Page 119 of Hijack the Seas: Seismic

“So, we must go beneath the sea. Mind the debris,” she added as we entered the throne room I’d expected to see when I first came here.

From what our guide told us, it was the old one, the first seat of power in these lands before the mountain across the water was hollowed out and turned into a fortress. The old palace slowly lost out to the new, becoming first auxiliary housing, then storage, and finally, the stables, as the new digs were expanded and these were no longer needed. But it remained as immovable as ever, built primarily out of stone and timeless in its beauty.

And it was beautiful, as so much was in the land of the fey, although their definition of the term differed somewhat from ours. The people who built this place didn’t care if they had others’ approval or if foreign ambassadors felt at home. They built what they liked, and it reflected their priority, which, judging by the décor, was to project strength.

It still did.

A line of black stone eruptions had been magicked out of the floor, some reaching halfway to the soaring, cavern-like ceiling and delineating a central walkway. They were in more or less matching pairs on either side and slanted toward us like the huge crystal formations they resembled. Or like the swords a bride and groom ran under at a military wedding.

Only those were held aloft by their friends and well-wishers as a salute. These looked more like obsidian daggers and felt like a threat. “You’re here under sufferance,” they seemed to say. “Don’t push it.”

Only someone had.

The walkway between the lines of stone daggers was littered with bones, the “debris” the zombie had mentioned. And as bad as the stables had been, this was worse, with thousands of skeletons visible between the slanted columns of stone, some in piles, and some scattered across the floor like animals had been at them, a few with teeth marks still visible. And while most of the bodies were fey-shaped, some . . . were not.

The latter came in all types and varieties, for the Ancient Horrors were from many species, and they were what Faerie claimed had done this. Which didn’t make sense; none of this did! But whenever I tried to focus enough to get some answers, I glimpsed some new horror, and my brain skittered off somewhere as if trying to hide.

But there was nowhere to go and no safe place to look, even though I didn’t want to see this now. I didn’t want to see this ever! And I mostly wasn’t, as all of that was in the dark peripheries, and my eyes kept going to the only source of light around.

The wide, intimidating walkway led to a throne in the center of the room, although it was less of a chair than an eruption of natural rock half as high as the columns, a miniature mountain. A shelf had been carved three-quarters of the way up where I guessed pillows had once been piled for Nimue to sit on. It was empty now and bathed in a slant of faint moonlight from far above, adding to its already eerie air.

Like at the canal, there was no great river. I could see the channel for it snaking across the ceiling, but it was gone, with only the dim light from outside filtering in like spectral fingers. The height of this place ensured that most of the beams scattered and petered out before they hit down, leaving us trudging through almost darkness.

I, for one, was glad of it. The less I saw of this place, the better, but bad lighting didn’t affect my ears. And our footsteps rang on the floor, almost shockingly loud in the silence.

“When is this?” Bodil demanded abruptly, cutting off the running commentary that Faerie had been providing.

She might have learned to talk our way but hadn’t learned when to shut up. Or any diplomacy, as she stopped and turned obligingly toward Bodil, who had remained silent since being released in the office. She answered her in a friendly tone but with no effort to soften the blow.

“It has been more than fifty years since you vanished. You were in the pool, fighting near each other, then you were gone.”

“Gone where? This isn’t my city!” Bodil hissed. “This is some sort of . . . of illusion meant to trick us!”

Tried that one, I thought. But the denial phase had been short, as this wasn’t my home. How much harder must this be for Bodil, who was seeing the destruction of everything she knew?

And everyone.

Like we were going to do if we went back to Earth. Even the thought made me dizzy again, and my knees wanted to give way. What the hell had gone wrong?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, which was a bad sign. Like the fact that none of us had asked any questions on the walk here until Bodil recovered enough to do so. We’d been in shock at the enormity of what we were seeing, and I, for one, still was.

But I straightened my shoulders a little, stopped gazing around like a wide-eyed tourist, and tried to concentrate. There were things we needed to know. And Pritkin seemed to agree because he spoke up.

“This isn’t an illusion,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve been trained to see through them—”

“And you think I haven’t?” Bodil snarled. “I was here when your pyramids were built, boy!”

“Then you know I’m right.”

Faerie nodded along, still giving that vaguely pleasant smile that was creeping me out. It reminded me of Adra, the leader of the Demon High Council, who wore a glamourie so that people didn’t kill themselves in terror when they looked at him. But it wasn’t much of an improvement, and neither was this.

“It isn’t anyone’s city,” she said placidly. “It is a tomb, like most of my lands.”

“Your lands?” Bodil said because, apparently, she hadn’t understood all that back in the office. Or maybe she hadn’t been able to hear in her frozen state. Not that it probably would have mattered.

Looking at her granddaughter must have been excruciating; I doubt I could have focused, either.

“I am Faerie,” Faerie repeated patiently. “Your goddess.”

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