Page 92 of Shield of Fire

“Which is why,” Cynwrig said, “I’ve arranged for us to take the emergency tunnel out. We’ll be met by the Cloondeash historian, who will drive us back to the hotel so we can collect our bags before we head to the airport. He’ll also hopefully have an update on Halak.”

“And the SUV we just left?” I asked.

“Will be picked up once we have safely exited the other side.” He cast me an amused glance. “I’m not so trusting that I’d leave car keys in such an obvious hiding spot if it were not necessary.”

“I did wonder.” And had thought that, given this was a dark elf area, few would actually risk theft.

Cynwrig smiled and moved forward. I slung my pack over my back and followed. The song of the trees grew fainter the closer we moved to the entrance, no doubt due to the solidity of the stone covering this area. Not even the hardiest of them would be able to survive in a ground that now resembled black diamonds.

The entrance itself was just wide enough to carry a casket through. Though in truth, I had no idea what Myrkálfar funeral rites were, or even if they used caskets.

Magic pressed at us as we walked the arch—a soft caress of power that somehow felt judgmental. We were allowed to pass, but I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if we’d tried this without Cynwrig or another dark elf accompanying us.

The long, wide tunnel that lay beyond the entrance’s deep arch sloped gently down. In the distance, light twinkled, a golden glimmer that danced across the solidified black stone lapping at the tunnel’s exit.

Our bootsteps echoed, but nothing else stirred in this place. Nothing alive, at any rate. The ghosts I’d heard in the vision were a low-range, distant hum. Although they didn’t haunt the cavern up ahead, I couldn’t help hoping they weren’t in the tunnel we needed to go down. I really didn’t want to walk through their shrouds and misery.

We reached the atrium, and it was every bit as beautiful as it had looked in the vision, despite all the centuries that now lay between it and its heyday. The ceiling arched high overhead, and the long streaks of blue still evident through the growing forest of stalactites suggested it had once all been that glorious color. The remnants of what must have been vast murals depicting various landscapes, both foreign and domestic, colored the walls, and in some places still looked real enough that it appeared you could just step into them.

“Is your encampment this beautiful, Cynwrig?” I asked.

“Better,” he said softly. “Maybe one day...”

My gaze shot to his, but he didn’t finish the sentence. Maybe because he knew “one day” was never a real possibility for us. Gran might have boasted about being snuck into the Myrkálfar encampment by her lover, but mine was a king in waiting, and he would not similarly bend the rules. Not for me.

“This way,” he continued, and moved forward once again.

I moved around the stalactite-covered fountain that glittered in the golden light coming in from the remaining sun tubes and followed him. A large portion of the floor in this section was slabs of polished quartz stone unmarred by time, melting stone, or stalactites, and in the warm glow of the sun coming through, the tubes appeared shot with veins of gold.

The magic that protected this place was obviously stronger than I’d presumed if it were gold.

“It’s one thing to hear about the tragedy of this place, quite another to actually see it.” Lugh’s gaze was on the waterfall-like barrier that sliced the length of the atrium in half. “I take it not even the Myrkálfar can manipulate stone that has become diamond sharp?”

“We can manipulate all manner of stone, no matter the sharpness, but as I said earlier, we cannot undo what a god has done.”

“Is that why Gruama has never been reoccupied?” I asked.

“It’s never been reoccupied because few want to live amongst the ghosts of tragedy that haunt this place.”

Couldn’t say I blamed them. I certainly wouldn’t want to. And while there were known methods of clearing houses or buildings of spirits and other entities, I wasn’t sure they’d work on this sort of scale.

The tunnel we needed lay directly ahead. Cynwrig paused to read the lay of the ground within the deeper confines of the tunnel, his energy briefly washing across my senses. Which should not really be happening, given it was more an innate talent than a spell. I guessed it was just one more instance of our deepening connection... and I absolutely wasn’t bitter at the gods for showing me the possibility of relationship perfection all the while knowing it could never be.

Not bitter at all.

The wave of his power died, and he glanced around. “I’m not sensing any rockfalls and other traps, but the tunnel does narrow significantly as it nears the lake.”

“How significant are we talking about?” Lugh asked. “I’m the tallest and widest here—will I get through?”

Cynwrig nodded. “You might lose some skin on those shoulders, though.”

“Would be the first time,” Lugh said and motioned Cynwrig to lead once more.

The rivers of solidified stone that ran around the entrance were testament to just how close it had come to destruction. The tunnel itself was smooth, wide, and easy to traverse, which was a nice change as far as these things went, even if it didn’t last. Our lights danced across the shiny black walls, creating hundreds of tiny stars that made it look like we were walking through a bright night sky.

But the deeper we went, the fainter those stars became as the melted black stone gave way to regular rock. Cynwrig periodically trailed his fingers against the wall, but if he sensed anything untoward up ahead, he didn’t mention it.

The water I’d seen in the vision began to trickle down the walls, and moss soon slicked the ground, making every step that much more dangerous. A damp mustiness touched the air, and the tunnel drew ever closer to our shoulders. Anxiety—or something close to it—pressed against my spine, but this time, it wasn’t mine but rather Mathi’s. Ljósálfar elves had an inborn fear of deep underground places like this, and it said a lot about his determination and courage that he’d come in here willingly.

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