“That’s true,” Thorne admitted.
“So, how are the other six thrones depicted here?”
“Look.” Keres had drifted further along the wall. Now, she pointed at a set of runes larger than the others. Their position represented a point earlier in the story, if this was truly meant to be carved in a specific order.
“What does this one mean?” Daegel asked.
Thorne met my gaze then turned to the others.
It was the rune from the book I’d chosen in the cabin’s library. The one Thorne had warned me about then let me keep. I’d paged through it and noted these exact runes inside. But I hadn’t been able to read the inscriptions.
“Life,” Thorne said quietly. “But not a mortal life, the Source that all life comes from.”
“A god,” Daegel said.
“Not just one.” Keres pointed. “Six total. Three Fates, three Furiosities.”
I stared at the carvings. Six courts. Six gods. Seven thrones imbued with Life.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Rydian’s voice found me through the haze. “What are you thinking?”
I hesitated. The Withered were all listening now, their gaunt faces lit by torchlight, hungry for answers.
“Just that the Verdant left more behind than we thought,” I said carefully. “They somehow knew the continent would scatter into all these new courts and kingdoms. Their Seers were incredibly gifted, not to mention their connection to the gods. They clearly knew more than we did.”
“You think these thrones mean something?” Rydian pressed.
“I think they represent a power that we shouldn’t ignore.”
One of the Withered, Brist, snorted under his breath. “And you’d know that, would you? From all your time sitting on a throne of your own?”
Eirnan turned sharply. “Enough.”
Brist lifted his chin, defiant. “You saw what she did to that creature. Drank its life like a leech. Now she’s down here in the dark, talking about ancient thrones and gods’ power. How long before she decides we’re next?”
The Withered beside him murmured his agreement.
Rydian stepped forward, shadows curling at his feet like smoke ready to burn. “Watch your mouth.”
Brist’s hand went to his blade. “Or what, Prince?”
Shadows leaked from Rydian’s hands. “Or you’ll lose your tongue.”
“Rydian,” I warned, but he didn’t take his eyes off the Withered who’d spoken out.
The shadows thickened, stretching toward the two dissenters like serpents testing the air. They didn’t flinch, but I saw their throats work as the dark tendrils coiled closer.
Eirnan moved to intervene, but Rydian’s power lashed out faster than any of us could stop it. The shadows struck, forcing their way down the men’s throats in a blur of black mist.
They gagged, choking.
“Stop!” I shouted.
Rydian’s jaw was clenched, eyes burning like twin storms.
“Rydian, that’s enough!”
