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As much as I didn’t want to get married, it was a really pretty dress. A rich red gown like one a deviant Disney princess would wear, with a red veil to match, all to compliment my crimson crown. Now my dress is nothing more than dirty tatters. As much as I don’t want to get married to Death, it doesn’t feel right rushing like this.
But he doesn’t seem to care. He takes out his key from beneath his shirt and slips into the iron lock, turning it with a loud click.
A shudder runs through me.
Death glances at me, though I still can’t see his eyes. “You’re afraid,” he comments.
“Not of you,” I tell him quickly. “Of this place.”
He nods slowly. “That I understand. I’m not fond of it either. But it is the way things are done.”
“Is this where you married Louhi?” I ask.
He nods again. “Yes. I suppose tradition doesn’t always promise the best, does it?”
He then places his metal gauntlet on the marble door and pushes it open with a creak I feel in my bones.
The crypt is already lit up, candles burning everywhere, fueled by some invisible source that never runs out. Perhaps powered by the Old Gods who want to keep their influence alive, though my Deadmaiden Raila told me they were lit by those who still worshipped them in secret.
Either way, the glowing light illuminates all the horrors.
Giant, black snakes slither away from the door and toward the darkened corners of the room, past the six statues that flank the aisle. Like before, it’s the statues that make my blood run cold, even more so than the snakes.
The statues are all turned toward us when I swear—I swear to God—when I was here last they weren’t facing the door. They’re all standing there with hands outstretched or closed in prayer, their eyes gouged out and bleeding red and gold tears. Gilded antlers, spikes, or bones protrude from their heads in the form of rudimentary crowns while their shoulders and arms are covered in melting candles.
“Fuck,” Death swears under his breath, and his hand goes to my waist, pulling my toward him as if to protect me. “It’s been awhile. I’d forgotten how fucked up this place is.”
I swallow hard, leaning into his frame. “Can’t you get rid of it?”
He scoffs. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. Vipunen is adamant about keeping the Saints and the Sect intact.”
“Why?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know why. Truthfully, I don’t know the reason behind most of the things he says. I may be the God of Death, but he’s been around longer than me, longer than my father even. He was here before Tuonela, before the Kaaos. Sometimes I wonder if he’s the Creator himself, watching the future he planned unfold from inside the caves.”
“I would like to meet him,” I say simply. I want to figure out what his damn deal is.
“Is that so?” he asks in mild amusement. “You will. Once you’re queen, you will be training with him. I’m taking no chances when it comes to you or the prophecy. You’ll learn to defend yourself, just as Lovia and Tuonen have.”
“You think I’ll be in danger, even cooped up inside this castle for eternity?” I say, though my humor feels flat at the moment.
“I’m not taking any chances with you,” he says. “Not anymore.”
I expect him to take me toward the altar, but he doesn’t move. Instead he stares at it. If I could see his eyes, I think they would be transfixed.
The altar itself is morbid, created out of large bones, and placed on top of it is the crown of crimson. It’s just as I saw it last, made of shimmering gold and silver that seems to shift under the flickering lights, red jewels along the base.
More than anything, I get the creepy impression that the crown is sitting there, watching and waiting for me.
Perhaps always has been.
And somewhere, far in the distance, I hear a song. I hear singing, chanting, something senseless and melodic and compelling and not unlike what I heard when I approached the Book of Runes in the Library of the Veils.
“What is it?” Death asks me.
I frown. “I hear the singing again.”
He watches me for a moment before turning his attention back to the altar. “Is it the crown?” he asks in a low voice, as if he doesn’t want it to hear him.
“I don’t know,” I say and, just like that, the chanting fades. Shit, I hope it was coming from the crown and not these creepy candle fuckers.
The ground shakes slightly under our feet and we both turn around to see Kalma and Sarvi coming toward the crypt.
“This is a bit of a rush, don’t you think?” Kalma asks as he enters the crypt. He nods at me, giving me a kind smile. “Hanna, nice to see you again.”
