Page 24 of The Edge of Darkness

Remic had been right. Four days was plenty of time for Ramil to do his worst.

Something about Niall seemed off. I could see it in the way he prowled the tunnels, as if he was actively seeking out a conflict.

Before, he was always poised and composed, and his power was well contained.

Now, there was another edge to him.

An edge of darkness.

He kept his silent conversation going with Morah as she guided us through the tunnels. All the while, I sent more prayers up to the fates in the hope that they would continue to grant us safe passage. It didn’t take long at all to find the domed chamber Aremis had specified.

Morah cautioned us to wear our masks. Fallon had been kept under a small but consistent dose of The Proper Death to induce his continuous comatose state, and the poison still saturated the air inside the chamber.

We donned our black cloths around our noses and mouths, and Maeson handed Niall the extra that she had packed. Remic, the only one who didn’t need a mask—thanks to his lineage—scanned the area nearby and nodded the all clear.

I reached out for the wards and manipulated them just long enough for us to pass through. Once inside, I paused to check my well of power and assess how I was feeling. To my surprise, I didn’t feel any sort of drain on my strength, and my well seemed as full as ever. Either I’d finally figured out how to do it properly, or the gods truly were on our side.

The space we stood in opened up into a circular, vaulted perimeter, supported with large stone pillars. A giant domed structure sat in the center with an elaborate ceiling, tiled to look like the night sky. The walls were smooth, and candlelight flickered from hundreds of small recesses. How this place was sitting underneath the palace, I had no idea. It looked large enough to host a ball.

In the center of the chamber, against a large stone altar, Roirdan and Morah sat with Fallon hanging limp between their arms. A large golden orb floated above the slab, casting the three figures below it in light and shadow.

“He’s not snapping out of whatever this is!” Morah cried out as we hurried toward them.

Fallon’s skin was ghastly pale from being kept in the dark and on the brink of death for so long. His eyes were half open, and had rolled back inside his head—lost between sleep and wakefulness.

His features were prominent, with a strong brow and structured jawline that was still evident even under an unkept beard. His long black hair was falling out of a braid that reached down his chest. He looked around the same age as Niall, and I could tell that his shoulders were once broad and muscular, but the sad excuse for a tunic that he wore hung like loose rags over his starved body.

“I’m not sure what my father has done to him, but I can barely feel his heartbeat,” Morah said shakily, passing her brother fully into Roirdan’s strong arms.

The commander shifted the male, positioning him upright so Maeson could assess him properly.

I couldn’t see Roirdan’s full expression under the cloth he wore, but I could tell he was relieved that we’d liberated Niall and made it here.

Maeson held her hand over Fallon’s forehead and closed her eyes. As she felt for whatever she was searching for, I stepped away and looked around the strange chamber.

A chill walked down my spine. Something didn’t feel right. The atmosphere felt tainted, and it wasn’t just from the faint dusting of smoke that lingered in the air. Remic seemed to sense the same thing. He followed my stare to what looked like a fairly new alcove carved into the wall. The stones seemed lighter in color, a contrast to the surrounding areas, giving the impression that it was erected in more recent years, as opposed to the ancient areas that had probably existed far longer than anyone standing here had been alive.

Strange niches were cut into the walls, and Remic’s eyes narrowed on them as he stalked over to get a better look.

I could hear Maeson assessing in the background. “He’s still caught in whatever trance Ramil has him in. It’s something other than The Proper Death. Something that only he is experiencing.”

Niall offered a response. “Ramil used some sort of dust on me—made me hallucinate . . .”

I waited to hear if he’d say more, but his voice trailed off, and he didn’t elaborate.

In the alcove, Remic reached his hand out to touch a four-foot-long, raised mound inside one of the recesses. But before making contact, he suddenly retracted his hand and stepped back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, a pang of dread instantly spreading through my gut.

Morah looked up, taking notice of Remic as he retreated step by quickened step. “What is it?” she called out, her eyes trailing Remic’s stare to the alcove.

“Crypts . . .” Remic hissed, shaking out his hand like it was wet with slop.

My attention shot back to the wall.

Crypts?

Sure enough, there were dozens. All the size of . . . small children.