Chapter 41
Forty-One
A tlas kept Everinne close to him, never letting her out of his sight. After his father’s little stunt in the dungeon where he coerced her into torturing a mortal for information he already had, Atlas had no intentions of letting the kralv anywhere near her again.
So, he kept her gloved hand tucked safely in his as they trudged through the snow-laden streets of Starysa.
The city reminded him of a tranquil winter wonderland, were it not for the fact that the air seemed charged with a strained edge of friction, as though every soul was simply holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable.
Whatever that might be. Even the music pouring from the numerous parlors was muffled instead of jubilant and the patrons were mellow, their drunken laughter dulled and hitched, as no one was too keen on drawing unwanted attention to themselves.
Most of the shops had already closed for the evening and while there were a number of taverns and lounges open, the windows were all dark and moody, the glowing lights from within barely an acknowledgment to the hour.
Clumps of snow fell from the darkening skies, the thick layer of clouds blotting out the full moon so there was only a streaky haze of silver light.
The night was bitter, a damp kind of cold, and Atlas had received reports of waves in the Ladova Bay frosting over as they peaked and capped.
Only the continuous flame of the Zemni Boheme offered a shred of warmth, but even that was fleeting, as they weren’t lingering in the city’s center.
Tonight, they were heading into the Marzena.
Caedian and Veros walked in front of them, bundled in warming layers, their boots crunching lightly against the frozen ground.
Caedian stalked with purpose, constantly on alert, his hand hovering above the hilt of his sword, while Veros strolled along beside him with his hands tucked into his pockets.
Atlas couldn’t be sure, but he could’ve sworn Veros was whistling.
The wind carried the faint sound back to him, the tune reminiscent of an old-world lullaby.
They rounded a corner where the cobblestones narrowed, becoming more uneven, where the faerie fire flickering in the curving lamp posts didn’t quite reach.
If the streets of Starysa were lacking in citizens before, they were absolutely desolate now. Not a soul wandered down the serpentine alley, because what they would meet at its end was nothing short of abysmal.
The entrance to the Marzena stood before them.
It was a towering gate with rusted bars and sharpened stakes that reached into an arch, where the metal was twisted and mangled to mimic the shape of serpents ready to strike.
Beyond it, there was nothing but a tunnel made of ancient stone that descended into a pit of darkness.
Atlas looked over at Everinne. “Are you sure about this?”
She nodded, suppressing a shiver. “Yes. It’s the only way.”
He tugged her knit, fur-lined hat over the small points of her ears, admiring the tiny dagger earrings that dangled there. “If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the cold, and her wind-bitten lips curved into a smile. “Besides, Zoryana is more important than a blood pact with the Mystic Obscura.”
She wasn’t wrong, but at the same time, he didn’t know the kind of repercussions she would suffer if she was late for her performance. Or worse, if she failed to show completely.
Veros tossed a look over his shoulder as the gate creaked open, announcing their arrival to anyone who might be loitering nearby. He shared a look with Caedian, then nodded toward the gaping opening of the Marzena. “Are we doing this?”
Everinne stepped up and Atlas went with her. “We’re doing this.”
Veros jerked his head in the direction of the tunnel. “Let’s go then. I don’t want us to be down here all night.”
Venturing into the Marzena was nothing like Atlas expected.
It was a labyrinth of tunnels. Some were cavernous, stretching wide like the streets above them while others were excessively narrow, making it so that only one person could move through the space at a time.
Bronze lanterns floated along the ceiling, suspended by magic.
The dim amber light quivered often, dousing most of the Marzena into long, harsh shadows, and making it difficult to navigate.
They passed a handful of drunken fae, their eyes glazed as they shuffled and toppled into one another.
A few vampires stood next to a random wooden door that seemed to open into the side of the tunnel.
But then they knocked four times, spoke something in a language Atlas couldn’t understand, and the door swung open.
Pulsing music and the potent scent of stigs filled the dank air, and the vampires strode inside, the door slamming shut behind them.
