The Priestess reached for one of the torches on the wall. Naill stepped in close to her, keeping his sword poised in case she did something foolish.
But all she did was walk forward and then touch the torch to another. The joining of flames cast a brighter light upon the wall. I stopped. So did Kieran. The rock had marks carved into it—rock that was a reddish-pink color.
He reached out, tracing his fingers over a carving, following the shape—
The Priestess touched another torch with the one she held and set off a chain reaction. An entire row of torches flamed to life, filling the air with the pungent scent of flint. The underground system was suddenly bathed in rippling firelight.
“What in the gods’ names?” Kieran uttered, staring ahead.
I brushed past Vonetta, stepping down into a wide, circular opening. Water or something must have run through the cavern before, carving jagged formations out of the ceiling and depositing what appeared to be some sort of reddish mineral all along the spiraling and bizarre formations stretching down.
“Stalactites,” Naill said, and several gazes turned to him. He nodded toward the ceiling with his chin. “That’s what they’re called.”
“That sounds like a made-up word,” Emil said.
Naill arched a brow. “It’s not.”
“You sure about that?” Emil challenged.
“Yes,” Naill replied flatly. “If I were to create a word out of thin air, I would choose something more…interesting.”
Emil let out a short laugh. “More interesting than stalactites?”
“Careful,” Vonetta warned as what sounded like twigs snapped under my steps when I walked forward. “I don’t think those are rocks or branches on the floor.”
I looked down. There were chunks of something ivory in color, shards here and there, mixed with slender, longer, and darker-colored—bones. They were definitely bones.
Oh, gods.
Kieran made a sound of disgust as he toed aside a piece of rag, revealing what appeared to be a partial jawbone. “These didn’t come from animals.”
“Animals do not serve the True King,” the Priestess said, drifting forward.
Stomach churning with anger, I started to speak, but what the Priestess walked past caught my attention.
It was like the ground had erupted, and snake-like roots spilled across the floor of the cavern from a deep, dark hole. The roots wormed their way through the discarded bones—bones that were too small. I carefully made my way forward, avoiding the scattered remains as much as I could. Something was on the roots and under them. Something dry and rusty-hued. And it was everywhere, splattered across the floor and pooled in thick, dried puddles. It was what had stained the walls and the bizarre rock formations that pinkish-red.
Kieran’s arm brushed mine as he crouched, running a finger through the substance. His jaw clenched as he looked at me. “Blood.”
The Priestess reached the other side of the cavern and touched her flame to the wall. Once more, a series of torches lit. Light splashed across a narrow opening and another sunken chamber.
And then we saw…
“Good gods,” Hisa rasped, bending at the waist.
I opened my mouth, but I was beyond words. I’d believed the sight of those impaled on the gates, and the murdered girls from earlier, had been the most horrifying things I’d ever seen.
I’d been wrong.
I couldn’t look away from the pale, bloodless limbs—some long and some so, so tiny. The piles of faded clothing, some white and some red, barely holding together dried-out husks where patches of hair remained, and legs and arms curled. Withered. Some dropped side by side in the ceremonial red of the Rite, their clothing fresh, their decay not even begun to take hold. Dimly, I wondered how there could be no smell—perhaps it was the cold or something else.
My heart started pounding as I stared into the sunken…tomb. And that was exactly what this was. A tomb that had been in use for only the gods knew how long, full of remains haphazardly left about.
The Priestess quietly placed the torch into a holder jutting from the wall and then clasped her hands loosely at the waist. “They have all served a great purpose.”
Slowly, almost painfully, I turned to her. The eather pulsed in my chest and swelled, pressing beyond me and brushing against the walls. The air thickened as if filled with choking smoke, but there was no fire. Not outside of what burned inside of me.
“Just like we all do,” the Priestess continued softly, joyfully, and her face lit up as if she spoke of a glorious dream. “As will you, the one whose blood is full of ash and ice.”