Page 46 of Shadows of Winter

“That’ll be handy when we increase our mead production and need more storage,” she said.

Vlerion took a couple of steps, which opened up a view of a stone archway in the back wall and a skeleton on the floor in front of it. Rat droppings and gnawed pieces of clothing suggested whoever it was hadn’t died as long ago as the people upstairs.

“That’ll be less handy,” Kaylina murmured.

Vlerion only grunted as he plucked a torch from an iron sconce mounted on the stone of the archway. When he lit it, the flickering mix of illumination and shadow emphasized the hard lines of his face. The flames reflected in his eyes, reminding her of the dangerous sparks she’d caught in them, and she wondered if she was crazy for coming down here alone with the man.

For a moment, he gazed at her, as if he could guess her thoughts. But if he did, he didn’t comment on them, only turning toward the tunnel.

“Given the curse, people aren’t inclined to enter to remove the bodies.” Vlerion stopped in the next room and knelt to look at a scuff mark on the floor. Left recently by someone’s boot?

Unlike with the dirt walls of the root cellar, time-worked stone lined the room and formed arches that supported the ceiling. More shelves and racks were inside, but they weren’t part of the original construction. They might have been added later when someone had tried to expand the root cellar and had discovered the catacombs entrance.

“History tells us,” Vlerion said, “that the druids who placed the curse didn’t share a lot of details about how exactly their magic would plague the inn. Over the generations, people have come up with their own hypotheses and created rules that are supposed to help you avoid being affected. It’s said that you might become cursed yourself if you handle the bones of those who die here.”

“Oh.” Kaylina didn’t mention that she and Frayvar had moved the bones in the hearth. They hadn’t wanted to burn them when they started a fire. It had seemed respectful of the dead. Hopefully, the cursed castle agreed. “You don’t believe that?” she asked before remembering that he’d skirted the skeleton on the floor without touching it.

“I don’t deny that it’s a possibility, but I’m only aware of a couple of specifics about the curse, those that were recorded by the scribes of the time. Their writings are archived in the king’s castle—and the family libraries of those people who were affected.” His voice had turned grim at that last.

Vlerion continued toward another archway on the far side of the room that led into a wide tunnel. Kaylina paused to look at narrow chips in the stone support. It looked like someone had struck the archway with axes or swords, and she envisioned castle defenders fighting shoulder to shoulder to keep enemies at bay.

In the tunnel, towering stone statues depicted cruel-faced beings with horns that scowled down at them. The Kar’ruk.

She’d only seen a few of the warrior people and only at a distance. Sometimes, their ships sailed past the islands, or one would be spotted with a human pirate crew, but the Spitting Gull didn’t serve their kind. The Kar’ruk had no respect for human laws or belongings—or lives—and they were rumored to kill and eat men when game was scarce.

“People were cursed?” Kaylina pulled her gaze from the unsettling statues. “Not only the castle?”

“King Balzarak and his descendants.”

Kaylina remembered the name of the king as one of many in a list in chronological order that she’d been compelled to recite in school.

Vlerion crouched to touch the floor again. “People have been in here recently. When did you hear the clanks?”

“The first night and last night.”

He eyed the walls, then walked to one that was empty save for the relief of a tree. He pushed on one of the branches, and a hidden door swung open with a grinding noise that made Kaylina jump.

Behind the wall lay a cubby with crates stacked inside, crates newer and less dusty than anything else around. There were also kegs that at first made her think of wine casks but, at a second glance, reminded her of the explosives the Virts had used on the jail walls.

Vlerion drew a dagger and used it to pry open a lid. “Powder and shot for muskets and blunderbusses.”

There was also a crate of cannonballs, though not a cannon. Maybe they were what had made the clanks.

Vlerion tapped one of the kegs. “I’m tempted to use their own munitions to blow up the stash, but it might bring down the ceiling—and the castle and street above.”

“Given the curse, I’m surprised someone hasn’t already blown up the castle.”

“In this part of the kingdom, we don’t wantonly destroy historical structures.”

“I was thinking more of controlled demolitions than wanton destruction. To get rid of a problem in the city. I’m glad they didn’t, mind you,” Kaylina hurried to add when Vlerion frowned back at her. “Where else would we have gotten such a deal on a lease?”

“Nowhere.” Vlerion stepped back, leaving the door open. “I’ll return with some men to commandeer this stash.”

“What else are you expecting to find?” Kaylina asked as he continued down the arched tunnel.

He didn’t answer.

She remembered she wasn’t supposed to talk, but it was hard. She was curious to learn what she could about her new home—and the ancient passageways under it. Besides, the silence was unsettling, the stone statues disconcerting.

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