Despite the flowery smell of stigs and aged alcohol hanging in the air, there was an underlying stench as well. Acrid and foul, it seemed to seep from the stone, to ooze between the crevices.
“No wonder the witches don’t like to come here,” Caedian muttered, his pale gaze darting toward every movement. “This place reeks of corrupt magic.”
Corrupt magic. That was the smell.
Carved into the tunnel walls were the market’s notorious shops, the grimy windows showcasing all kinds of remarkable, exotic wares.
Beside him, Everinne drew up short. “Here.”
Her gaze was fixated on one of the cluttered window displays, and Atlas peered inside, unable to note anything worthwhile or extraordinary.
There was the usual collection of baubles—spelled mirrors, enchanted glass spheres, bundles of dried herbs, and sachets of tea.
Jewelry was displayed as well, an assortment of necklaces and rings, as well as some daggers inlaid with sparkling gemstones.
But nothing that looked like it could be some sort of key in helping them locate Zoryana and the other hunted immortals.
“Why here?” Veros asked, sauntering closer for a look. He arched one dark brow in interest. “What caught your eye, Ever?”
She rubbed her lips together and stole a glance behind her to where Caedian stood, his steely gaze trained on anyone or anything lurking in the shadows.
Everinne blew out a soft breath.
“The female…in the dungeon.” Her hand drifted idly to her forearm, where Atlas knew a fresh tattoo marked her. “In her mind, there were images of the mines.”
“The fire ruby mines? The Rizenrok Forge?” Atlas’s brows pinched together in concern.
There had been no talk or discussion of the mines recently at all.
As far as he knew, and all his father had mentioned, was that the mines were meant as a means of punishment, but the truth of the matter was that they were a slave camp.
Everyone who was found guilty of an offense was sent to Rizenrok Forge, it was why the dungeon was often empty.
Sentences served there were either fairly brief or exceptionally long, depending upon the crime against the crown.
He stole a hasty look at Veros, whose eyes reflected an unnatural kind of worry. Even Caedian had moved closer, his pale gaze suddenly clouded with concern. “What of them?”
“There was a discovery of a new gemstone, rarer than fire rubies, a jewel with more sparkle. More value. The prisoners were trying to pocket them, to keep them secret from the guards. I imagine some of them thought they could use this new stone to buy their freedom.”
A new gemstone meant there was an increased chance Atlas’s father would send more people to mines, whether they were guilty or not. “What does it look like?”
Her bottom lip trembled, but then she bit it before swallowing hard. “Like a midnight sky caught on fire. Black like obsidian, yet it reflects the sparkle of the stars.”
“Was there anything else?” Veros asked, edging closer.
“No. There was nothing else. Not before I…” Everinne’s face shuttered and her shoulders dropped.
Atlas grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Caedian tapped lightly on the filthy glass window. “So, why this shop?”
Everinne pointed to a glittering black gemstone cushioned on a pile of navy velvet. It was shaped like an oval, polished and smoothed, and held all the fire of the stars in its gleaming surface.
“Because that is a nightfall diamond.” She looked up then and met each of their intent gazes. “If this shop has a stone this rare, then they must know something we don’t.”
“Fair enough,” Veros mumbled. “Alright, let’s go in.”
They entered the shop together, with Atlas keeping Everinne’s hand entrapped in his own.
The inside of the store wasn’t nearly as grimy as the window.
There were leaning wooden shelves lined with an array of trinkets, anything from velvet bags filled with rune stones, to tarot cards, to bundles of sage wrapped with twine.
Altars held bowls of bones and sand, and there was a table where half-melted candles burned into pools of colored wax.
Books with weathered spines and faded edges were stacked precariously high.
One wrong move and the entire pile would tumble to the floor.
Tinkling bells seemed to echo throughout the cluttered shop, and the welcoming scent of ripe pomegranates and fresh sea mist filled the cozy space.