ricocheting up into my thighs and hips. I bit back a cry and pressed my left palm flat to the cold surface, my right hand clutched against my chest. Dust slid off the edges and vanished into the endless dark below.

I didn’t dare move. My breath came fast and shallow, the edges of my vision tightening as I forced myself to hold fast. I hinged a glance back, half expecting to see the vines grasping for me or even coiling around my leg.

They writhed in confusion now, their tips sweeping through the air inches from my legs as if scenting for me but only reaching toward the edge. They didn’t seem to recognize me anymore.

Instead, they fixated on the chasm’s rim and the column where Vetle still struggled to remain standing. His left knee trembled as if it was about to buckle. One of the eels shot down around his ankle and then around his knee. Another grasped its friend by the back fin and tugged upward.

My stomach twisted as my mouth went cotton dry.

Blood and ash coated my tongue, and bile crept up the back of my throat.

Every instinct screamed at me to crawl back, to get off this cursed ribbon of stone before it crumbled.

But Vetle’s strangled roar tore through the wind, and something inside me broke.

Though he was ready to lay down his own life, he thought he was alone right now. Alone and ready to die. But he wasn’t alone.

And I wouldn’t abandon him now. If I’d had enough of a voice left against the wind tearing at my face, I’d have screamed his name.