37. Chapter 37
37
I walk barefoot down a dank underground corridor, an incessant dripping punctuating my steps. The rough stone floor is damp beneath my feet. The odor of unwashed bodies marks the air, accented by the foul stench of old blood and fresh bodily waste.
Someone coughs, and my head swings to the right. Steel bars block a doorway. A prison cell. A woman stands at the bars, barely visible in the deep shadows, but I can tell she’s dirty and emaciated.
She extends her skinny arm between the bars and points to the end of the corridor. “He bleeds for us,” she says, her voice scratchy, like it hasn’t been used in a very long time.
I want to stop and speak to her, to help her, but something pulls me onward. She watches me pass with haunted, knowing eyes.
The next cells are like echoes of the first. More gaunt women. Though they don’t look any different from humans, my gut tells me they’re queens. Each stands at the bars and points toward the end of the corridor. “He bleeds,” they say, their voices forming an unsettling chorus. “He bleeds for us.”
I follow their direction, my pace slowing as I reach the bars of the cell door at the end. A tiny square window high in the wall lets in silver moonlight, illuminating the interior of this cell better than the others. A large man lies on a bedroll on the floor on the left side of the cell, curled on his side facing the rough stone wall. He wears jeans but no shirt, and the silver sigils covering his dark skin are marred by splotches of dried blood.
“Thane,” I whisper, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even move. “Thane,” I say louder.
“Save your effort,” a man says, his voice rough and scratchy. He sits hunched in the far corner of the cell, untouched by the moonlight. Long, stringy dark hair hangs around his face, and his glowing sigils are barely visible through all the dried blood and grime on his skin. “Your friend has lost too much blood,” the prisoner says. “He won’t rouse for anything but an open vein.”
Suddenly, a dagger is in my hand. I press the edge of the blade to the inside of my forearm.
“I wouldn’t,” the prisoner says, standing. He’s thin, just as wasted as the women, but taller than I had expected. “Unless you want to die.”
Steps slow and feet dragging, the prisoner approaches the bars. He wears a dingy blanket around his shoulders like a cloak.
The moonlight finally touches his face, and my heart skips a beat. “Javier?” I drop the dagger and grip the bars, pulling myself as close to the interior of the cell as I can get.
He stops at the bars and reaches a hand through to caress the side of my face with the backs of his knuckles. “You can’t save us all.”
Liquid licks at my heels, and I look down to see dark, thick blood oozing around my feet. I spin around and look at the other cells. The women all lie on the floor, four long cuts like claw marks running up the inside of their extended arms, their open veins pouring blood out onto the floor.
I startled awake, my eyelids snapping open as I sucked in a breath. My heart hammered, and a cold sweat dampened my skin. Beside me, Bastian lay with his back to me, soft snores marking each of his languid inhales. The first light of early dawn leaked in through the half-drawn curtains.
I sat up and pushed the covers off my clammy skin. The dream had been too real, like I had really been there in that dungeon. It had to be a prophecy. But what did it mean? Could I interpret it literally? Was Javier being held in the dungeon with Thane? Were all those queens there as well? Or was it more symbolic, simply telling me they were all prisoners of the House of the Sun, but not necessarily being held in the same place?
I scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, needing movement to help me think. I retrieved my robe, which lay draped across the corner of the bed, and slipped the silky fabric over my arms, then tied the belt with a loose knot around my waist.
With one last look at Bastian’s slumbering form, I left the bedroom and crossed the sitting room to the door to the hallway. I didn’t know the first thing about interpreting prophetic dreams. I needed the advice of someone who did.
I headed up the hallway toward the stairs at the heart of the house, but when I reached the landing, rather than descending to the foyer, I walked along the second-floor gallery toward the tall pair of double doors blocking entrance to the sealed-off east wing. A large, intricate circular sigil glowed in the center of the doors.
I stopped in front of the doors and tried the handle, but it refused to turn. Assuming the sigil was a locking ward, I pressed my hand to the center of the design. The mark glowed brighter around my fingers, and then the lines of the ward shifted, untwining and pulling apart, until the once unified symbol formed two complex crescent moons, one on either door.
Taking a deep breath, I reached for the handle to the right side door. It gave without resistance, and I pulled the door open, stepping into a hallway that had haunted my nightmares for three decades.
Weak predawn light filtered in through the stained glass window displaying the phases of the moon at the far end of the corridor. A single door broke up the left side wall, the High Queen’s quarters, while the half-dozen doors on the right led to the remaining royal suites. I paused at the door to my old suite and traced the carvings in the wood with a wandering fingertip.
