“Lord Astraeus is mistaken,” Xenelpha said in hushed tones as she approached the stone sarcophagus. “A line of Bellators runs in his blood, but he has no connection to this bone.”
I balked. Astraeus’s bloodline? I squinted at her through the darkness. “Do the bones only answer to those within the original Bellators’ bloodlines?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Xenelpha shook her head, the straight salt and pepper hair swaying like shadows in the darkness as she murmured, “We do not know how the bones choose.”
“You think the boneschoosetheir warriors? Like they are sentient?”
Xenelpha’s mouth curved as she said, “You tell me.”
I bristled under the weight of her gaze and looked toward Faron’s sarcophagus.
“How do you know all of this?”
“Death tells us a story. You know this already.”
“The god of death? Did Tynan tell you this?” Was it possible she somehow communicated with the god of death, or was this another riddle?
I ran my fingers over the carvings of the sarcophagus, tracing the bloody battle. Waves of magic blasted apart castles, and winged beasts rained fire from above.
“Your human eyes see the physical markings on bones,” Xenelpha continued, her eyes bright, “What was left behind, the tales of the being whose body they held. How old they were, what type of life they led. Imagine what you could see if you could read thenon-physicalmarkings on the bones.”
“You mean use magic to examine bones? Does that have something to do with why you wear them?” I asked, brows pinched.
A small dip in her chin as she reverently ran her fingers over the stone, following the path in the smooth divots.
“One of them. They also symbolize our victories. Bones are added to our warriors’ armor only when they earn it. Bone is what remains long after our passing,” she explained, “Bones are the keepers of our stories. The keepers of our truths. What is it your Death Scholars say? There is truth in death?”
I nodded, churning her words over in my mind.
“How do you know all this?” I asked, eyeing her across the tomb.
“There are many ways to see—” she began, her eyes again searching the air around my head, as realization hit.
“You see them,” I cut her off, eyes widening. “You can see the threads. The magic, the connections binding us.” I stepped around the sarcophagus and eyed her pleased expression.
“Can you?—”
“I cannot tell you what happened to the person at the end of that soulbinding thread,” she murmured, “I am only blessed enough to discern the types of threads holding you to another. That is the only reason you are here, alive,” she said, her words edged in steel.
I fucking knew it.My heart stuttered in grief. I should have pushed Bayne... I opened my mouth, and she held a small hand up. “We are not here to discuss my threadsight,” she declared with an air of finality.
Xenelpha’s dark hand slid down the side of the sarcophagus and up to the very top of the lid, where a small bird had been carved. She pressed her finger on its head, the small bit of stone sinking beneath the rest. The center of the sarcophagus hissed,and a round stone, small enough to fit in both hands, rose from the lid.
Xenelpha motioned to me, and I gently took the stone from the center of the lid. The buzz off the stone wasn’t as abhorrent as it had been with the elixir. Without the cuff, my senses clear, it was more of a flutter, I realized. The small wings of a hummingbird, rather than an irritating insect.
As I leaned over the sarcophagus, I spied the darkness of the inside of the tomb below. My eyes lingered on the ivory bones that gleamed at its center, and I couldn’t help the curiosity that bubbled up.
“Do not linger,” Xenelpha murmured, eyeing me as I let my gaze search the bones beneath the lid. “I will grant you limited access to this room each day to attempt to open it. And then you must return it to its place.”
I nodded as my eyes scanned the round stone in my hand. Etchings of strange, membranous wings stretched from the center of the stone to its edges around a spiral design. I ran my fingers over them as if I could feel Tiberius’s velvety feathers beneath. My heart squeezed in response.
“What do you know of his caeluma?” I asked as Xenelpha watched me.
“Her last form was as an amatohk.”
A dune runner caeluma, I mused, glancing up at Xenelpha as I processed her words. “Lastform?”
A slight dip in the matron’s chin as she eyed me and murmured, “We all change, Lyvia. I’ll wait outside.”
