Chapter 40
The tomb won’t raid itself.
The moment the exit unsealed itself, both Desmond and I knew we needed to move on. No matter how much we wanted to keep going, to explore and map every inch of each other, Auri and Finnian could be waiting for us.
While we were shivering in our wet clothes, I forgot that Finnian had suggested putting spare outfits in my enchanted rucksack before we left Vekhara. It’s a mortifying oversight now, not that I regret what happened.
I sneak glances at Desmond, watching the ripple of his abdomen as he pulls his clean shirt over his head. Often, he glances at me, his gaze lingering on my hips, my thighs, my chest. My face flushes, even though I shouldn’t be embarrassed after everything we’ve just done together.
Somehow, there’s more intimacy in redressing within sight of each other than there was in taking our clothes off.
At the sound of his belt buckle clicking, I press my lips into a firm line, licking them as if I could taste him again. It’s not enough.
Gods, if only there could be a next time.
Once we’re both dressed, Desmond smiles at me, his cheeks flushed and hand clenching the skull pommel of his sword. His hair is mussed, and his lips are still swollen and pink. It’s impossible to look at him and not think about how hard he was, the husky rumble of his voice.
Then I follow him into the tunnel.
We emerge into an empty chamber, but it’s clear this is where we’re meant to go.
Pictographs and Old Avedoran words line a large, circular door that thrums with ward magic.
Another tunnel branches off from the room, where Auri and Finnian will emerge if they survive their challenge.
I honestly thought they would be out before us. What if they’ve—
“They’re alright,” I whisper to myself. “They’ll survive. Just like we did.” I nervously rub my neck where the rowan berry necklace disappears beneath my gambeson. I had fetched it from the sopping wet pile of our clothes before we left the chamber. We didn’t take the soiled clothes with us.
Desmond paces the room, but sneaks glances at me. I want to point out that since we’re still alone, we could finish what we—
No. I’ve got to shove these thoughts down, at least long enough to survive the tomb. Any distraction could be lethal, yet he’s all I can think about as we stand around and wait.
I gesture to the warded door, hoping conversation might diffuse the sexually tense silence thrumming between us. “You said other raiders have made it to the chasm. Yet the door is still warded?”
“They’re self-resealing wards. Once we leave, the barrow will lock itself down.
It’s incredible magic.” He runs his hands along the pictographs, smiling.
“This pictograph here—” he taps an engraving of swirling lines emanating from a hill.
“It depicts a curse being set loose from this barrow. No doubt a threat to dissuade us from continuing.”
“Is this one of the languages you know?”
“Yes, but I haven’t seen it outside of my studies before now.” He looks at me, his smile softening with a fond warmth.
I have his attention. We’re alone. This is as good a time as any to ask. “Desmond. . .” I pause, afraid that he won’t answer. “Can you speak to ghosts?”
He stills. Then the mask snaps onto his face, an unreadable steadiness that says my question is of no interest to him. But I know how to read through that mask now. The fact that he’s wearing it at all means the question did unsettle him.
“Please answer.” We just bared our bodies to one another, for gods’ sake. Surely he can let go of just one secret.
Three heartbeats pass, as if he’s weighing a risk. Then he nods. “I can.” Yet the mask doesn’t drop. He’s still hiding something.
I fidget with the hem of my tunic as I stare at him, thinking.
At least he didn’t deny it, yet it raises more questions than it answers.
His Gift is supposed to be devastating. Fomorians fear it.
Avedor fears it. Spirit mediums are sometimes ostracized since any Gift relating to death makes people uneasy, but there’s no way he’s just a. . .
No. I don’t want to believe it.
Finnian’s distant voice echoes. He comes barreling down the tunnel, his dark hair on end and sizzling. Auri follows behind him, exasperated.
“She electrocuted you?” I ask, not surprised. I’m relieved that they’re alright, but wish they had arrived a minute later. I want Desmond to open up to me and know he never will in front of others.
Auri scoffs. “It was an accident. And he survived, did he not?”
“It certainly took you long enough,” Desmond says as if we’ve been waiting for an hour.
Finnian grimaces. “Couldn’t make heads or tails of the maze.” Then he does a double-take at our changed outfits. “What’d you guys suffer through?”
And here I had hoped he wouldn’t notice. I quickly say, “A riddle.”
“Restraint,” Desmond says simultaneously.
We glance at each other, but then the circular door rolls into the wall with an ear-splitting grind. Unease silences everyone. The passage ahead is wide, lined with mage lights that flare to life, until a dark void spanning the gigantic cavern swallows it all.