I couldn’t help but feel the weight of my newfound responsibilities settling on my shoulders. I was the High Queen now, the last hope for my people. The fate of an entire species rested in my inexperienced hands, and that realization was terrifying.
For so long, I had been running from my past, from my true identity. I had convinced myself that I could live a normal life, blend in with the humans, and forget about the world I had left behind. But now, standing here in the place where it all began, I realized how foolish that notion had been.
My mother had sacrificed her life to give me a chance at survival, and Javier had risked everything to keep me safe. Now, it was my turn to step up, to embrace my powers and my role as a High Queen of the House of the Moon.
I pulled my hand back and moved farther down the hallway. A sigil similar to the one locking this wing glowed on the door to the High Queen’s quarters. Another lock. I pressed my palm to the center of the design, and once again, the sigil glowed brighter before separating to form two crescent moons. There was the faintest sound of a lock clicking open.
Placing my hand on the doorknob, I twisted it and pushed the door open. The gray light of early morning poured in through the rectangular stained glass skylight, the only window in the sitting room. Sheets had been draped over the furnishings and bookcases, making the room feel like it was slumbering.
Doors on either side of the room led to hallways, which in turn, led to what I now knew were the private rooms belonging to the members of the High Queen’s harem. Another door in the wall straight ahead, this one sealed with a trio of sigils more complex than those I had just broken, led to the High Queen’s study, and through it, to her bedroom.
I made a beeline for that door. The trio of sigils glowed brighter as I approached, then faded, leaving behind sear marks on the wood as they released the lock. That was a different type of locking ward. I leaned closer to the door, studying the spent sigils. Parts of the pattern reminded me of the bonding sigil I marked each of my immortals with when I claimed them, almost like this lock had been designed specifically for me, to automatically unlock in my presence. Had my mom done this?
Unlike in the sitting room, the furniture and shelves in the study were exposed. Open books and loose papers were strewn haphazardly across the desk, covered in a thick layer of dust. Every inch of wall was taken up by built-in bookcases, save for the opposite wall, which displayed a broad picture window overlooking the misty grounds, and the door in the center of the wall to my right, which led to the High Queen’s bedroom.
Not wanting to waste time, I turned to the left and skimmed the titles on the spines of the books on the shelves.
“Sophie?”
I spun around to find Gavin standing in the open doorway. I had been so preoccupied by my mission that I hadn’t sensed him following me. He wore his trousers and a button-down shirt as usual, though the top few buttons of his shirt were undone and his usually sleek hair was slightly mussed, falling forward down his forehead, making him appear less put together than usual.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, scanning the room as he stepped across the threshold. My anger from earlier flared, but he diffused it with a single statement. “No one’s set foot in this room since the attack.”
The attack. Memories of that night flashed through my mind. Horrifying flickers. Nightmare fuel.
I cleared my throat and licked my lips, grabbing onto a safer topic. “Really?” I asked, recalling the strange triple sigil that had burned itself into the door as it released the lock.
“We tried everything to get in here, even breaking through the wall and climbing in through the window, but it was no use,” Gavin said as he crossed to the desk, skimming over the books and papers abandoned there. “Apparently, your mother set the ward sealing this room herself.” He turned toward me, his silver eyes glowing brighter than the dim predawn light. “It was her last act as High Queen.” He glanced at the doorway, his stare growing distant, like he was seeing the space at another time.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I just walked toward the door, and the ward burned itself out.”
“It was waiting for you,” Gavin said, dragging his attention back to me. “Why did you come here?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m assuming it wasn’t for a walk down memory lane.”
I shook my head and scanned the shelves stretching around the room. “I had a dream, a prophetic dream,” I said. “It was confusing, and I was hoping to find some guidance in here.”
“From the books?” Gavin asked. “Or from your mother?”
“All the above?” I said, sounding uncertain. My brow furrowed. “But there are no ghosts in here.”
Gavin’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Give them time. Your mother’s ward likely repelled them, and there may be some lingering residue that keeps them away for some time. They’ll find their way here eventually, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Your mother isn’t likely to be among them.”
