I don’t know if it’s the power that still thrums lightly inside of me like a faint heartbeat or the sheer magnitude of my anger that gave me the courage to stand up to Willem. I’m almost thankful for the light, for it possibly stopped the two of us from exposing one another.
Kane slowly makes his way along the walls, smiling to himself as his dark eyes dart between one symbol to the next. I’ve never seen him so excited. Large columns line a fire-lit path. The flame is as blue as the midnight sea we sailed across to get here. Its light casts a strange canary yellow glow upon the black marble. The tomb smells of Deadly Nightshade and crisp apples. My boots click upon the floors as I walk through the cavernous chamber. I catch movement out the corner of my eye and see Willem. He shakes his head at me as if to say I am the cause of some great cataclysmic event that will destroy the world.
Arms slip around my waist and I lean back against Kane. His heartbeat soothes me like nothing else and I can almost imagine we’re back at the castle.
“You did it,” he breathes against my neck. “Soon we can harness your power. Together, we can teach you how to control it so you don’t harm yourself or others. Who knows just how strong you are, Briar.”
“I…” the words are stolen from my lips.
My head hurts again. I feel faint, but Kane’s arms keep me steady. Another vision flashes behind my eyes.
So much death. He lays beside me and tells me tales of his conquests. They’re meaningless acts of violence, red slashes through our history that were no more than fables to me a moment ago. Destruction will come on in the silence of the night, carried by the black wings that cradle me gently. The mortals are not safe...no one is...not even I.
The door to the tomb slams shut. A loud, ominous echo reverberates through the chamber and the phantom flames flicker. Kane releases me and tries to read the inscription on the back, but it’s nothing more than a riddle. We’re trapped. Nowhere to retreat. We must go forward. The pain subsides, but I wait to open my eyes again. With the return of my betrothed’s hand, I am able to release the clutching of my eyelids.
With Kane by my side and his shadows to keep me comfort, we move further toward the other side of this long room. It only feels natural to whisper in a place this dark.
“When Drogaem died, the Inati created this tomb. They were dark Nephilim, a brotherhood of priests that served Death,” Kane explains. I wonder to myself whether this knowledge is something he knew before, or if he read it in the runes along the walls. “They brought Drogaem’s fifty concubines and one hundred wives.”
I glance up at him. “What happened to them?”
Kane nods forward. “Drogaem’s head wife, Qenta, was a powerful necromancer. While the Inati fought those who tried to claim the crown before the tomb was shut, she poured her magic into the island. We must be cautious.”
“Are the Inati still alive?” I ask, not liking the thought of a dark brotherhood of soul-leeching creatures.
Kane shakes his head just as we come upon a staircase. Endless darkness awaits at the bottom, or so I think. Kane creeps down first and I walk between him and Willem. His voice is quiet, like his shadows are whispering to me even as his lips stay pressed into a firm line. I’ve felt this before.
“The Inati were executed not long before I ascended to the throne. They were feral beings determined to kill anything that defied their master. For the safety of the gods and those under our protection, they had to be put to rest.”
I don’t think Willem would be pleased to hear this tale.
We hit the landing at the base of the stairs. Torches line the walls with the same fire as before. My eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness that still remains. Between evenly placed notches in the wall are women. But not women that resemble the living. It’s clear they’ve been dead for quite some time, but somehow preserved with care. Each woman looks dry, almost hollow. Swatches of silk in a dark hue of jade wrap around their bodies, draping like exotic gowns and covering everything but their eyes and parts of their faces where the silk has torn.
Kane grabs my hand and tugs me along. We follow the torches and the smell of Nightshade grows stronger. It’s bitter and earthy, but not entirely unpleasant. I notice items have been set inside each of notches beside the mummified women, soapstone boxes and jars made of alabaster. I feel my eyes twitch before the symbols on the objects turn to words.
The headache grows stronger, but I attempt to read the inscriptions.
“A spell,” I whisper.
Kane peers at me from over his shoulder and drops my hand. I nod toward the spells. “This is what Qenta used her power for, isn’t it? To keep the women from turning to dust over the centuries.”
“And to set up some pretty difficult obstacles and traps for anyone who discovered the tomb. How did you know that?” he replies just as quietly.
I shake my head, a bit of fear pushing into my chest. “I-I don’t know. I could suddenly read the symbols. They’re blurry, but I can understand them for the most part. Is that bad, Kane?”
“Briar...that language is ancient. Even I can barely read it. It’s the language of the oldest magic in existence, something usually only the
