Page 264 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“A hole,” I said.

His face fell slightly. “Oh.”

“A mysterious hole,” Vex clarified. “Behind a wall. With strange noises.”

Griffin’s entire demeanor transformed. He practically vibrated with excitement. “What kind? Harmonic? Discordant? Are we talking spectral emanations or—”

“Whispers,” I said. “Or singing. Or screaming. The workers couldn’t decide.”

“Oh, that’s magnificent!” He clutched the Doom Scroll to his chest. “I must come with you! This could be exactly what I need to complete my calculations on the subsonic—”

“Absolutely not,” I said.

His face crumpled. “But my lord, think of the scientific opportunities!”

“No.”

“I promise I won’t touch anything!” He held up one spindly hand. “Well, I won’t touch anything without asking first. Or unless it seems really important. Or if it’s making a particularly interesting sound—”

“Griffin.”

“Right!” he squeaked. “Silent as a tomb! You won’t even know I’m there!”

I highly doubted that, but the pleading look in his eyes was pathetic enough to give me pause. Plus, if there was something magical down there, having an enchanter along might actually be useful. Even if that enchanter had a tendency to accidentally animate inanimate objects.

“Fine,” I said. “But if you so much as—”

“Thank you, my lord!” He practically bounced on his toes. “You won’t regret this! Well, you probably will, but not immediately!”

The southwest wall was a hive of activity. Workers hauled stones and mixed mortar, repairing damage from our battle with the Hero’s Guild. They scattered like mice when they saw me approaching, though a few lingered to stare at Griffin, who was already pulling out various magical instruments from the mysterious depths of his robes.

“Here.” Vex led us to a section where fresh mortar showed recent work. “They covered it back up, but—”

I pressed my hand against the wall, sending out tendrils of shadow magic. There. A hollow space, just as she’d described. The stones below the new were different too—older, darker, not part of my original construction.

“Ooh!” Griffin had some sort of crystal pressed against the wall, and it was glowing faintly. “The thaumic density here is off the charts! This stone predates your fortress by at least”—he did some rapid calculations—“fifteen centuries! I can’t believe we’ve never—”

“Stand back.”

Vex retreated, dragging Griffin with her as he protested about needing more readings. I called my magic forward. The fresh mortar cracked and crumbled, stones shifting aside at my will. In moments, I’d opened a gap large enough to step through.

Cold air rushed out, carrying with it the scent of deep earth and a magic that made the runes on my bones ache with recognition.

“Fascinating!” Griffin had already darted forward, poking his head through the opening. “The temperature differential suggests a significant depth! And that smell—definitely Old Dominion construction. You can tell by the way it makes your teeth itch!”

“My teeth don’t itch,” I said.

“Give it a minute,” he said cheerfully.

“My lord,” Vex said quietly. “Perhaps we should bring backup.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” I conjured a ball of purple-black fire in my palm and held it out. The opening led to stairs carved directly into the rock. They spiraled down into darkness, worn smooth by countless feet over countless years. “Besides, it’s my fortress. I should know all its secrets. And anyway, Arabella is the only person who could possibly get us out of trouble if we should find something I couldn’t deal with. And she’s busy catching up Lord Peregrine on pertinent information.”

Neither Vex nor Griffin seemed comforted, as if they’d rather wait until Arabella was free. I grumbled and started down first. Vex followed despite her obvious reluctance. Griffin practically tumbled after us, his various instruments clanking and whirring.

“The acoustic properties are remarkable!” His voice echoed strangely. “I’m detecting at least three different types of stone in the construction, each with its own resonance frequency!”

“Griffin,” I warned.