‘How are we supposed to find Allegra here?’ she sighed.
‘We head to the Library of the Dead,’ Makaria said brightly. ‘It’s not far now.’
‘Library of the Dead?’ Mal echoed, a note of disbelief colouring her voice.
‘Asphodel Meadows is meant to be a village,’ Thanatos explained. ‘The souls brought here must sign their names in the Book of Death.’
Mal followed them deeper into the shadows until they reached a towering structure of grey stone, standing solemnly against the mountainside. Gargoyles loomed above theentrance, their mouths frozen in eternal snarls, razor-sharp teeth bared in warning. Some, Mal noted with a chill, were shaped like wyverns; others took the form of serpents from the desert land, and a few wore the savage visages of wolves.
‘This is the land of the dead,’ Thanatos said, his voice hushed with something that sounded almost like reverence. ‘All come to rest here, no matter the land they once called home.’
Inside, the library was darker still. A vast, endless corridor stretched into the heart of the mountain itself. Mal lifted her gaze in awe: the ceiling was hewn from the mountain rock, rough and ancient, while beneath her boots, the floor unfolded in white and black mosaics.
The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint sound of unseen footsteps. Black wooden shelves lined the hall in endless rows, cradling countless archives of the dead. At the very centre, a grand lectern awaited, a book spread open as though expecting their arrival.
Movement stirred at the edges of her vision, figures draped in grey robes, slipping soundlessly between the shelves.
‘Ignore them, Melinoe,’ Thanatos whispered close against her ear. ‘They are the guardians of this library.’
‘What are they?’ she asked.
‘Souls from this region, who chose to spend eternity in service rather than sleep,’ he said, his voice rich with mischief.
Mal narrowed her eyes as he reached out, brushing a strand of her hair from her shoulder with a touch that was far too intimate, too careful.
‘Don't do that,’ she said sharply.
‘Why?’ His teasing smile only grew wider. ‘Do I make you nervous?’
‘Yes, you do,’ she whispered back, their voices carrying in faint echoes across the cavernous dark. ‘And you know,Thanatos, what happens to those who make me nervous?’
‘Do tell,’ he purred.
‘I slit their eyes out and cut off their fingers. One by one.’
His laughter rumbled through the towering, shadowy space, vibrating against the cold stone walls. Mal caught sight of Makaria, off to one side, studying the intricate murals that adorned the walls, stories that Mal half-remembered from childhood tales. With a small shake of her head, Mal turned back towards the lectern and the waiting book, determined to ignore both Thanatos’ infuriating presence and the silent wonders Makaria examined. She would have time enough to study the carvings later.
‘I don’t see Allegra’s name,’ Mal said, flicking through the heavy pages of the book, her fingers tracing the names inked in faded black.
Thanatos cursed under his breath. ‘It seems we will have to visit your brother Zagreus and his region.’
‘Tartarus?’ Mal asked, her voice low.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘The prison Hades fashioned within the Underworld, a holding place for souls awaiting judgement.’
Mal nodded, though her chest tightened painfully at the thought. ‘Very well. Let’s go.’
Thanatos and Makaria turned towards the exit, but as Mal moved to follow, her gaze caught on something, a name inked on the parchment that stopped her heart cold.
A name she knew too well.
A name that could not, should not, have been written in the Book of the Dead.
She froze, a soft, choked gasp escaping her lips.
‘What’s wrong?’ Thanatos asked, reaching instinctively towards her only to hesitate, letting his hand fall, as if some part of him understood that Mal’s pain was a thing he could nottouch.
‘It can’t be...’ she whispered, stepping closer to the lectern, her hands trembling as she leaned over the page. ‘That name cannot be here.’
