They are all present, the six minor gods, and the Great Goddess, Aneirin, at their head, dominating the largest wall across from me. The image of her face is so vast, so beautiful, it nearly sends me to my knees. My heart is flooded with love and terror in equal measure. This grotto is undoubtedly the source of the holiness which permeates the air of the garden overhead.
Lyria stands a little to one side, watching me closely. “It’s something, isn’t it?” she says at last, her voice breaking the spell of wonder.
I feel like a man restored from stone as I turn to her. “How did this place come into being?” I ask, breathless.
“I’m not certain,” she replies. “I believe it was from long ago, before the Kingdom of Gavaria was founded. This whole region was ruled by priestesses—now called witches by most—who directly served under the individual gods. Tradition among the Imra Sisterhood says this grotto was a place of harmony, where all the tribes united to worship the seven gods together, under the headship of Aneirin, the Deific Mother. As a reward for this unexpected unity, the gods themselves endowed this place withdivine presence, a gift for the generations to come.” She sighs heavily and shrugs. “Not that the generations have cared a great deal for it. I don’t know that anyone remembers it exists save for the remnants of the Imra.”
With those words, she steps deeper into the grotto. My eyes, adjusting to the light, now see the tunnels Ilsevel once described to me, leading off into winding darkness below stone. Lyria leads me to Nornala’s enormous face. The way the water falls down her stone makes the Goddess appear to be weeping. It breaks my heart to see it, and I look away hastily, focusing on Lyria, who approaches the mouth of a tunnel.
“This is the way for you,” she says. Her words echoing hauntingly against stone.
I frown. “I need to get to Elydark. He waits for me and—”
“Then this path will lead you to him.”
“How do you know?”
“It is the nature of these paths. They lead where you must go, but only if your purpose is true. If your aim is impure or even simply confused, you might wander forever in the dark.”
She reaches out then and touches Ilsevel’s face, lying cold against my shoulder. Her brow puckers gently, and I think I see the glint of tears behind her swiftly-blinking lashes. “Hold fast to your purpose, Taarthalor of the Licornyn,” she says softly. “Carry my sister to your unicorn and see her healed.”
“Won’t you come with us?” I ask. “Ilsevel may need you yet.”
But she shakes her head. “My purpose is not clear; therefore, I dare not take these paths.” Sorrow edges her voice, and I suspect the temptation to run away is very strong. She steels herself, however, and draws back several paces. Bending, she plucks something from the shadows. It’s a little satchel, which I had not noticed before. She drapes it over my shoulder.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Some necessities,” she replies simply. Then her hand grips my arm, tugging me toward the tunnel. “Go,” she says. “I don’t know how much longer that stasis rune will last. Save my sister, if you can.”
I turn to the opening. It’s pitch dark, so dark even my half-fae sight can make nothing of what lies ahead. Part of me wonders if this is some trick on Lyria’s part, if she means to entrap me in this darkness somehow. But we’ve come this far, and she has proven a trustworthy ally.
I shoot her a quick glance, wondering if I should offer thanks for everything she has done for me. All my words feel foolish, however. In the end I simply nod. And take a step.
“Wait,” Lyria says.
I look back at her, standing in a patch of moonlight, very pale and determined. “If—” she begins then stops herself, jaw firming. “WhenIlsevel wakes, will you tell her something for me?”
I lift my brows, waiting.
“Tell her . . .” She licks her lips, then gives her head a short shake. “Tell her, I do not believe Aurae is dead. In fact I’m almost certainshe’s alive. Tell her I plan to go after her if I can.” She swallows then, and once more I see the gleam of tears in her eyes. “Tell her that what happened to Aurae wasn’t her fault. The gods have their own purpose, and they will see it through. Both for her and for Aurae.”
Questions pile up on my tongue. How could she have come by this idea? She was not there. Not like I was. She did not see Ilsevel collapsing in horror before that pyre of scorched corpses. She did not hold Ilsevel while she fell to pieces, wracked with sorrow and guilt at the loss.
Then again . . . neither Ilsevel nor I actually saw Aurae’s body. We had only the testimony of others, but who’s to say they spoke the whole truth? These are things I will have to consider more closely once my wife is safe. For now her needs must be my only priority.
“I will tell her, Lyria,” I say.
She nods, swallowing hard.
Without another word, I turn and, offering a short prayer to Nornala to guide us through, plunge into that darkness.
17
ILSEVEL
I float in a space close to cognizance but unable to achieve it. Every time I seek to wake, to face the realities of my existence, I meet with a green, shimmering barrier, which sparks against my struggling soul and sends me tumbling back into shadowed realms of unconsciousness.
There is no comfort to be had in that darkness, no escape from the pain. Why have they let me return to this agony? Why will no one grant me the relief of death?
