“Can’t you just tell me what’s down there?”
His eyes soften. “I can’t. This is something you need to see for yourself.”
Creators.
“Fine,” I snip. “But just so you know, I coaxed your guard into swapping an empty crockery dish for his dagger that’s currently strapped to my upper thigh, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
He blinks, shaking his head as I step into the tunnel, letting the fall of foliage sweep shut behind me—engulfing us in shadow.
The tight stairwell is littered with small glowing bugs that remind me of Moonplume moons, offering a meager amount of light for our journey down the endless coil of stairs I wish I’d counted from the beginning. I’m certain we’re over a thousand steps down by now, my skin no longer warm but delightfully cold—my exhales like puffs of smoke.
Kaan fills the stairwell so entirely the top of his head nearly brushes the light-smattered ceiling, his shoulders almost too big for him to be moving down faced forward. Every now and again, I try to peep past him and see if there’s an end in sight, but it’s useless.
He’s a giant stairwell plug.
I collect the damp length of my hair to squeeze the gathered moisture from the ends, frowning when I realize the water has begun to stiffen.
To frost.
“Much farther?” I ask, brushing the fractals off my hands, wondering if he’s walking me all the way through to the other side of the world. If we’re going to emerge near Netheryn—the Moonplume nesting grounds.
“Not far.” Kaan looks at me over his shoulder, his eyes glinting in the dark as he assesses me. “Are you okay with the cold? You can have my tunic if you—”
“I’m fine.”
Something flashes in his eyes, like perhaps he assumes the thought of wearing his tunic makes me uncomfortable.
It doesn’t. At least not in the way he probably thinks.
I don’t tell him the deeper we’ve drilled, the less tentative I’ve been about this decision to follow him down a twirling tunnel into a dark abyss. I certainly don’t tell him the growing cold feels a lot like …
Home.
The reason I keep trying to peep past him isn’t because I’m worried he might be taking me down here to murder me. Not anymore.
No …
Some innate part of me is drawn to whatever’s at the bottom of this never-ending stairwell.
The frosty nether nips at my skin, turning the tip of my nose so blissfully numb, the chilled air beginning to lap at me like an undulation of icy waves that tug in their withdrawal—urging me deeper.
Deeper.
Each step folds me further into that tiding tug until the darkness gives way to a silver light that kisses the walls and steps. That turns Kaan into a gloomy silhouette against the radiant luminosity trying to squeeze past him from whatever’s on the other side.
“We’re here,” he murmurs, his voice a shockwave through the hungry silence that lifts the hairs on the back of my neck.
He steps to the side, dousing me in light.
So much light.
My heart stops, an icy cleft of awe fracturing my chest as I take in the circular cavern, the swooping walls embossed in magnificent, detailed carvings of Moonplumes.
The same magnificent creature in hundreds of different stances—long neck; big, wistful eyes; spindly tendrils that trail from its jowls and whisk with its crafted movement. Elegant tri-membrane wings fit for speed and unmatched agility, wispy tail with silken threads that sweep and coil and flick with a gush of personality.
The carvings meld together much the same way as the dragons on Kaan’s málmr, though the extravagant mural pales in comparison to the massive silver moon the cavern cradles like an egg—the ground dipped in the middle like cupped palms, no doubt keeping it from rolling around.
A choked sound slips up my throat, and for a moment I don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
Don’t blink.
Something within me settles, nuzzling into a comforting curl that makes the backs of my eyes sting for the second time this dae—so overwhelmed by the moon’s rounded beauty that I feel like the world is tipping.
My shuddered exhale is so thick and milky it’s hard to see through, a loud smudge upon the gobbling silence.
I stagger forward, hand outstretched, the tips of my fingers aching with the need to touch. To trace the divots and mounds of the fallen Moonplume forever tucked in a sleeping curl, head half nudged beneath the fan of a frayed membrane. The dragon’s silky tail is woven up beneath its winged embrace, spilling out in tufts about its neck and head like a once soft pillow.