The stone corridor leading to the catacombs was dark and silent enough to hear mice rustling in the walls. It seemed too easy as they made their way through the shadows, and Avalon feared they were walking into a trap. But once they crept down the crumbling stairs, only to find there wasn’t a guard in sight, Avalon and Hadrian breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Hadrian said, his words echoing faintly as he handed Avalon the torch. He removed another from the wall by the stairs, the flames lighting up his eyes until they looked like glowing coals.
Avalon swallowed heavily as she positioned the mask over her face; there was no way she was doing this alone.
Sable?she called to the warrior.
Sable internally nodded in confirmation that she was there—and she was ready.
It was to Hadrian that Avalon said, “What if we get lost?”
“Then shout for me and I’ll find you,” Hadrian promised, reaching out to squeeze her fingers lightly in encouragement.
And then they parted ways, Sable a solid presence inside the mask.
Nearly an hour of rummaging through crypts and overturning stones passed quickly, and the distant echo of clocks chiming throughout the House made them both anxious. Eight o’clock already. There had been no sign of the ghost, no indication of where they should go. It seemed no one would help them this time. They were both frustrated, and Avalon was faint from hunger.
She crawled out of crypt number twenty-four, swatting the dust from her tangled hair. As she steadied herself with a hand on the lip of the crypt, and her other loosely grasping the torch, her heart nearly stopped in surprise at the sight of a familiar young spirit hovering by the wall.
Deep in the mask, Sable released a squeak of recognition. And Avalon understood then, as obscure memories, each faded like ink on parchment, tumbled through her head.
One memory stood out the most: When a nine-year-old Sable had come upon Levon in a meadow in the Outlands, when she was supposed to meet her friend near the Haunted Woods. Avalon had seen this spirit—this young girl—in Sable’s memories many times, but never had she been given a name. Now it only made sense.
“Hannelore,” Avalon whispered, recalling how Sable had heard the Wolves and ran like hell to save her friend—and had failed. “You’re Hannelore.”
Hannelore’s hair floated as if she were underwater as she looked up—toward the engravings on the ceiling. But those strange symbols and images meant no more to Avalon now than the first time she was here. Flames, snowflakes, flowers, whorls of wind… She had no idea what they were supposed to represent, though she’d suspected—
They’re showing us the gods and goddesses,Sable confirmed. She quietly identified each as Avalon’s gaze drifted over them.Reed, the God of Water. Zola, the Goddess of the Earth and Life. Hilandria, the Goddess of Fire. Anaxi and Serene, the deities of Ice.There was a heavy pause as she considered the last one that came just before the ceiling disappeared into darkness. This sketch was encircled by skulls, bats, ghost orchids, and what looked like the river that bled through the Underworld.
Izlia, the Goddess of Death.Sable’s voice was hushed. Over Izlia’s shoulder was another, larger sketch—a shadow that was either devouring Izlia or embracing her.Harlan, the God of Death.Sable’s inner voice was barely forming words.
Avalon shuddered.
The engravings extended all the way down the tunnel, likely depicting more of the old gods and goddesses. But Avalon had a feeling they had both seen enough.
Inside the mask, Sable was pining for another glimpse of her friend. And when Avalon turned to face Hannelore, relief flooded through their mind, the emotion so fierce that the princess swayed on her feet. Sable was chanting her name inside her head, like an ancient prayer echoing against the vaulted ceilings of a house of worship.
The last time Sable had seen Hannelore, her face and body were torn up so badly that she was unrecognizable. The Wolves had left barely anything behind—hardly a scrap of a corpse for Sable to bury later that evening, below the ice tree in the courtyard.
For a moment, all Avalon could see was that tree of ice shimmering in the silver moonlight, and a young, heartbroken Sable kneeling before it. Snow had gathered around her as she sat there all night, refusing to move until Balthazar had come to carry her in.
Avalon blinked, and the image disappeared. They were back in the catacombs again.
Hannelore turned her head, the fine strands of her hair fluttering on a phantom wind. She didn’t need to lift her hand to show them where they needed to go.
Even if Hannelore’s head hadn’t turned in its direction, the sight of the shadows writhing inside the tomb would’ve been indication enough that this was where the book slumbered. And as Avalon made her way over, trying her best not to cringe at the shadows that seemed alive, she glanced over her shoulder to look at Hannelore again—for Sable.
But she was already gone.
~
After the general had taken the tray of empty dishes back downstairs, Nocturne had slipped into a deep sleep. For once, she dreamed of nothing and no one. No hollow eyes watched her from the dark recesses of her mind, no screams curdled her blood and shook her awake. It was the most peace she’d had in weeks.
Somewhere, deep in the bowels of the House, a clock declared nine o’clock. Stirring awake, she rubbed her eyes and sat up, pushing the heavy furs aside. The fire was bright and crackling, the snow-brick hearth glowing with rosy warmth. Through the windows that curved behind the bed, the sky was splattered with stars. The moon hung half-full, like an ornament spinning over a crib.
The general still hadn’t returned, but she figured she’d been in his chambers—in hisbed—quite long enough.
She rolled until her bare feet touched the floor. The glass wasn’t nearly as cold as she’d anticipated, though she should’ve expected as much for the Dark Lord’s best. A white robe and a pair of slippers sat on the plush armchair by the fireplace. She threw on the robe, tied it, and shoved her feet into the soft slippers.
