Chapter 25 Lore
Lore
Itook the eastern stairwell down, the one beyond the main kitchen. The stone steps curved sharply and were slick with moss, and I had to duck low to avoid cracking my head on the rough-cut ceiling. The farther I went, the more frigid the air became, a deep chill that settled in my bones.
Death clung to these walls. I could taste it in the stagnant air, feel it in the way shadows moved as if guided by evil magic.
I’d rarely used the dungeon at Evergorne. I preferred working with my people to find a solution than locking them up and starving them into submission. Unlike many of my ancestors.
These cells had seen too much suffering. The stones themselves seemed to whisper of torture and despair.
The air stank like rotting flesh and something burned. Old spellwork clung to the mortar. The magic felt hungry, waiting for fresh blood to feed on. I didn’t sense it was active, but it wasn’t quite dead yet either. The magic hovered somewhere in between, eager to trap whoever came too near.
Lights guttered in their brackets, barely enough to cast shadows that made the other searchers twitchy. I passed a woman whispering to herself as she sorted through a barrel full of rusted cutlery, but a quick glance didn’t reveal anything worth challenging her for the right to touch.
A hot key, huh?
I doubted I’d find what we were looking for in this part of the castle, but I’d search everywhere until I found it.
I kept going, determined to get through this section quickly and return to Reyla upstairs. I didn’t like her searching alone. Every instinct screamed at me to abandon this foolish game and find her. She was too brave for her own good, and that terrified me.
How are things going? I injected a drawl into my voice to keep her from guessing that I worried about her all the time.
Couldn’t be better. Any luck?
Not so far.
Me either, though I’ve unveiled too many clumps of dust. Queen Naveer needs to speak with her staff. They’re getting lazy.
Her voice in my mind was the only thing keeping me sane in this place of death.
I miss you where I didn’t know I could ache. I lifted a key lying in the corner at the base of the stairs. Cold. Every part of me reaches for you. I miss you behind my ribs. Deep within my bones. Even in the soles of my feet.
Feet? I could feel her snicker that dropped off, her voice getting serious. I miss you too. All the time.
I paused at an open cell and stepped inside, finding nothing but a bunk with rotting bedding and nothing beneath; the walls dripping condensation. Returning to the hall, I continued, studying the ceiling and corners in case they’d tucked it into the mortar.
You’re safe? Down here in the dark, imagining her facing unknown dangers alone made my chest tight. She was never safe unless I stood guard over her, armed and ready.
I am. Farris is watching out for me.
And I was grateful he was with her. You will tell me if you feel threatened for even one instant.
Lore. I’m fine. Let’s find that key and give it to Naveer. Then we can take a walk. Her voice deepened. Or a bath.
I'm looking forward to celebrating when this is over. We will celebrate. Thoroughly.
Hurry up then.
I adored the hint of laughter in her voice.
A narrow corridor split, the left taking me into a disused armory.
Cobwebs, broken racks, and half a dozen helmets lay on the floor.
Nothing had been hidden among them. Straightening, I peered around the room, spying a key glinting from inside a jagged crack in the wall, barely visible.
Only its curved edge caught the dim light.
I swept the cobwebs aside and crouched in front of the crack, slipping my fingers inside. Cold stone bit the tips. Runes blazed to life above the crack, and the wall turned a murky green.
Pain smacked through my skull, and the feeling of everything being sucked from deep inside me made me want to jerk away. The wall was draining me, pulling energy from behind my sternum, siphoning off my power.
I curled my fingers and gathered moisture from around me, enough to form a line of tension, and funneled it toward the runes.
When the icy liquid hit, the stone cracked, spidering outward.
The spell shattered, and the sucking sensation went away.
I pressed harder with the ice, finding a weakness in the rune’s loop, and broke it.
The glow died.
I tested the key. Cold. Of course.
Footsteps thudded from somewhere nearby. A woman shouted, then burst into shrill laughter.
Rising, I stepped back into the corridor and took the other corridor. The first door on the right was cracked open. I pushed it inward with two fingers, the hinges groaning as it swept wide.
This chamber was round, the ceiling barely a handspan above my head. Something about the proportions felt off, like the space had shrunk inward after it was built. No windows. The only light came from luminous gems in the mortar.
