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“I suppose we have to wait to find out,” Draven said, his voice low.
I could feel Guinevere’s eyes upon me. The dark brown orbs seemed larger than ever in her pale, drawn face.
“We could make camp and wait until morning,” Lancelet suggested. “Or...”
“Or we could tether the horses and go up those stairs right now,” Hawl finished.
“I say we go now,” Guinevere said softly.
Draven nodded. “Agreed. Let’s see what’s at the top. Then we can make camp.”
Lancelet’s horse moved skittishly. “And if the entrance is at the top? Then what? We leave the horses down here alone?”
“It’s not as if we’re about to be sucked in,” Hawl boomed. I felt the Bearkin glance at me in a way that was almost nervous, as if they worried there might be some truth to what they’d said. “We can return and make camp after we investigate. We’ll decide what to do then.”
I said nothing. I simply looked at the winding stone stairs carved into the cliffside. At the silver reflective surface of the lake.
We ascended the stairs one by one. They were narrow and there was no rail.
When had they last been used? Had my father ever made his way up these stairs? I doubted it. That seemed far too mundane for Gorlois le Fay.
I skimmed my fingers along the rock face as we climbed, feeling the stone, cold and solid beneath.
Under my feet, moss and lichen clung to the steps. As we ascended, the damp patches gleamed slightly in the fading light. The squelching of boots against the wet stones mixed with the rhythmic thud of our steps and the clatter of an occasional dislodged pebble tumbling down the slope and into the lake far below.
Draven had taken the lead. Behind me came Lancelet, then Guinevere, then Hawl.
We had nearly reached the top when a panicked gasp came from behind me, and I paused, turning swiftly to see Lancelet had slipped. She had sunk down onto her knees, her hands grasping at the stairs.
“A loose stone,” was all she said as she pushed herself back up onto her feet grimly. “Fucking fae and their lack of handrails. It’s not as if they all have wings, now is it?”
I couldn’t even form a reply. My heart was pounding. We were so high up now that the lake below seemed no more than a puddle. If she had fallen...
“Here,” Draven called from ahead. I looked to see him standing at the top of the platform. “It’s narrow, but we all should fit.” He glanced down at us. “Well, except Hawl.”
He took my hand, pulling me up beside him, then waited for Lancelet and Guinevere to finish their ascent.
The four of us stood on the platform, looking at the cliff-face as Hawl, breathing heavily, reached the top steps.
“I’ll stay where I am,” the Bearkin growled. “Doesn’t look as if the fae built that platform to hold more than a few of you scrawny creatures.”
“Where’s the door? Is there supposed to be one?” Lancelet demanded. She and Draven were already sliding their hands over the cliffside, searching for crevices. “How do we get inside?”
Guinevere and I stood side by side in silence.
“I don’t see anything,” Lancelet finally said in frustration. She glanced at me. “Do you?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“And yet there are stairs. And this platform,” Guinevere said quietly.
“Exactly,” Draven agreed. “Clearly there is something here or we wouldn’t be standing here now. Why build a staircase to nothing?”
“Perhaps we’ll be able to see more in the morning,” I suggested. “The sun is nearly down. It will be hard to navigate those stairs in the dark.”
“There has to be something here. Unless...” Lancelet scowled.
“What?” I asked.
