Page 58 of Death Will Follow

The sprite dug the toe of his boot into the damp earth, ducking his head sheepishly.

“We’re not supposed to lead you directly to them,” he explained. “It’s against the rules.”

“Rules?” Nova scoffed. “I wasn’t aware there were any rules governing this godsforsaken place.”

“This land was here before the gods; it is the rule of the land I obey. I’ve brought you as close as I can. True, I played a nasty trick on you before. But you helped me.” He lifted his hands with his fingers splayed wide. “In return for your kindness, I’ll help you now.”

Nova considered him for a moment. She shouldn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him; though, given his small stature, she wagered she could fling him a fair distance. After a moment, she blew out a breath and took stock of her inventory. She carried both her sword and dagger. The small pouch at her hip held a bit of cheese and bread folded inside a handkerchief, her small throwing knife, and a moonstone charm strung on a silver chain.

“Well then?” She raised her brows at the sprite, still inexplicably treating him like an errant child despite knowing he was likely as old as the land itself.

“To find the mounds, keep to the path.” He motioned to the ground. The strip of grass beneath her boots was denser and deeper in color than the surrounding blades. “No matter what you hear—who you hear—do not stray.”

With a flick of his wrist indicating the direction behind her, he sent her on her way. Nova turned on her heel and strode a few steps before twisting to face him again.

“How will I—” she started, but the sprite was gone, having disappeared into the mist once more.

The fog whirled around her, an eerie, high-pitched whistle ringing in her ears. Nova flexed her fingers inside her gloves, bringing warmth to her joints gone sluggish while she’d been standing still. Turning into the wind, she trudged forward along the path as the sprite had bid her.

Though it wasn’t particularly cold, the air was raw with the rain. Nova’s cloak kept her dry for the most part, but the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck remained standing on end. She could see no farther than an arm’s length in any direction. Cries rang out from time to time in the surrounding night. With each one, her heart lurched in her chest, and she frantically scanned the darkness for the source of the wails.

All at once, the voice crying out became Callan’s, heavy with agony and despair. Nova whirled toward the sound, her first instinct to race off the path in search of her mate, rules be damned. But she restrained herself, drawing on every bit of will she possessed to keep from charging into the darkness. Turning her back on the awful cries, she bit the inside of her cheek until it bled and continued on through the mist.

Without the light of the moon or Illora overhead, the night was all-consuming. Nova didn’t see the burial mounds until they rose up out of the ground only a few paces ahead of her. She halted, nearly falling on her ass as her boots slid in a patch of mud. A mound of packed earth topped with a thick carpet of lush green grass loomed over her, standing nearly twice her height. The entrance gaped like a void, flanked by two granite columns etched with unfamiliar writing. A great mouth yawning open, waiting to swallow her whole. Nova worried her bottom lip as a shudder rippled through her.

A peal of familiar laughter rang out, clear as a bell, and Nova’s gaze flew to a slab of gray stone balanced atop the columns. There sat the boyish sprite, blue-flame lantern in hand, legs hanging down and kicking back and forth as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Well done!” he cried. “I never once doubted you.”

“Your confidence is greatly appreciated,” Nova muttered, her attention returning to the cavernous entrance before her.

“You truly mean to enter?” the sprite asked, a hint of fear clinging to the edge of his shrill voice.

“I must.” Nova craned her neck to look at him once again. “Something I need is hidden inside.”

The sprite loosed a heavy sigh. “If you must go in, you’ll need a light.”

The lantern vanished from his hand, reappearing an instant later at Nova’s feet. She bent down and took it up, holding it aloft in a silent gesture of thanks. She made to enter the mound, but the childlike voice halted her steps.

“Beware the cursed souls that dwell within. They won’t take kindly to you disturbing their final resting place.”

Nova nodded once then trained her eyes on the darkness ahead. Before she could question herself, she entered the mound. The faint blue light from the lantern illuminated towering walls on either side of her. The stone corridor was narrow, and the floor slanted downward. Nova moved slowly; the light only reached so far, and she wasn’t eager to come upon anything by surprise. Occasionally, she glanced back over her shoulder, but there was no way of knowing how far she was from the entrance.

Time dragged as she continued her descent. No turns. No markings on the walls to gauge her progress. All the while, an uneasy, prickling sensation clung to the back of her neck, soon joined by an uncomfortable tightness in her chest, constricting further each time she allowed herself to consider the fact that she stood an unknown depth underground. She forced the thought of the mound becoming her own tomb from her mind, willing herself to breathe deeply and focusing on her quarry: the next piece of Kinslayer.

As she brought the weapon to mind, a spark of pain flickered in the palm of her right hand. Like a seed taking root, it bloomed as she ventured on, a searing heat creeping like vines into her fingers. Distracted by the pain, she didn’t realize the narrow stone corridor had ended until she stood a handful of paces inside a large chamber. The ring of light from the pitiful blue flame reached only a few paces around her.

Nova navigated the space slowly, her steps noiseless on the moss-covered floor. Before long, she came upon three raised stone slabs. As she neared, she saw each one had a cover with a likeness chiseled into the stone. Nova leaned over the one closest to her and marveled at the care and artistry that had gone into creating the carving depicting a being similar in appearance to the Fae.

Elves.

Excitement coursed through her at beholding something never before seen by anyone else. The part of her that had relished faerie stories as a child urged her to get an even closer look. To examine the strange markings engraved along the edges of the lids. But the sprite’s warning about disturbing the resting place sprang to mind, and she quickly backed away without touching anything.

Returning to her reason for being in the tomb in the first place, Nova turned in a slow circle, scanning the chamber, her vision somewhat adjusted to the low light. Her eyes climbed the walls of stacked stones, some sections crumbling with water having found its way in through cracks over time. Ivy scaled the walls and clung to the ceiling. Several open archways led out of the main chamber. She wondered how many elves were buried within.

Nova wandered a handful of paces farther into the chamber, passing a second stone box, nearly identical to the first. Had Bryn called them caskets? As she passed the third one, the searing pain flared in her palm, as if she’d gripped a brand of hot iron. She doubled over, dropping the lantern on the moss-covered floor, and lost her balance. As she grappled for something to keep her on her feet, her hand settled on the third slab, and the pain surged anew. Nova groaned through her teeth, incapable of remaining quiet.

She forced several deep breaths in and out through her nose. Though they did nothing to ease the burn, the measured breaths strengthened her ability to withstand it. Bending down, she picked up the lantern once again. As she rose to her full height, continuing to breathe through the pain, the glow of the blue flame illuminated the third carving.