Chapter 5
Five
The Wardens were waiting when I returned.
They escorted us to the mouth of the labyrinth, the same place I’d gone to earlier.
Verena came with me, along with Betta and Maraid, the oldest among us.
White hair sprang from the crown of her head, her brown skin layered with wrinkles, eyes almost white with blindness.
Long ago, she’d once served as Rift Mother, but her body was no longer spry enough for the title.
With each step into the darkness of the catacombs, I wanted to flee. Panic crept back at the edges of my vision. Little by little. It wasn’t the dark. I’d never feared the dark, only what lurked within it. Besides, I had felt secure that the rift was sealed; the demons could not escape.
But what about that man? Had he come from elsewhere?
Another city, another land? And for what purpose?
We had no war, no spies, at least not in my lifetime.
But it wasn’t impossible. There might be some who saw the lush mountains, who didn’t know the secret we fought to hide, and thought they’d come and take the land as their own.
I tucked the thought away as an amber glow rose ahead.
The passage opened into a chamber shaped like a funnel, with what appeared to be a pool in the middle, white smoke drifting from it like ghosts weaving themselves into different shapes.
Symbols covered the walls, carved deep into stone.
They were wards, the magic that flared each full moon to seal the gates.
Maraid lifted her sage staff, and one of the Wardens touched flame to it. Smoke poured off it, sweet and sharp, itching my nose, making my eyes stream. That persistent cough niggled at me, and I pressed a hand to my throat.
The Wardens moved to the entrance of the chamber while Verena drifted toward the pale shapes hovering above the pool, as mesmerized as I had been my first time here, when my head was full of thoughts of brimstone and ash and fire.
Maraid walked the border of the chamber, a whispered chant coming from her lips.
I followed, not because I wanted to but because I felt obligated.
I didn’t want to be near Betta, whose dark eyes judged, watching my every move.
And those pale shapes above the pool terrified me.
My skin crawled because I hated it here. This was pure duty. Nothing more.
Heat filled the air as I walked. Dead, stale, and oppressive. Beneath Maraid’s chant came voices, deeper, darker, whispered in a foul tone.
Gazelle.
Rift Dancer.
Come to us.
Find the gateway.
Enter our darkness.
Free us.
Stop this.
Let us go. Let us go.
Then again. The plea in snatches. Fingers of fear climbing up my throat.
I sank to my knees, the stone shocking cold, the mist weaving around me as though it would tear away pieces of my soul.
The moaning rose and rose until I wanted to scream, to claw my fingers across the stone, to rip off my clothing and stuff it in my ears.
I didn’t realize I was rocking, hands over my ears, whimpering, until a voice cut through the moaning. “Gazelle. You aren’t well.”
Something snapped. The voices stopped, and white fingers fled. I was back in the horrible chamber.
On my knees.
I pushed myself up, voice shaking. “It’s this place. It drags me back to what happened—”
When I looked up, it was Betta who stood over me, and she had not moved to help. She only watched; her face gone still and careful, the way it had at the graveside. “We should go.”
I thought of green eyes. “Soon,” I protested, and turned to the Wardens. “Search the passageways. Look for gaps, breaks in the wards. The last time I was down here, I thought I glimpsed shadows moving in the hall with the lights.”
Betta frowned. “There are no lit halls below. No lamps. We carry our own lights.”
Had it been a dream, then? I had fallen and struck my head.
Had I lain senseless until daybreak? Imagining the velvet chair, the sconces burning as though freshly lit?
The pretty lie of his imprisonment? Perhaps I’d dreamed the Hollow King, but how then would I explain the green eyes, the uncomfortable sensation of desire?
My chin trembled as I forced the words out. “All the same, every inch of this place should be searched. Just in case.”
Betta studied me. “You think whoever killed Rift Mother is hiding down here.”
Her explanation was better than mine. “Yes,” I said quickly.
She turned to the Wardens. “You heard her. Search the area. Be sure there’s no one hiding down here. Bring any evidence to the Sacred Palace so that it can be presented to the council.”
They obeyed, leaving two behind to escort us back to the palace. I was tempted to go with the Wardens, but Maraid came to the end of her journey around the chamber. “The rift is sealed.”
“Are you certain?” I asked. “Nothing escaped?”
Maraid turned her white gaze on me, unused to being questioned. “I am positive. The magic flares bright. Would you like to see for yourself?”
“I would. I want to learn it,” I said, not sure what came over me.
We were dancers. It was not our place to learn the magic that sealed the rift. We performed; we did not need to understand.
“Learning would be useful,” I added, softer, trying to take the edge off it. “If I’m to be Rift Mother.”
Maraid remained still, scowling. The tension in the air was tight, for the insult was clear, intended or not. I was questioning Maraid’s competence, putting myself forward as an apprentice. I told myself it was only sense. If the vote made me Rift Mother, I needed to understand what I’d inherited.
I shifted away. “I’ll meet you back at the palace.”
I walked into the dark, ignoring their questions and protests. Trailing my fingers along the wall, I closed my eyes. Searching. Searching.
I was safe, I reasoned, with Wardens sweeping every passage.
If he had been a dream, I would satisfy myself that the odd magic that crept from this place had conjured him.
A vision born of sage and grief. And if I found his lair, I only had to shout, and the Wardens would come to my aid.
The man who called himself the Hollow King would be arrested, chained, charged with Rift Mother’s murder.
And this mess would be cleaned up. We’d feel safe again, knowing the demons weren’t escaping and the magic of the dance had worked.
That was the story I told myself. That was the story I believed.
Pressing my palm against the wall, I spoke the words that came to my mind.
Hollow King. Hollow King. If you are real, make your presence known.
Hands shot from the blackness, closing over my mouth, around my throat, and yanked.
I fell, arms and legs kicking wildly, the rising scream unable to escape.
Too dark to see.
Only the rush of wind, the sound of clicking, and a hiss of whispered voices, dark and sinister.