A deep chuckle built up from my chest. It spewed out into the night, catching us both by surprise—considering our surroundings. My eyes sparkled with merriment. “I didn’t know that.”
His blue eyes zeroed in on my laughing mouth. The lord’s lips lifted in an amused grin. “It’s true. The outhouse even had a carving on it.”
This was excellent. “What was it?”
“Shit dropping down into an open mouth.”
I burst into laughter and clutched my bags harder with my fists. I wanted to swing the damn things back and forth and skip around and around the silent and fuming druid in front of me. I sputtered, “Please tell me his mouth was open when he was buried.”
“It was.” Lord Belshazzar turned his attention to the back of the druid’s head in front of him. “I always wanted to ask you, Ysander. When you awoke from your Rest, what did your mouth taste like?”
“Like dirt,” Ysander hissed grudgingly. “And roses and shit.”
My chin trembled. But I controlled myself.
Lord Xenon murmured, “I forgot about the rose bushes. Thorns all around. And the most beautiful blooms. It must have been a real bitch getting yourself out of there.”
“You have no idea.” Ysander tossed a glance behind him and stared directly at my father. “I still owe you one. I haven’t forgotten.”
Lord Cato chuckled softly. “You made it so easy to find your Resting place. I’m not that easy to find during mine. But you’re more than welcome to try.” He cocked his head of black hair, snow whipping his face. Little white flakes stuck to his curling eyelashes. “Wait. That’s right. You have been trying and have failed every time. Better luck next time.”
A root snagged my foot, wiping the smirk off my face. I stumbled over it but kept my footing. I looked back as I walked, studying the root’s placement. It looked natural enough and didn’t move or disappear. My previous thoughts weren’t coming to fruition. I’d merely been lax in my vigilance.
Time to pay better attention.
I huffed and looked forward again.
Lord Belshazzar scowled down at me.
I bared my fangs back. Then closed my mouth.
It was enough of a warning tossed at him.
I’d already figured it out. He didn’t need to remind me. I would be attentive from now on.
Our march turned uphill. Asteephill.
I used my bags—which were starting to get too heavy—as walking sticks. I shoved them down into the snow and then operated them as leverage to keep me on my feet. My fingers were practically frozen, but I didn’t stop until we crested the hill, not losing my visual on the Original druid.
Our group of powerful figures halted.
The three druids turned around to face us, but our eyes were stuck on the enormous brick castle standing tall in the distance. No lights were on inside, leaving the broken windows dark, and the structure itself leaned to the left as if it might tumble over at any moment. Vampires knew these castles existed and what towns they were in, but no one had ever viewed them before. We saw this one because the Original druid allowed it.
Master Niallan chuckled at our expressions. “It’s more than it looks like. Don’t let that worry your opulent asses.” He tilted his head toward the decrepit castle. “See that mound of rocks there?”
My attention zeroed in on the stones in front of the building where large rocks formed into an archway. “Let me guess. That’s how you really enter your stronghold?”
His blond head nodded, and his lips lifted into an amused grin. “The Arch of Sight is how you enter.”
Lord Otto asked, “What does that mean? Arch of Sight?”
Vicious flakes of snow battered our bodies while the Original druid stood silent, debating his answer.
We didn’t move. The druid could stand there all night long, and we wouldn’t move until he gave us an answer.
Master Niallan eventually explained, “The Arch of Sight will not physically harm you, though you may not enjoy it. It shows truth about yourself. Your free will is not affected.”
Lord Pippin questioned, “Nothing more than that? It’s just a mind-trip?”