Right, because Veris had burned her body and scattered the ashes, leaving her no physical anchor in this place. I thought of Wes downstairs in the infirmary, watching over Micah. He didn’t have an anchor here either. I touched the silver Tree of Life medallion. Wes had given it to me shortly after we discovered I was pregnant. It had been his mom’s, the only thing he had of hers, and was a promise that he would never leave me—that we would be a family. This pendant was what had convinced me to keep the baby. Of course, in the end, Wes hadn’t been able to keep his promise. Maybe he had latched onto the pendant instead of his body? Or maybe he had latched onto me ?
The old, bitter memories made my eyes sting with fresh tears. I cleared my throat, pushing the heartbreak away. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to rely on the books, then,” I told Gavin as I looked around the study. “Any idea of where to find books on interpreting prophetic dreams?”
The thud of a book landing on the hardwood floor drew our attention to the wall on the left.
Cautiously, I approached the book, cocking my head to the side as I crouched to study the worn cover. There was no title stamped into the crimson leather. I reached for the book, turning it over in my hands. The spine was blank as well, and the binding creaked as I opened the book. The first page was blank, but a single word had been written on the second in neat calligraphy, with tidy, precise flourishes: Prophecy .
My eyebrows rose, and I looked at Gavin, tilting the open book toward him so he could see the lone word as well. “Looks like at least one ghost has found its way here already.”
“So it would seem,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. He crossed the study, joining me, his eyes skimming over the spines on the nearby shelves, where the Prophecy book had been tucked away a moment ago. “These books all relate to a queen’s prophetic gifts.”
I nodded, grinning. I was eager to search for some clarity. “Should I look at any others?” I asked the air around us, unsure of the ghost’s location.
Goosebumps rose on my skin, and a noticeable chill entered the air. My next exhale came out as a visible puff of air. A moment later, three more books slid out partway from where they had been shelved.
“Thank you,” I whispered, shivering reflexively. The air warmed noticeably, making me think the ghost had moved away again. Gavin collected the books from the shelves, but I continued to scan the surrounding air, searching for some visible sign of the spirit. “Who are you?” I asked softly. “Can you show yourself?”
A glittering mist formed a half-dozen feet away, and my heartbeat quickened. But instead of coalescing into a humanoid form as Wes had done, the mist lingered for a few seconds before dissipating.
“The residual repellent from the ward must prevent the ghost from manifesting completely,” Gavin said. “We’re lucky she could focus her strength enough to show us the books.”
“She?” I said, looking at him under raised brows.
Gavin nodded, peering around like he just couldn’t help himself from looking for our friendly ghost, either. “Only a queen would know what to look for in here.”
I shrugged one shoulder and looked past him. “Thank you, whoever you are.”
Gavin started toward the doorway, and I followed. We carried our small book haul back to his quarters in the west wing, where I settled at the compact dining table to do some much needed research while Gavin filled an electric kettle and plugged it in on the sideboard.
“What did you see in the dream?” Gavin asked, scooping a small amount of black tea leaves from a tin and dropping them into a large ceramic teapot, then turning to face me. He leaned back against the edge of the sideboard and crossed his arms over his chest.
My brow furrowed as I recalled the prophetic dream, relaying what I could remember clearly. It hadn’t faded as quickly as a normal dream, but it wasn’t crystal clear, either, making me think it might be smart to keep a dream journal.
Steam rose from the kettle’s spout by the time I finished recounting the dream. “Basically, I want to figure out if Javier and all those women are really in the same place as Thane,” I said. “Are we rescuing one person or a bunch of people? I assume that ‘he bleeds for us’ means the queens have been feeding off Javier, and now Thane too, but what did Javier mean when he said I couldn’t save them all?”
“All good questions,” Gavin said, turning away to fill the prepared teapot with boiling water. Finished, he set the teapot on a trivet on the table along with a couple of matching ceramic mugs, then pulled out the chair opposite mine. He reached for one of the books and dragged it closer to his side. “I’ll help you look for answers.”
I smiled gratefully, my gaze lingering on Gavin as he opened the book and started to read. This was the first time we had done much of anything together that didn’t involve the shedding of clothing, and I was surprised to find that I liked to be around him like this. And then I thought about what we would be doing in a few hours, naked and with two other people, and my cheeks heated.
Gavin peered at me without raising his head from his book. “Do try to concentrate.” He raised one eyebrow, the corners of his mouth tensing. “Unless you’re feeling peckish .”
My blush flamed hotter, and I cleared my throat, refocusing on my book. “I’m fine.” I couldn’t help but glance at him.
He was still watching me, dark anticipation in his stare.
I licked my lips. “For now.”