My eyes fill with tears, and she reaches out to touch my arm. “He’s going to wake up, Arvelle. He’s tough.”
“That’s what everyone says. But … even the healers were horrified.”
“How is it that they haven’t found the murderer yet?”
“The emperor is pretending not to pay attention, but the imperius have been investigating. I found the bodies of those killed.”
“Did you notice anything?”
I tell her about the creepy bright green eyes, and the voice in my head, and she grimaces.
“They’re trapped? Within their corpses?”
“Yes. At first I didn’t tell anyone about the feeling of being watched or the voices because …”
“You thought you might be going insane.”
“Yeah. And then when I did whatever it was that I did …” I shrug. “It was just one more weird thing that I shouldn’t be able to do.”
“I understand.” She shakes her head. “You would think peoplewould know better than to sacrifice to Mortuus. There’s a reason it’s illegal. What’s your next step?”
I sigh. “I’m going to take a look in Leon’s room.”
Maeva winces. “Where he was found?”
“Yes. He’s the only one who survived, Maeva, which means the killer was rushed. Maybe they were sloppy. The imperius have already searched his room, but Neris promised not to let anyone in to clean until I’ve had a chance to look. I know Leon better than anyone.”
Concern flashes in her eyes but she nods. “Be careful.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Neris has warded Leon’s room, but when I reach his door, the ward temporarily drops, allowing me entry.
Interesting. Those kinds of wards take more power than I thought Neris could access.
Albion exits his own room, walking toward me. His face is pale, his eyes devastated, but I shake my head, and he goes still. I have to do this alone.
So I take a deep breath in an effort to prepare myself.
It doesn’t help.
I open the door. For a moment, my mind can’t comprehend what I’m seeing, and I just stare, unable to move. The floor is coated with Leon’s blood, the walls closest to the door sprayed with crimson.
Perhaps Leon’s goddess was protecting him after all. How else could he have lived through this?
I’m careful not to step on the dark sigil on the floor. Someone has used chalk to create it, but the construction must have taken time—each line and whirl perfect, precise.
Leon’s room is small, but whoever tried to kill him shoved his bed up against the wall to give themselves room.
The sigil is circular, with two outer edges about four inches apart. Strange symbols I don’t recognize are spaced at regular intervals within the two larger circles.
Inside the smaller circle, a series of carefully drawn dots and slashes form a precise pattern. Two stylized swirls are positioned on either side of Mortuus’s mark—almost like the letter S—mirroring each other on the left and right.
Not one drop of Leon’s blood mars the inside of the sigil. It’s as if the sigil itself repelled the liquid, sending it splashing to the ground and walls surrounding it.
My mind helpfully provides me with an image of Leon’s crumpled body on the marble floor. His screams of agony as his ribs were cracked open.
I lean over, hands on my knees, the edges of my vision darkening.
