Chapter 8
Eight
Iwasn’t sure how long I lay there, in the impenetrable darkness.
Sound was muffled by the cold stones, the chill sweeping through me, marrow-deep, like the bite of a snowy winter day.
I curled into the thin blankets, hugging my limbs tight, wishing they were thicker and warmer.
The hard ledge pressed into my bones, and I knew I’d be sore, my body aching from this rough treatment.
Long ago, perhaps when the queen ruled, prisoners were kept down here.
Now I understood why they might go insane.
The lack of light was maddening. When I held up my hand, I couldn’t see my fingers in front of me.
My body shook, and that nagging cough came more frequently.
Not enough to draw blood, not this time, but enough to leave my throat raw.
I wished for the heated pools, to soak in the oils of myrrh, to warm my muscles dancing in the great hall.
Not this solitary torture.
Footfalls roused me. I straightened, staring at the halo of light, so grateful for it that tears streamed down my cheeks. Quickly followed by a flurry of panic. Were they coming to execute me?
Verena appeared like an angel. She set down her lantern while I pushed to my feet, shaking as I reached the bars.
Stacked on the other side were items. Warmer clothes.
Another blanket. A cloak, like the ones we wore in winter.
Bundles of food pressed flat to fit through the iron bars.
The pillow wouldn’t fit, but the matches, candlesticks and holder did.
“Gather your strength,” she said, her voice like a whisper in the gloom.
“I believe they will release you today. There are words being spoken, plans being made. They talk about the rift, and they are afraid. You’re the Lead Dancer.
We can’t lose you. There’s not enough time to train someone else before the next rite.
You’ll be out soon enough, just hold on a little longer. ”
I gripped her hands tightly. “Thank you, Verena.”
“No one else will come.” She sighed, releasing me.
“It’s not forbidden; it’s just that everyone is afraid with Commander Tiberon here asking questions.
He calls on us one by one and keeps us for hours.
He’s speaking with the council now. I assume they’ll vote and make a decision about you.
But that means they’ll postpone the vote for Rift Mother. ”
“Until Sacred Mother arrives, if she decides to come at all,” I filled in.
“Yes.” Verena’s tone turned bitter. “But all that questioning makes me think they don’t believe you did it. If so, why go on with the investigation? Why keep asking?”
“I hope they find out who really did it. There was something deeply wrong about her death.”
Verena’s jaw twitched, then the book was in my hands, the one I’d stolen from the Hall of Records and hidden in my room. “I never asked, but where were you that night?”
The dreaded question. I weighed whether to tell her about him. Airen, the Hollow King. But his tale was hard enough for me to believe. Would anyone else? I squeezed the book tightly.
“Verena, I’m hoping these stories will give me answers. I’ll tell you everything soon. I mean to find out what happened to Rift Mother. There was a symbol on her hand, words written in blood. Whoever did this had been planning it for a while.”
“Gazelle,” she murmured. “Be careful.”
I nodded as she retreated, her footsteps growing faint as she ascended back into daylight and the warmth of the sunlit halls. At least, I assumed it was day. I’d lost all track of time. Had it been one day, two days?
Sadness settled over me once her presence faded.
I yearned to walk the lotus garden, to breathe in the fresh mountain air, and to be surrounded by the energy of the other dancers.
I thought of them as my family, sisters, young and beautiful, dancing with all their hearts.
They were the only family I had left, and I wanted to keep them safe.
Rocking back on my heels, I fumbled for a candle and lit it.
Placing it in the candleholder, I held it up, taking in my bleak surroundings.
The floor was filthy, black with dust, mouse droppings, and who knew what else.
For a moment, I wished I hadn’t seen how dirty it was; the inability to wash turned my stomach.
I took pride in my appearance, in my mane of tight curls, the way the oil made my skin soft, and the grace of my body, moving as I danced.
Being trapped in filth was almost a bigger punishment than the dark.
Shuddering, I tugged on another layer of clothes and made a nest with the blankets and cloak.
Climbing inside, I unwrapped one of the packages of food.
It was still warm, filled with the scent of yeast, herbs, and meat.
We rarely had bread or meat. Verena had gone to great lengths to get food for me.
Tears pooled, and I brushed them away. This was all a mistake. It would be over soon.
I cracked open the book, and the musty smell of parchment bloomed and faded.
I read the table of contents, and then, because I had nothing else to do, I read everything.
Legends of old, stories of a time long before, when the world was young and teeming with life and with something else.
Magic. Deep and strange. Each story pulled me in, enthralled me, swept me away from the dank, damp hole.
But there was nothing about the Hollow King. No stories of mischievous demigods. No way to give me proof of the past. Only one story gave me pause, an inkling of what might have happened. A tale of a bargain between a king and a queen, two kingdoms parted from each other by layers.
The layers—which might also be translated as hollows.
I traced the ink, re-reading the story. The bargain was protected by a rite, a promise, and that was all the story gave.
But it was enough. I flipped the page, realizing I’d read the book from start to finish and there was nothing left but the end.
I sat in silence, my mind trying to unravel it.
Thinking of the words written in blood. I needed someone to talk to about this, someone impartial who would help me unravel this mystery.
“Airen,” I spoke out loud. “The Hollow King.”
The ground trembled.
A thin film of dust broke free, and the rock split. Right there, inside my prison cell, the stone parted like it was a door, and a passage led away into darkness.
I leaped to my feet, clutching the book, braced for a voice, for something to slither out of that hole.
But when nothing did, I picked up the candle. Holding it high, I stepped across the rubble into the cool dark.
There was an ancient smell to it, that same aroma of old flowers, dead roses, and something sharp like incense. I had a feeling that I’d found a secret passage into the tunnels that ran underneath the mountain. Soon I’d find myself at the hall of the Hollow King.
How long had it been since I bade him goodbye, promising to return? He hadn’t summoned me with his music or forced me to obey. Had he been bluffing? Or was the opening stone the signal?
The tunnel bent and twisted, stairs appearing then smoothing out again. Yet I followed, even as thoughts poked at the back of my mind. What if the Wardens came and found my cell empty? They’d make assumptions and damn me again.
I took the risk anyway.
Even as the passage grew wider and the shadows shifted, I knew I needed an ally. Someone to help me clear my name, but more importantly, find out who or what had killed Rift Mother.
Because Maraid was wrong.
The seals were not as firm as they’d once been. My misstep had seen to that. After all, the Hollow King was haunting me, and that should not be possible.