“No one’s here,” I said, though I was still careful to keep my voice down. “Good.”
“You expected someone?” Garadin said.
“If a couple of the guests wanted to be alone, this would be the perfect place.”
Garadin thought about that. “Good point.”
“Here?” Piaras asked, clearly creeped.
“It’s not my idea of romantic surroundings either,” I assured him.
The goblin prince looked around, then gazed outside at the moon and the clouds racing overhead. His black eyes glimmered in the faint light. “Actually these surroundings are very romantic.” His voice was low and almost wistful.
I didn’t know whether to feel reassured that he had romantic thoughts or disturbed that he was having them in a mausoleum—and while standing next to me.
“I cannot believe it,” Primari Nuru was saying, her voice echoing faintly against the walls. “How could something that powerful be concealed so closely without our knowing?”
Mychael answered her. “The Saghred has remained hidden for nearly nine hundred years, Primari Nuru.”
“How long has it been here?”
“Only the stone’s Guardian could answer that.”
“And he died centuries ago.”
“Apparently that’s come open for debate,” I said.
The primari’s dark eyes widened. “But that would make him—”
“Very old and very tired.”
The prince spoke. “Sarad Nukpana knows the Saghred is in Mermeia, but I would give much to see his face when he discovers that he has been meditating next to it for over a year.”
“Meditating?” I asked.
“According to agents I have in my brother’s court, when the grand shaman is in Mermeia, he sits here for hours at a time. He finds the surroundings relaxing.”
Sarad Nukpana sits with dead bodies for fun. Why wasn’t I surprised?
“Raine?” Mychael was looking at me expectantly.
I took a deep breath. Right. It was my turn now. I relaxed as much as I could considering where I was and who was with me—and what I was looking for. I slowly walked around the mausoleum. It wasn’t large, so it didn’t take long. The beacon’s vibration had increased in intensity when we’d come inside, but the signal wasn’t getting any stronger, though if it didn’t stop soon, my shoes were going to vibrate right off my feet.
I stopped. My feet and the stone floor beneath them were the only things that were vibrating. The mausoleum’s dead were in the walls around me. The catacombs’ dead would be under the floor, beneath my feet.
Crap.
I looked at Mychael and pointed down. “Guess what?”
He looked almost as thrilled as I did.
“Time grows short, Your Highness,” Mychael told Chigaru. “Would you please show us the entrance to the catacombs?”
The goblin prince’s expression was unreadable. “It would please me very much.”
“Do you require more light?” Mychael asked.
Chigaru shook his head. “This is more than sufficient.”
The goblin prince walked slowly into the corner of the mausoleum farthest from the house and ran a long-fingered hand along an upper vault until he came to what appeared to be several flowers carved into the stone. He pressed at several points, there was a faint click, and a panel below the flowers swung open into inky darkness.
The goblin turned to me and smiled as if from a private joke. “Your catacombs, Mistress Benares.”
I knew there was a reason why I still didn’t like him.
I had expected the entrance to the catacombs to be in the floor. It had never occurred to me that it would be hidden in the wall. The vaults in the mausoleum were stacked four high, one on top of the other, and covered every wall. The vaults concealing the entrance to the catacombs were fake. Where there should be four bodies interred was an incredibly steep and narrow stair leading down into the center of the hill.
Mychael held out his hand and stared at his palm. A pinpoint of white light flickered to life from the center of his hand, beneath the skin. It was no larger than a firefly. It spun, weaving a trail of light until a globe, the size of his fist, hung suspended above his open hand. It glowed steadily and seemed to solidify, the interior crackling with something akin to lightning. It floated down the stairs, then stopped, hovering, waiting for us.
Mychael indicated that the goblin prince should precede us. “After you, Your Highness.”
Chigaru raised one elegant brow.
“You have been in these catacombs before,” Mychael explained. “We have not. Rest assured, we’ll be right behind you.” He looked to Garadin. “Garadin, if you could remain here with Primari Nuru? Piaras, stay with Vegard. We won’t be long. Riston,” he said to the other Guardian with us, “you’re with me.”
“Sir?” Vegard asked uncertainly. He didn’t glance at the prince. He didn’t need to. Mychael understood.
“From the looks of things, there’s not much room to maneuver down there,” the paladin said. “Riston and his knives are a better fit. Just make sure there’s a hole for us to come out of.”
The blond Guardian grinned. “Count on it, sir.”
“I am.” He again gestured to the prince. “Shall we?”
Prince Chigaru descended the stairs. Mychael and I followed, with Riston at our backs.
The walls glistened in the globe’s pale light, moisture trickling down the sides to collect on the uneven floor, making footing uncertain at best. The air was cool and damp. Somewhere ahead in the darkness, water dripped methodically into a pool. I gathered my gown up as best as I could. Mychael was directly in front of me. I aimed a dirty look at the center of his back. What I wouldn’t have given for my old leathers and boots. Aside from our breathing, there was no other sound. The damp wasn’t nearly as bad as the cloying smell of decay—or the unexpected silence. Not from the residents—I didn’t expect any trouble from them. I did expect to hear or sense something from the Saghred. I suddenly felt faintly nauseous. Though that could be from being in such close quarters with centuries of Ramsden dead and a Mal’Salin prince.
The globe’s light illuminated a white crust that shone in lines at differing heights along the rock walls. Salt. My subconscious knew what the lines meant, but my conscious mind didn’t want to dwell on it. There were many ways we could die tonight, and I didn’t want to add drowning to the list. The tide wouldn’t turn for hours, and we certainly weren’t going to be here that long. Knowing that didn’t help. Fear was irrational that way. If I survived all this, I wasn’t going to have to look far for fresh nightmare inspiration.
The catacombs couldn’t be very extensive, at least I hoped not. There was only one tunnel with no branches that I could see in the dim light. Ledges had been hollowed out of the walls on both sides of us. These were packed with the yellowed bones of obviously more than one dearly departed, some to overflowing. A name and date was engraved on each ledge. Some were worn smooth with age and water.
“Thick as thieves down here, aren’t they?” Riston remarked.
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. It probably just meant I was on the verge of getting hysterical. “Makes you hope they all got along,” I quipped.
The Guardian called my grin and raised me a wink.
“Riston, take the point,” Mychael said softly.
“Sir.” The Guardian slid his brace of throwing daggers around to his chest for quicker access. He flexed his fingers to warm them.
We hadn’t gone far before my nausea turned into a wave of dizziness. I felt the Saghred’s presence before I heard it. My breath came shallow and quick, my skin was clammy, my mouth dry. I tried to swallow, but couldn’t.
“Stop. It’s here.”
A soft humming echoed through the tunnels.
Mychael looked sharply at me. He heard it, too.