Page 164 of Autumn Queens & Shadows

“You’d be too busy weeping for me, my muffin.”

The second I stepped inside the veil, death laid a carpet before me. No matter how much I tried to ignore, look away, think it away like I’d done these past ten years, I couldn’t. Forced to bear the emotions of a thousand souls still lingering around the maze, their death too, I made my way to the centre of it.

Edric had been buried with his finest Aura, his finest soldiers, in his finest weapons. Weapons of the sort that were no longer able to replicate in today's time and age because of the lack of magic lingering in nature compared to back then. Even pebble stones carried the pure magic of thousands of years ago. Metal wasn’t just metal. Diamonds weren’t just diamonds. Silk wasn’t just silk.

Movement caught the corner of my eye instead of my senses, something that usually happened the other way around. Then shadows made their move next. Growing taller and closer to me, making the already tight corridors appear even tighter.

Pulling at my sword, I ran the tip of the Adriatian steel blade over the right wall, testing if the effect of the magic in the black metal still worked under the ancient craft. When the shadows shrieked and then dissipated, a grin stretched in my face. The black metal had been mined and used long after king Edric had been buried, so the Crafter wouldn’t have accounted for it. The black blade easily cut through every shadow that hurried my way to attempt something that I would definitely not like by the way their eyes glowed red.

Possessed bodies? Yes.

Possessed shadows? First time I was seeing it. To possess something, you needed some grip into their soul, something to inhabit. Shadows had none of that, it was how Umbras could control them. They were inanimate.

Which only meant that something was controlling them.

And there it was, in the open room at the centre of the tunnelled maze. Standing right beside the first Isjordian king sat on a tall throne made entirely of gold and too many colourful jewels. The Crafter was all but bones and draped in a red cloak to hide them.

“Your gaze offends me,” the Crafter’s voice croaked around the room, and his skeleton raised its beady ruby eyes at me.

“Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m afraid I take everyone’s business and intentions quite personally when they step past the doors to this grave. Ask the Isjordian king. His witch almost lost her soul attempting to thieve her way into here.”

“There is a queen now.”

The Crafter let out a noncommittal sound. “So she sends an…Empath to thieve her way in?” He chuckled. “Or whatever you are.”

“Oh, no, this was a trip funded and planned by me.” I pointed at the king’s remains. “I’m only here to borrow him for a few minutes.”

The Crafter threw its bony head back and laughed. “Borrow? You must have lost your mind.”

“A while ago now,” I said, stepping forward and into the layer of craft veiling the king, surprising the Crafter a little because he stopped laughing.

He pulled his stave forward to lean into it as he bent down to study his runes engraved on the ground. “How did you do that?”

“I forgot to introduce myself. I am married to the queen. This is why I advise men to take their wife’s last name. Malik Krigborn doesn’t sound so lush until you have to enter a family vault of sorts protected by a family craft.”

“Smart,” he said, leaning back. “But not even a Krigborn is allowed to take what belongs inside here.”

“Not taking. I told you, I want to borrow.”

“Borrow?”

Pulling my backpack forward, I threw it at his bony feet. “The bones of Silas Krigborn. Previous king of Isjord. His mighty crown and anima acissor sword, too. They can preoccupy the seat for a little while. The magic you’ve cast won’t tell the difference. Royal bones. Rotten crown. Blade which cut through one of the mightiest wars in Numen. It’s all the same.”

The Crafter pulled his hood back and cocked his bony head to the side, glowing ruby eyes trailing me top to bottom. “You’re a funny one.”

“I will also need the soldiers buried here. About a thousand of them will do.”

There was humour in his ancient voice when he asked, “Oh, will you now?”

“One thousand other dead soldiers are waiting by the entrance.” Keeping Cai and Nia some warm company, I hoped.

It was then he sat up, attention going behind me, ruby eyes narrowing at the distance of the doors. “The dead raise?”

“At my order.”

He was finally taking my request at heart because I felt the old taste of his magic coat my tongue with a taste of cyanide and thyme. “You are being serious.”