You cannot touch the Darkness and remain unchanged.
The thought strikes at my core, echoing like my body is an empty cavern. I am so far from Similis. So far from Easton.
We make our way gingerly through the marketplace. “These people, they’ve been dead for at least a week,” Calloway observes. His face has markedly paled, his freckles stark.
A week ago today, I was fighting for my life and discovering the power that lived within me. It can’t be a coincidence, but I’m lost to what it means. Avedis said there was someone powerful inside Yen Girene; could this be the result of one person’s wrath? It’s too horrible to fathom that one person could contain this much cruelty, but this massacre isn’t efficient and impersonal. It’s messy, meant to send a message. But to who? Us?
“Whoever did this, they look to be long gone,” Max says with a tinge of relief.
Anrai only shakes his head. “They’re not,” he says quietly.
“But none of the bodies have been touched. And look at the layer of grime that coats the marketplace. No fresh fingerprints or footprints,” Max presses. She shifts her sword from one hand to another and I remember Anrai saying she is an equally strong fighter with both hands. I can only hope her skills aren’t required, but judging by Anrai’s face, it’s a futile one.
He gestures to the largest building inside the wall, an imposing tower made entirely of the same terrible black stone. Instead of shining, it seems to draw what little light the day offers into it, creating a slashing void of darkness against the surrounding mountains. The outside is as smooth as the wall and there are no windows to be seen. I shudder, feeling suffocated from out here.
“They’re in there,” Anrai says certainly. “The palace was created to withstand siege, even if the city walls are breached. There are enough supplies in there to last a small army at least a year. And according to my maps, the Timdis runs directly underneath it providing fresh water.” He looks to me. Whoever awaits us in that fortress, my power will be needed.
“Do you think the Achijj did this?” Cal asks slowly, “that he went mad and slaughtered his own people?”
Anrai shakes his head. “No. He relished his comfortable lifestyle. He wouldn’t kill off his work force. There’d be no one to mine his jewels.”
“Who then?”
For the first time since stepping through the gate, Anrai hesitates. He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” The familiar stone mask clamps down over his features like the door to a tomb, “but we’re about to find out.”
* * *
Shaw
The door of the tower palace is made of reinforced steel, and I meet no resistance as I push it open. We step into a cavernous room. Despite the overbearing appearance of the exterior, the room is glowing and opulent. Shining granite pillars tower toward a ceiling so high it’s impossible to see clearly, gilded with shining red gemstones that twinkle even in the darkness. The marble floor is covered in thick rugs, the kind woven from rare threads in the east. Marble statues and lush paintings line various alcoves and luxurious fabrics curtain the walls. Everything about the room screams opulence, exactly what I would expect from the Achijj, a man known for his rich appetites and even richer treasury.
Except for the fact that it’s entirely empty. The last time I was here, the tower palace was brimming with tittering courtiers and harem wives. Music echoed off the towering ceiling and spirits were served around every corner.
Now, dust gathers on the tops of the marble busts and lines the frames of the paintings. The marble stairs that lead up and away are dull and untouched. The lanterns that light the room have long since burned through their oil and the candelabras that line the walls are down to the quick.
But someone is here. My skin hums with their presence, almost as if I can sense the warmth of life somewhere in the bowels of this massive place. Which is ridiculous, but my instincts have kept me alive this long. A morbid accomplishment, to be so good at surviving in the same way rats of the earth are, but here I am.
I motion silently to Cal, and he strings his bow, moving to my left. Mirren and Max follow on silent feet as we advance slowly into the enormous room. Whoever is here took great pains to make the place appear abandoned. A sense of foreboding climbs up my throat. The massacre outside is catastrophic and yet no news of it reached Nadjaa. I know only one person capable of such a feat.
I tell myself I’m being paranoid, that my father is still in the north and even he isn’t capable of mobilizing an army so quickly, but dread hangs heavy in my lungs.
“We need to find the way down,” I whisper.
According to the old maps, a dungeon system runs beneath the tower palace. Expansive and labyrinthine, thanks to Gireni mining skill, I can only imagine it’s grown in the time since the maps were drawn.
Cal and Max nod their agreement, but I don’t look to Mirren. I made that mistake as we passed through the carnage of the marketplace and immediately wished I hadn’t. Her face was so beautiful, eyes wide and guileless, in direct contrast to the horror around her. It was as if my assassin’s mask was ripped from me and I was shoved harshly back into my own body, feeling the sharpness of its fears.
Weapons do not feel. Conquer your emotions or succumb to death.
My father’s words, harsh but true. Usually accompanied by the bite of a whip or the sear of a hot iron because I’d failed at it. I won’t fail now.
We move through the hallways quietly, each passage wide and comfortable and as lavishly decorated as the entry hall. The tower palace is eerily still, as if even the rodents have gone to ground.
As we round a corner into another antechamber, Mirren’s gasp echoes through the stuffy air. The reason is obvious. Pinned to the opposite wall by swords is the Achijj.
The body is pin cushioned with arrows and various knives and the Gireni leader’s eyes have been plucked out, leaving his face empty and distorted. His mouth is twisted and gaping, frozen in the final throes of agony. A pool of blood lies beneath his feet, so large that it must contain every last drop that was previously in the Achijj’s body.
I’ve only seen the man once, and even then, it was from a great distance, but there’s no doubt in my mind this is him. His crown, fashioned from the same gems that line the entrance pillars, dangles above his head, pinned to the wall in the same fashion as his body. My gaze travels to the floor around him, a pile my eyes previously skipped over. I swallow roughly as I realize it isn’t just a heap of fabric—it’s a pile of bodies. Judging by the height, at least fifty of them, all in various states of decomposition. The Achijj’s harem.
