“Crown of Shadows?” Andraste mutters. “It’s just an old rusted crown.”
Eris hauls her pack over her shoulder and tugs something from it, as Andraste backs away with a mutinous expression.
I circle the throne as she and Eris argue.
Just a long-dead king sitting there, pierced through with briars.
I slice through the thorns curling around the crown and lift it from his head. Nothing moves, but it feels as though the room somehow exhaled.
Grimm and I share a look.
And…
Nothing.
Rust crumbles in my hands, revealing part of the metal is breaking away. Iron? What sort of fae king would wear a crown of iron? The ache in his temples must have been horrific, and his skin would have burned. If I wasn’t wearing gloves it would have blistered my skin.
Unless… this is not the Crown of Shadows.
Something clicks within the crown.
Sharp needles suddenly stab through the crown’s grooves, slashing through my fingers. I cry out and drop the cursed thing, and it vibrates on the ground as if my blood has activated some long-dormant spell. Little mechanical clicks come from within it. Each prong realigns itself, turning upside down, until the bloody thing looks like it has eight legs. The hollow circlet that once sat upon the Briar King’s head forms an armored carapace.
I back away.
Why does everything that is dark and unseelie have such a hankering for spiders?
The grimalkin hisses as the thorns in the room start to shiver and shake. Stone grinds in the walls, dust falling from the ceiling. And the Briar King’s skeleton vibrates on its throne.
We need to get out of here now.
“Grimm!”
The furry meld of shadows leaps into my arms, clawing its way up onto my shoulder. “Move, you cursed meat suit!”
I leap from the dais, drawing my sword.
“What in the Darkness just happened?” Eris yells.
“It’s a trap!”
But who set it?
The oracle said that if I took the crown from King Myrdal’s head, then I would understand everything.
But none of this makes sense.
“Thief,” hisses the Briar King, his hollow eyes turning to somehow lock upon me. Blue lights gleam in the center of his eye sockets like a pair of will-o’-the-wisps. A wight. I’ve roused a wight. “Now you shall pay the price for disturbing my slumber.”
The ground starts shaking as the Briar King lifts a metal-clad hand, clenching the fingers of his gauntlet shut.
“W-what is that?” Andraste demands.
“All that remains of King Myrdal after Mother was through with him.”
Eris spins around, her knife held in her fist and the whites of her eyes showing. “We need to leave. Now.”
“The real crown has to be here somewhere! Distract it.”
“Vi!” Andraste slices her ropes on Eris’s drawn blade, which is a gutsy move at the best of times. “As much as I hate to agree with your… friend, this is not the time. Give me my sword!”
“No,” Eris snaps.
“Give her the sword,” I yell, because three swords are better than two.
Eris shoots me an incredulous look, then tosses Andraste’s sword at her.
“Maybe the clue was in that thing!” Eris points at the spider-crown scuttling over the walls. “There has to be a reason the oracle sent you to find it.”
“I’ll get it.”
I sprint across the stone flagstones, sliding beneath a whip of actinic blue fire as the Briar King stands. Snatching at the crown, I scrabble to my feet, and shove it in the bag slung over my shoulder.
Andraste lunges forward, slashing through one of the whip-like vines. Her blade sheers through the thick trunk, but the mess of thorns writhes toward her.
I leap over the thorns, grabbing Andraste’s gauntleted wrist as I go. “Run!”
Together, the pair of us sprint toward the archway, where Eris is gesturing to us.
“I’ll cover you!” Eris yells.
Stone columns collapse ahead of us, the arch crumbling across the entrance. I skid to a halt, throwing my hands up to protect my face.
When the dust clears, the entrance is completely covered.
“Curse it.” I turn around breathlessly. There has to be some way out.
“This way,” Andraste says grimly, yanking me toward a set of broken doors that lead further into the ruined keep.
Thorns lash out, and I leap over them, landing with a jarring thud and throwing myself forward into a roll. One slashes through my cheek, the sting like the hot kiss of a blade. “Eris!”
She clears the way, the sweep of her sword hacking through brambles and thorns.
The thorns don’t touch her, I notice.
Instead, they recoil, as if not even they are certain what sort of magic stalks within their midst. But there are more of them, crawling over the walls and seeking to cut off our only path to freedom.
I drive my sword through the thorns, slashing and hacking. Sweat drips down my spine, and I can feel that cursed creature trying to break free of my bag.
Eris cuts an entire wall of thorns free, revealing a gaping tunnel. Andraste summons a faelight, and a thick layer of dust on the carpets stretches into infinity. Nothing has come this way for centuries, but I can’t help staring into the dark and wondering if this is the only way out.
There has to be a way out.
There has to be—
There.
Something shivers, deep below me.
“I can feel the Hallow,” I gasp, turning toward an ancient spiral staircase. “It’s still alive.”
Eris grabs my arm. “This Hallow has been forbidden for centuries. We don’t know if it’s even usable.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Behind her, a horrific rumble echoes through the stones.
“Is it just me?” Grimm asks, his fur rising along his spine, “Or can anyone else hear that dreadful rasping sound?”
I have no idea where he appeared from.
“It’s not just you,” Eris says, her face grim as she turns toward the throne room.
The doors slam open, the stones in the floors parting as if some enormous leviathan swims beneath them. The bleached skull of something monstrous tosses apart enormous blocks of slate
