Page 124 of Dance of Ruin

You’re going to drive yourself nuts wondering what it is until you see for yourself.

…Annnd there it is. That’s the voice that wins out.

The temperature drops the moment I’m inside: a cold draft curls around my legs like smoke. The walls are stone—old, rough-hewn, and I can feel the hallway sloping slightly downward.

For a moment, just before the door closes, I consider the fact that it’s pitch black in here. But just as I whirl back to the door, it clicks shut with heavy finality.

I fumble for my phone, but then the space illuminates automatically thanks to dim lights set into the floor, right by the walls.

My eyes widen as they adjust to the dimness. I’m in a stone hallway that looks like something out of a medieval castle, with carved pillars and recessed alcoves splattered with dried candle wax.

What thehell?

I walk quietly, careful not to let my heels echo. Far ahead, I hear the soft scuff of Nico’s shoes and I keep pace, hugging the side of the hallway as it rounds a curve.

Eventually, the corridor opens up slightly. Vaulted arches stretch overhead like ribs. It’s quiet, with the hum of something ancient.

Suddenly, I hear a door wrenching open on heavy hinges. I scurry forward, then flatten against the wall as I watch Nico slip through a heavy, intricately-carved wooden door. It closes behind him with a dull thud.

I jog forward and immediately try the handle.

Locked.

I press my ear to the wood. There’s nothing.

Shit.

Dead end.

Except—

I glance down the hallway, beyond the side door Nico just slipped through. It’snota dead end. The passage continues, winding around the next bend.

And I can hear the soft, muffled sounds ofvoices.

I keep going.

The corridor narrows around me before it opens up again. The air becomes warmer, perfumed—incense, maybe.

Then the light shifts. A soft orange-gold glow filters through a series of archways ahead, flickering like flame.

When I step through the final arch, I stop breathing.

I’m standing in a cathedral.

Like, anactualcathedral.

Gothic arches stretch up into shadowed vaults overhead. Backlit stained glass windows glow along the walls. Pillars etched with vines and bones reach toward a ceiling traced in gold leaf.

A grand dais sits at the far end of the space with five high-backed thrones on it—black and gold, and empty.

But that’s not what steals my breath.

It’s thepeople.

There are dozens of them, maybe more. All masked. All elegant. All in varying stages of undress.

Some recline on velvet chaises. Others lounge on silk-draped couches. Bodies are tangled in corners, pressed against stone walls, stretched over carved benches. Couples, throuples, even one…whatever you call four people enjoying each other at the same time.

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