kept her attention fixed on Maeve and the mouth of the cave she imagined was about to slam shut, deeming them unworthy of entering.
“Who’s the old dude?” Vaughn murmured, nudging her other arm.
Curious, she watched a man close to a century old shuffle forward. Human and slave-born, she realized, noting Morgana’s brand on the man’s arm. Shockingly white hair fell into the man’s eyes, his skin dark and weathered. The swollen joints in his hands curled around a walking stick.
He moved with the awkward gait of someone who didn’t trust their cane to keep them up, but something about the movement felt…exaggerated.
“This is Graegor. He will be your guide into the catacombs.” Maeve waited for the man to join her, her eyes narrowing as he paused in front of the entrance and bowed his head for a moment.
Praying?
Once he stood next to Maeve, she continued, a slight pout in her tone. “You will stay with Graegor and not explore any of the other chambers or tunnels, unless you wish to be left behind. Inside, one of you will retrieve the Scroll of Nogard. When the scroll is read aloud where I’m standing, the competition ends and you will again be returned to the mansion.”
It couldn’t possibly be as simple as it sounded.
“This way.” Maeve motioned everyone to the entrance. She handed Graegor something that looked a lot like the gemstones from Tintagel castle. Briana stopped. Why would Maeve give the Eyes of Afanc to Graegor?
Oblivious to Briana’s scrutiny, the goddess disappeared and Graegor limped over to lead the way. Once he crossed the threshold of the entrance—one of hundreds to the catacombs—his spine seemed a little straighter, his step more confident.
He glanced back only occasionally, his gaze straying to the Fae each time. Curious, she kept Bran in her line of sight. Did the two men know each other?
Presented with more questions and few answers, Briana stuck as close to the pair as she could as the passageway ahead narrowed and branched off. They stayed to the middle path, winding around corners, the ceiling low enough they had to duck in places.
Lucan jostled her from behind, the heat of his body making the warm tunnel almost suffocating. She breathed through her mouth, determined to avoid inhaling the scent that continued to unravel her. She couldn’t block out the sound of his footfalls behind her though, or stop herself from picturing where his hands might land if he got too close.
It could have been worse. She could’ve had Kel behind her. Instead the dragon walked ahead of her with Nessa right on his heels. If the close quarters weren’t enough to deal with, Kel had a huntress breathing down his neck.
Briana might have grinned if she didn’t have to contend with the six-foot-two male invading her personal space with every other step.
The trail eventually opened up, the air weighed down by the scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation. The humidity in the chamber stretched over her skin, settling on her chest as she pulled in each sticky breath.
And yet the chamber was empty.
Intricate columns were scattered across the chamber, each one painted with elaborate vines and branches. Tilting her head back, she discovered a rainforest canopy drawn across the chamber’s stone ceiling. Limbs and leaves crisscrossed overhead, appearing glossy from a recent shower, though it couldn’t have rained in there.
Could it?
Beneath their feet, the realistically painted maze of roots and vegetation covered the floor, prompting more than one of them to step carefully. At the sound of scurrying feet, Briana glanced down. The leaves near her feet stirred as though a creature had dived between the one-dimensional foliage.
Something crunched beneath Lucan’s feet. He lifted his foot and searched the ground for the source, and their gazes met.
She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or annoyed that he didn’t appear to have taken the enchantress up on her offer. He had to be starving by now. How could he think he stood a chance of fighting off Kel or Nessa if he was too weak from hunger?
The reminder didn’t stop her from watching him from the corner of her eye as they moved around the chamber.
Graegor limped toward the wall where paintings of the trees separated, revealing an altar of sorts. His post? The human’s gaze continued to follow Bran.
Distracted by the trickle of an unseen stream, she paused. “Where’s the water?”
“There.” Elena pointed to the streaks of blue peeking through a wall of leaves. Though the sorceress didn’t warn the others, she kept a careful distance.
Both Briana and the sorceress knew that drinking water in the catacombs could lead to forgetting who you were. It had happened to Cian and Emma only weeks ago, and Emma’s Fae half had likely been the only reason she’d been resistant to the magic that would have kept the couple stranded in the catacombs indefinitely.
Skimming the walls of the rainforest, Briana frowned. How were they supposed to find a scroll here?
“Was that there a minute ago?” Nessa waved to a mural on the far wall, half hidden by the vines.
From her vantage point, Briana could just make out the figures locked in battle on a muddy battlefield. Another mural of a Campaign?
Closer than the others, Vaughn ventured toward it.
“Don’t,” Elena called out, half a second before the wolf’s fingers brushed the surface.
A gust of glacial wind snapped through the chamber that vanished around them, leaving them on a field that didn’t look so different from the painting.
Iron-gray clouds rolled across the sky toward them, the dampness promising a torrential downpour. All around them hundreds of bodies covered the ground, some dying, some already gone. Moans from those still clinging to life broke the screams of pain that echoed across the meadow.
Among the twisted and broken human bodies, lay horses. Beheaded wolf and cat gargoyles, many bigger than Briana’s own feline form, lay motionless and scattered across the field. The still smoking body of a fallen dragon rested a short distance away.
Briana’s throat cramped, the absolute carnage threatening to empty the contents of her stomach at her feet. Next to her, Lucan didn’t move, his face paler than before, if that was even possible.
Vaughn shuddered. “This can’t be real.” He pointed to the emblem of Morgana’s army on one of the dead men. “No one would be stupid enough to wage war on Morgana.”
“Not even the rebellion?”
He shook his head. “Not a chance. And they don’t have the support to pull off a battle of this scale.” Grim, he scanned the field, the wolf in his eyes.
“No.” Kel clenched his jaw. “This isn’t a new fight.” His gaze found Lucan’s. “It’s the battle of Camlann.”
“Impossible.” Bran shook his head, his expression stricken. “Another illusion.”
A dark blur shot past Briana’s face, and an arrow lodged in Bran’s arm.
Elena scoffed. “Still think so?”
A group of riders crested a grassy knoll, bearing down on them. It was right at that moment they all seemed to realize the weapons they’d carried with them had vanished along with the catacombs.
Stooping, Lucan grabbed a sword from the ground, and tossed it to Briana. “You always said you wanted to join the Guard.”
Lucan picked up an axe from one of the slain men nearby—one of Morgana’s—and made another sweep of their surroundings, noting the terrain that would be problematic for the approaching riders.
Encircled by war and death, the wraith remained conspicuously quiet. Had been ever since he’d left Briana in her room after their last conversation. Not even the hunger that stole through him, a subtle invasion of every cell in his body, roused the darkness.
An unexpected development that would have worried him if there had been time for it.
“
