“You’re his new minstrel. Aren’t you?” Her copper-brown eyes were bright with concern. “Are you all right?”
“AmIall right?” Emeline spluttered. “What about you? What are you doing here?”
Grace shook her head, sending her black curls bouncing. “I’ll explain later. There are more important things you should know.” She turned sharply at a stone staircase, her feet hurrying down the steps. “This way.”
When they hit bottom, darkness seeped in and the temperature dropped. Emeline shivered and rubbed her arms, trying to stave off the chill. Up ahead, a large wooden door was illuminated by two brightly burning torches set into sconces on the wall. Lifting one of them, Grace pulled on the door’s iron ring, then stepped through the opening.
Emeline followed her.
It was black as pitch within. Their footsteps hushed against the stone floor, which was carved up into slabs, smooth with age, and imprinted with words. In the flickering light of Grace’s torch, Emeline caught names. Dates. Inscriptions.
Tombs,she thought.We’re in a crypt.
Emeline glanced around, slowing as the realization sank in. In the darkness, she could almost make out the shapes of statues carved from marble, and doorways leading into alcoves, holding the dead within.
Grace was several yards ahead now, standing before a whitewall, the torch held high over her head. Emeline hurried to catch up, not wanting to be left in the dark.
“Why are we …”
The question died on her lips as she drew nearer to the wall Grace stood staring at. It only looked white, she realized, because of the rows and rows of human skulls. Hundreds of skulls. Teeth bared, sockets gaping. So many, they filled the wall from floor to ceiling, end to end.
“They’re the king’s singers … as well as their instructors.”
An icy chill seeped into Emeline.
It’s why I had to reach out to another court,Hawthorne had told her.Calliope has agreed to be your instructor at great risk to herself.
This was way worse than she thought. “Doanysurvive?”
Grace shook her head.
Between them and the wall was a marble podium that rose to the height of their chests. Upon it, a crimson velvet pouch sat untied and open. Nestled inside its red folds was one more skull.
Emeline stepped towards it, touching the words on the bronze plaque. “‘The Song Mage,’” she read.
“What’s left of him,” said Grace. “They say the witch who killed him delivered his head to the king in that pouch.”
Remembering what Hawthorne said about this same witch—who’d given Claw the Song Mage’s music to guard—Emeline wrinkled her nose at the thought of it: blood dripping through the fabric, leaving a smear of red across the palace’s polished floors. “She must have really hated him.”
“Apparently, she loved him. But he didn’t love her back.” Grace turned away from the wall of death. “So she killed him.”
Emeline’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “Seems reasonable.”
The corner of Grace’s mouth tipped upwards. But she quicklysobered, looking back to the skull. Emeline looked too, studying the remains of the king’s beloved singer. The small teeth, the yellowed bone, the shadowy gaps. “What was so special aboutyou?” she asked it.
“He was originally from our world,” Grace said. “A human singer renowned for his captivating voice. But then he came here, to the King’s City, and didn’t want to leave. So he traded his voice in exchange for a place in the court.”
Emeline cocked her head in confusion. “How could he sing with no voice?”
Grace shook her head. “His voicebeyondthe woods. He could speak and sing here, but the moment he stepped back into our world, he fell mute.”
Emeline reached for her throat. To not be able to sing … “It would have ended his career.”
Grace nodded. “Beyond the woods, yes. But here, in this world, there’s magic in sacrifice. His gave him power. A lot of power. It transformed him from court minstrel toSong Mage—a man who used his magical voice for the betterment of the woods. The Wood King’s reign was prosperous when the Song Mage was the court minstrel. It was a golden age, or so people say.”
“And now that golden age is over,” said Emeline, “because the Song Mage is dead.”
“And the woods are cursed,” added Grace. “Which is why you can’t stay.”
