I’d begun to feel it more strongly the longer we walked—a subtle pulse beneath the stone, like a heartbeat. I thought maybe it was the rune on my throat responding to whatever ancient power lived in these caverns. Or maybe it was just my imagination feeding on exhaustion.
Late in the afternoon, Daegel halted suddenly, lifting a hand. “Look here,” he said. His voice carried low but clearthrough the tunnel.
We gathered around him. The light from our torches flared across the wall ahead—and revealed what had caught his attention.
Symbols.
Dozens of them, carved deep into the rock, spiraling outward from a central point like constellations etched into the earth. They shimmered faintly, reflecting the light in shades of green and gold.
I stepped closer, brushing my fingers along one of the grooves. The stone was smooth, the carvings worn down by time but still sharp enough to catch at my skin.
Eirnan came closer and lowered his torch, the light rippling across his weathered face. “They’ve been here since my people first found these tunnels,” he said quietly. “No one knows who carved them. Or why.”
“They’re not natural,” Keres said. “Too deliberate.”
Daegel crouched beside her, squinting at the nearest markings. “Could be an old trade route message. A warning, maybe.”
“They’re not warnings.” The voice came from Thorne, who stood a few paces back, the torchlight catching in his pale hair. His tone was steady, certain.
Eirnan turned. “You know this script?”
Thorne stepped forward, eyes scanning the wall. “Some of it. The center symbol—the one shaped like an inverted crescent—that’s the Verdant mark forthrone.”
I frowned. “Verdant runes? Here?”
But now that he mentioned it, I did notice the familiar curves and lines.
Thorne nodded. “After the Great War, the Verdant were driven out, scattered to the four corners just like all fae were.”
“Except they never formed a new court like the other fae tribes did,” I said, thinking of Meerdra, the oracle from GreyOak. For seven years, I’d searched the lands surrounding Sevanwinds for some trace of the Verdant healers; our only hope of breaking Heliconia’s curse on the Summer Court. But none had been found. Not alive. They’d been scattered and then lost.
Had they come this way?
Deep beneath the Concordian Mountains?
Keres straightened. “If their runes are here, that means so were they.”
“What does the rest of it say?” I asked.
Thorne traced a hand over the next few runes. “Summer, Winter, Autumn, Midnight, Spring.” Thorne pointed. “This one here—see how it intersects the others? It’s not just a word. It’s a number.”
Rydian moved closer, his shadows flickering across the markings. “What number?”
“Seven.”
A low murmur passed through the group.
“But there are only five courts,” Keres said.
“Six if you count Calidium,” Thorne explained. “Look, this rune is for the Marble Throne.”
“Six courts,” Keres said, “So, what’s with the seven?”
“Seven thrones,” I said softly, looking at Thorne. “Summer has two thrones.”
Thorne nodded. “That would be my guess. The Verdant used numeric sequences to represent governance—their structure, their power hierarchy.”
“But the Verdant ruled at a time when there was only one throne,” I said. “The Marble Throne that ruled the Calidium Empire. Back then, there were no other courts in Menryth. No other thrones.”
