“Not really.”
The tunnel headed slightly downward but nowhere near as far as the tunnels leading into the Four-Pointed Star’s secret bunker. Then L’zar snuffed out the purple flames in his hand and exited the tunnel, stepping aside to let Cheyenne through.
“Whoa.”
They stood in a small courtyard made entirely of black stone. It looked much like the courtyard in the heart of the Crown’s fortress, but this one was the size of a small house. Two twisted, gnarled trees grew from the cracked stone floors, their branches coiling in every direction. From the branches hung potted plants, tendrils, and leaves overflowing from the tops in shriveled black threads. Bottles of dark-colored glass dotted the courtyard, filled with shimmering liquids and lights of every color, though they were all muted and tinged with a darkness that made Cheyenne’s skin crawl.
“Looks like someone failed at their gardening attempts.”
“Not at all.” L’zar clasped his hands behind his back again and walked slowly across the courtyard, reaching up with one extended finger toward the closest potted plant hanging from a tree branch. The shriveled black vine pulsed with sickly green light like an electrical current and lifted away from the pot toward L’zar’s finger. He smiled thinly and removed his hand before the plant could make contact. “This is how they’re supposed to be. The magical responsible for flora in here is very good at what she does.”
“So.” Cheyenne turned slowly around, eyeing the dark corners of the courtyard and the tattered, frayed black cloth draped over one wall. “Who is this magical, exactly?”
L’zar chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t call her a friend, but if there’s one magical in this fell-damn world my sister truly fears, it’s Ur’syth.”
“Ur’syth?”
“Say it three times, and she’ll appear in front of us.”
She snorted. “They let you watch Beetlejuice in Chateau D’rahl?”
L’zar merely smiled and turned to casually stroll across the courtyard.
Cheyenne followed him, ducking when the branches of the gnarled tree shivered and creaked, reaching out toward her. “What does she do?”
“All sorts of things, Cheyenne. Be quiet.” L’zar peered into a dark corner of the courtyard, then straightened and turned slowly around again. “Ur’syth! Dark Mother. I can’t say I expected to find you in the Heart, but I’m sure you didn’t expect me to find you here either, did you? Come out and see what I’ve brought with me.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and shot Cheyenne a playful wink.
She stepped away from the tree, scowling at it as the branches returned to their original positions. This better be one of those quick in-and-out visits. I like creepy stuff, but this takes it to a whole new level.
Chapter Twelve
“Ur’syth?” There was laughter in L’zar’s voice as he strolled across the courtyard. “I’ll summon you if I have to, but we both know you and I are past that point. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
The black cloth hanging over the wall whipped in a wind that didn’t blow through the rest of the courtyard. L’zar’s eyes widened when he saw the fabric move. He met Cheyenne’s gaze and nodded toward the tattered black sheet before it billowed out into the courtyard as if the wind came from the wall itself.
“You’re early.” A grating voice like sandpaper came from behind L’zar, and he whirled, laughing when he saw the hunched, shriveled figure draped in black rags.
“So, you were expecting me.”
A shrouded arm rose from the tattered folds, and a dark-gray finger poked from the end of the sleeve toward L’zar’s face. The crone’s features were invisible in the thick blackness within her hood. “I expected you at the end of days, Weaver, when the deathflame takes us all and Ambar’ogúl sails upon the tides of all its dead. Which basically means never. So yes, you’re early.”
The figure sidled forward and returned her hand to the folds of her tattered rags. “Show me what you’ve brought, then. Is it a gift?”
“Of sorts.” L’zar stepped aside and turned to gesture toward his daughter. “Cheyenne, come meet Ur’syth.”
Cheyenne straightened and stared at the shriveled figure. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m good.”
The crone wheezed with laughter, batting L’zar aside with a flapping hand to approach Cheyenne. The drow stepped easily out of her path and watched her limp toward his daughter.
Cheyenne glanced at him and stuck her hands in her pockets. I was seriously hoping to leave the creepy stuff behind today.
“You.” The crone lifted both hands to her hood and pulled it back in a puff of dust and black particles that danced behind her in the still air.
The halfling’s stomach clenched when she saw Ur’syth’s face—wrinkled lines in dark flesh, beady black eyes, black paint flaking on her face from forehead to chin, and sharp, pointed teeth within a mouth as red and glistening as freshly spilled blood. The face from her dreams. “You.”
The sharp teeth glinted at her when Ur’syth’s lips twitched into a sneer. “I am always myself, hinya. You are something else half the time, are you not?” The crone raised a hand toward L’zar and waved him forward. “Who is this?”
“Cheyenne.”
“You gave me her name already, you grinning idiot. Who is she?”
L’zar clasped his hands behind his back and straightened, that feral glint in his golden eyes giving him a disturbingly hungry look. “My heir. My daughter, Ur’syth. Why else did you think the new Cycle turned when you felt it like the rest of us? The Rahalma has already received her marandúr. It’s done.”
Ur’syth gazed at Cheyenne’s face, or at least her fully black eyes glinted with movement. No pupils. I can’t tell what the hell she’s looking at.
The crone nodded at her, her blood-red tongue poking out between her lips. The spittle left behind on her lips and teeth looked a lot like blood too. “As it was foretold.”
“No.” L’zar stalked toward them, his smile widening into a twitching grin. “Your prophecy was shit, Oracle. Sure, it took me a thousand years or more to prove it, but I
