Page 27 of King of Flames and Shadows

Now, they’re in the ground. Linus’s book, at least as far into it as I’ve read, hasn’t mentioned any of these people.

The ghosts in this place are not uneasy. They seem content to linger beneath the castle they built, maintained, and ruled in life. There is no anger in this room, just the faint, cool watchfulness of a graveyard, a crematorium, a ritual funeral like those they once held in Essenborn before it, too, was ash.

I need to leave, I know. This place isn’t for my eyes. And each moment longer I spend in the dimly-lit hall of the king’s dead family, his dead ancestors, the more uncomfortable I feel, as if I’m being watched. As if they are all bearing furiously down upon me, ready to rip me apart.

The statue of his mother keeps staring at me. I can’t stop looking at it, at her. She has the same penetrating, undoing stare as her son.

And she’s human, too, I realize. A human like me. Was she plucked from obscurity like I was? Did they burn her village, kill her people? Did they chain her in this wretched place until she relented to the sorrow, until she surrendered her body and soul to the beasts here?

“I’m sorry,” I tell his mother’s grave in a tiny voice. “I’m sorry you raised a son like him. And I’m sorry you died. You probably didn’t deserve it.”

I turn to leave. I need to get out of this place.

Then, a flicker of movement catches my eye.

My breath hitches. Someone is there, a figure at the far end of the tomb, just visible in the half-light.

I freeze, my heart pounding. The figure doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then, with a swiftness that makes my blood runcold, it slips away into the darkness, vanishing between the columns.

For a heartbeat, everything is still. I stare into the darkness, breath caught in my throat, every nerve in my body thrumming with tension.

Then, I bolt.

The figure has disappeared down a side passage, but I’m already moving, instincts overriding thought. My feet barely touch the ground as I tear through the narrow corridor. Shadows and light blur together, the twisting passages threatening to disorient me, but I keep my gaze fixed ahead, tracking the flicker of movement around the winding tunnels of tombs.

My pulse roars in my ears as I skid around a corner sharply, almost losing my balance. The figure is just ahead, a fleeting glimpse of a dark cloak whipping around a bend, footsteps echoing dully off the cold stone walls.

“Wait!” I call, voice hushed but desperate, a command that still shatters the grave silence.

The figure doesn’t slow, doesn’t acknowledge me at all. They only move faster, melting into the gloom.

I push myself harder, lungs burning, legs screaming in protest. Down, down, deeper into the bowels of the earth. The tombs descend at a downhill slope further into the darkness, seeming to go endlessly on. My pulse thrums with a familiar blend of fear and exhilaration, and the thrill of pursuit momentarily overwhelms my terror. Whoever this is—whatever this is—they’ve seen me.

They could help. Or harm. Either way, I must know.

They dart left, and I lunge to follow, nearly slamming into the rough-hewn wall. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I closethe distance between us, but the stranger slips around another corner, then another, faster than a shadow fleeing from the sun.

I’m losing them.

“Stop!”The word is torn from my throat, but it’s no use.

I push harder, sprinting down a narrow hallway that opens into another vast chamber. It’s darker here—the sconces on the walls have long since gone out, leaving only the faintest glimmer of rune-light along the walls to guide me.

Something sharp catches me. I stumble, cutting myself on a jagged outcrop of stone. The most ancient burials are here, I realize. The burials of the very first generations who settled this city.

Ahead, I glimpse a flash of movement, a dark blur slipping behind a rock. The darkness is vivid, almost alive.

I veer toward my prey, heart pounding furiously. I’m no hunter, I think, but tonight, I’ll certainly hunt.

My hand grazes the hilt of a sword mounted upon a black marble edifice as I pass—I snag it on impulse from the stone, hauling it in both hands to position at my side, raised to strike.

Another few steps. I reach the column. Then I throw myself around it, eyes scanning wildly, sword before me—

Only to freeze.

The figure stands before me, a hooded silhouette barely visible in the gloom, hands raised before them. The tip of my sword is almost directly beneath their raised chin.

Surrender. I won.

---