?????????????
Deciding to follow the raven might prove damning.
After crossing through two more towers trailing behind the raven, my feet slow as I enter a smaller, windowless room. The persistent buzzing in my chest grows more intense.
A dozen massive arches line the walls, creating a strange, empty expanse in the center of the room. Each arch stands roughly forty feet tall—larger iterations of those seen along the docks. They dominate the space, reaching for the dark, smoky glass of the ceiling above.
Unlike the throne room, this room is left in shadow. But the arches… seem to glow… dispelling the dark. And unlike the rest of the citadel, they sit untarnished, unmarred—a shining white and shimmering blue-silver.
Brushing my hand over the closest pillar, a fierce shock races through my palm and up to my heart—a bolt aimed straight for my chest. Snatching my hand away, I pull it close.
Blood magic.
“Little love.” Ryc’s at my side in seconds, on edge.
“Ferry Gates,” I laugh, surprised as I crane my neck to peer up the pillar length. “These are Ferry Gates.”
Lowering my gaze, I find myself on the receiving end of several confused stares. It would make sense for them not to know—these are ablood magicconstruct.
“Ferry Gates are portals… orwaypointsrather,” I try to explain. “They function in pairs. Stepping through one is to ferry to a predetermined place.” I heave a small sigh as I turn back to the pillar beside me. “These though… these are dormant.”
“Where do they lead?” Eve asks, venturing farther into the center of the room.
“Without activating them, I couldn’t say,” I reply.
“Might one take us to the archives?” Cyran asks as he touches the stone of a pillar, his brows furrowing.
“We’d need to determine which,” Ryc says.
“Open them all up,” Eve challenges with an impish grin.
“That is ill-advised,” Cyran adds in a hasty but firm tone, his eyes locking with hers.
“Cyran,” Eve drawls, giving him a flattened glare. “This istheseat of faekind. I highly doubt any of these gates lead anywhere dangerous.”
“But they could lead to other realms,” I say and their faces swing in my direction. “Gates like these are used in the hells—they follow the Lethe. There each layer is a subrealm, wholly disconnected from the next. For a soul to reach its final damnation, it must pass through at least one set of gates.”
I’m met with silence.
“You’re not helping, Ves,” Eve finally says flatly.
“So we figure out a way to determine which to open,” Ryc replies. “But I agree with Cyran, opening all is a poor choice.”
Cyran turns to me. “In the hells, what’s stopping souls from traveling back through the gates? Returning to the veil?”
“The Lethe,” I answer. “The river’s current settles into a soul and pulls them deeper. Even I couldn’t fight it when I returned.”
“But these gates, they function as a doorway would otherwise?” he asks. “My concern is stepping through one and not being able to return.”
“They function as a doorway would, as long as it remains open,” I answer, understanding his level of concern.
“And how do they open?” Ryc asks and I shift, lifting my chin to meet his stare.
“All blood magic carries a cost,” I answer quietly as I scan the tops of each arch, searching for the raven. “Paid in blood.”
There.
It sits across the room, motionless and observing. At a quick glance it could be mistaken as part of the arch itself.