A skeleton lay on a bunk mounted to the back wall, its spine curved in a painful arc, and a key glinted inside the ribcage, beneath the sternum. Bronze or maybe brass. It looked reachable, but the magic in this room hissed warnings.
The walls had been painted dark blue, an odd choice for a dungeon.
A mural had been painted on the wall to my right, the image blurred by water damage and grime.
Someone had painted a creature there, part bird, part serpent, its wings spread wide, its long neck twisted to bite its own tail.
Three wounds pierced its form: neck, in the ribcage area behind the wing, and the lower spine.
Painted blood still dripped from each strike.
Shrugging the image off, I studied the skeleton more carefully. Its bones appeared old but not brittle, and someone had reinforced the vertebrae with wire. They'd turned this corpse into a trap.
Moving closer, I noticed etchings carved into the ribs. Symbols I didn't recognize, but their placement corresponded to the mural's wounds. The neck marking aligned with the creature's first injury. The left ribs matched the wing strike. The lower spine held the third symbol.
Clever. The painting wasn't just decoration, it was instruction.
A puzzle, then. Touch the wrong spot and face the consequences, I assumed. Touch them in sequence, and perhaps the prize would be mine.
I reached toward the neck area first, hesitating. What if I was wrong? What if this was exactly what the trap wanted me to think?
You're well? I asked Reyla.
Couldn't be better. Did you find anything?
Working on it.
Taking a breath, I pressed the first point. The bone vibrated under my finger, and the skull settled back against the dingy pillow. The corridor's lights flickered and steadied. Good or bad? Hard to tell.
Next, I tapped the second point, the left ribs on this body. I applied pressure and heard a satisfying click as one rib separated, unlocking part of the cage.
Now for the third. The mural showed the lower spine, but which vertebra exactly? I counted down from the base. Fourth looked right, but something nagged at me. The angle was wrong, the proportion off.
I pressed the fourth vertebra.
The skeleton's arms shot upward like blades, barely missing my head. Electricity raced up my arm, and pain shot out my neck, ribs, and lower spine, in the exact locations as the wounds on the wall.
I stumbled backward, calling air into a defensive whirlwind as the corpse shuddered and reset. This time, when I checked my body, I found small puncture marks in my skin. Releasing a low growl, I quickly healed them.
The memory of Prager's attack in the mirror and her sly smile promising exactly this kind of suffering snarled through me. She'd known. Somehow, she'd known I'd end up here, facing a trap designed to weaken me.
The flesh wounds weren’t just a deterrent. They were a warning. I suspected each mistake would gouge “her” blades deeper.
Lore? Wildfire couldn’t hold back the concern in her voice. Are you alright? I felt pain…
I'm fine. Just thinking through a problem.
I studied the mural again.
The creature's spine wound sat lower than I'd thought. The artistic perspective had fooled me. Fifth vertebra, not fourth.
This time when I pressed the three, the sternum cracked open like a predator's jaw. The key hummed with magic, well within reach. But I wasn't foolish enough to grab it with my bare hand. Not after the warning.
I called air and shaped it into a spiral, threading it between the ribs like a careful hand. The skeleton remained still as I lifted the key free, and I funneled it out, dropping into my hand.
Cold. Not the right key.
All that effort for another piece of metal. I wanted to throw it against the wall.
Pivoting, I dropped the key and returned to the corridor.
The next room on the right stank, maybe from the puke-yellow slime coating the ceiling in thick veins. An ornate silver key sat in a pool of thick, wet jelly on the plinth.
I eased forward. As soon as I got close to the pillar’s base, the slime shifted. A long tendril whipped out, into the air.
I ducked to avoid impact, then called water from the air and froze it in an arc. Gouging outward, I poked the ooze in the center with my icy knife. It split apart, the bulk of it writhing for a moment before it went still. Grunting, I snatched the key up, but it was equally cold.
I moved on.
Still no sign of the right one. Still too many rooms left even within the dungeon. Reyla was searching above while I was down here playing with Prager’s traps and chasing ghosts.
Time was running out, and somewhere above me, my wildfire was facing dangers I couldn't protect her from.
A guttural cry echoed through the dungeon, terrified, and distinctly female.