The chasm.
A sinister energy emanates from the depths of it. It’s dark, ancient, and maleficent. We approach, our footsteps ominously echoing. The chasm is so wide that we don’t need to stand at its edge to tell that there’s no bottom within sight. Only a gaping, pitch-black darkness stares up at us.
Finnian gulps. “How many people do you reckon have died down there?”
“Enough that other raiders have given up,” Auri replies. She readies her bow, aiming at the edge.
“I don’t see or hear anything. How far below could the beast be?” I ask, not voicing the worst question: what kind of beast can lurk that deep?
Desmond unsheathes his sword. His hand trembles. As Finnian and Auri debate how deep the chasm might be, I move to his side. “What’s wrong?” I whisper. “Are you. . . scared?”
He huffs a single laugh. “Why do you sound surprised? We’re before an allegedly indomitable chasm with three dozen draugr on the other side. Only a fool would have no fear.”
Faint mage lights illuminate the other side of the cavern, just enough to make out a row of alcoves.
Draugr must be hiding within them, and trepidation coils within me.
Three dozen is such a specific number. Surely he’s guessing, and hopefully too high.
I don’t want to imagine what it means if he’s not guessing. Can he sense them?
This isn’t the time to ask. Panic is already tightening my chest like a vise. This is just another raid. Larger stakes, sure, but a larger payoff, too.
“Whoever crosses first will have to fight the draugr off,” I realize.
Desmond nods. “It has to be me.”
“They’ll all attack you together,” I warn. “Auri might be able to help with her bow, but Finnian and I can’t. Is that why you’re afraid?” I wouldn’t respect him any less for it.
“No,” he says. “It’s what I’ll have to do to survive.”
“All that matters is that you do survive,” I murmur back. “Not how.”
He shakes his head. “You’re here. That changes everything.”
My stomach drops. What does he mean by that? “We’ll get through this.” I squeeze his hand. I may not understand, but I want him to know he’s not alone.
Only a fool would have no fear. How true that rings when it was my hubris that led me to take Evie into the barrow.
I believed I was strong enough to keep her from harm.
I believed the only way to overcome fear was to bury it deep inside me.
Then my family would see how strong I was.
They’d support me leaving Nettlerock to join the adventurers’ guild.
But valuing fearlessness may be no different than living by recklessness.
I pull the bridge out of my pack. Finnian helps me unfold the planks. He threads the ends of the rope through the stakes we brought, then knots them tight. It’s time for me to fulfill my end of the vow.
“Cyn, are you ready?” Desmond asks me.
I crack my knuckles. “This is what you trained me for.”
He nods, and the quiet intimacy we shared a moment ago vanishes, replaced by a grim set of his jaw.
The stern man before me now is the tactician who led us to victory against the lindwyrm, the leader in the vision who faced a losing battle and still ran headfirst. It reminds me that he said nothing will stop him from getting through Olin’s tomb.
With a hammer, Desmond drives two of the stakes into the stone. Cracks web around them with every sinking inch. The bridge is tethered on our side. Now only the other remains.
The planks lift on my command, then drift across the ravine. “I hope it’s long enough.”
Desmond’s eyes narrow. “If it’s not, we’ll have to—”
A thin, dark vine emerges from the black of the ravine, still connected to something below like a writhing ribbon.
Finnian yelps.
I whip the bridge away from the vine as Auri tracks it with her bow, then shoots.
The arrow pierces it, and it recoils into the depths. A deep, inhuman chortle tenses every muscle in my body. That thing wasn’t a vine. It was a tentacle. The beast is down there, just like the rumors said.
I murmur a quick prayer to Osian, a plea that he doesn’t reap our souls today. Then the first plank bumps against the opposite side. Only during training have I ever moved something so far away, and my magic threatens to slip off it like it’s coated in ice.
I can’t let go. Not yet.
Steadying my breath, I untether the hammer and guide it across. Auri stands with her bow ready as I slam it into the stakes, securing the bridge. “Ready.”
Desmond doesn’t test his first step, which is flattering despite my nerves flaring to the point of nausea. He holds his arms out for balance but clenches a dagger in his hand.
“Don’t die on the other side. It would kill me too, you know,” I call out.
“I’m touched by your concern.” Amusement lightens his tone, but he’s too vigilant in watching the depths to risk looking back at us.
Auri frowns at me. “Perhaps we should keep quiet in case the beast can—”