What had been a narrow choke of rock widened as if the cave had exhaled to accommodate her. She hesitated, then pushed forward, brushing her fingers along the damp stone. It was warm like breath. No, likeawareness.
The deeper she went, the more impossible it became to track her steps. Every path looked the same. The mountain breathed through the fissures, every inhale a low tremor underfoot.
The cold air became warmer, then it was stifling, like a humid summer. Alora ripped off her sleeves, her gossamer gown tearing into shreds. Then she tore the heavy skirts to her knees and left the discarded fabric behind with her veil.
When she thought of water, the distant trickle of a spring led her to a cave with a small stream. Her heels slipped on the mossy ground as she rushed forward. Alora kicked them off and knelt by the stream for a drink. Once she had her fill, another section of the wall opened.
The mountain was guiding her.
Or playing with her.
When Alora looked back, the path she’d come from was gone. Her pulse quickened.
“This isn’t real,” she breathed. “It’s some kind of trick.”
Still, the glow worms formed a path, leading her down a twisting route of shadow and phosphorescence, the air humming with a strange, low vibration.
And then… it stopped.
The last tunnel ended in a flat wall veined with strange glowing symbols, glyphs no mortal tongue could name. In the center was the same hellish sigil that had appeared on her mother’s mirror. Somehow Alorasensedthis was a door.
One, not meant for merely anyone.
She raised a trembling hand but before she touched the center, the stone groaned open.
Alora stepped into a chamber unlike the caverns she had first arrived in. The stone walls were shaped and hewn, rather than nature’s blind carving. The space breathed like the hollow heart of a castle.
The temperature was more tolerable. The air here smelled faintly of amber and smoke.
A great stairway rose before her with a crimson runner, the banister curving like the spine of some beast. An iron chandelier hung overhead, glinting with candlelight that flickered against the glittering walls. To her left was a round table of polished tourmaline with four black leather chairs, littered with stubs of red candles that dripped like congealed blood on the surface.
A massive hearth loomed in the far wall, though the fire within guttered low, casting restless shadows. Every flicker of the candles bent in her direction, as though her presence pulled them.
A quiet hum of old magic lived in the stone.
The wall behind her groaned and closed, sealing off the passage she’d come through. Alora shivered. There was nowhere to go but in.
She set her jaw, gathering her torn skirts, and placed one slippered foot on the first stair. The hush of the chamber pressed in. But she climbed in search of another exit.
If she found a way out of Karag Dûr, then she could flee to the Midlands and beg Lady Zinnia for help.
But when Alora reached the top of the stairs, there was no exit. No windows. Only an open door leading to a private chamber.
The bed dominated the space.
A massive slab of obsidian, shaped and smoothed until it gleamed like glass, anchored to the floor as if it had been carved there. It should’ve been harsh, unwelcoming. But the bedding was absurdly decadent. Sheets of sleek black silk draped over plush furs the color of smoke.
Even the furniture had been carved from the mountain. Chairs and shelves sculpted from the rock itself, their edgesprecise and elegant. A table held a decanter of wine and a bowl of pomegranates glistening with the firelight in the brazier.
Shadows moved at the edges of her vision, drawing her eyes.
And there he was.
By another hearth, the God of Shadows sat in a large opulent chair carved from stone and bone, chin on his fist like a pleased monarch waiting for his prize. Shadows clung to him like obedient pets, coiling around his boots and wrists. His wineglass caught the low light as he took a drink.
“Took the scenic route, did we?” Rune drawled, eyes glinting like rubies in the gloom.
Alora glared at him, breathless. “The walls are alive.”
