Chapter 2

Isolde laughed. A cold, contemptuous sound.

"I think you've truly lost your mind. Guards! Drag this mad witch out of here!"

The six knights stepped forward, their blades closing in.

Before I could even react, a figure stepped in front of me.

Dante.

He spread his arms, shielding me completely. His voice was laced with deadly intent.

"Don't you dare touch her."

"Dante!" Isolde shrieked. "She just cursed my sister-in-law! Didn't you hear her?"

"I said, we checked." Dante looked back, his gaze lethal. "The scar is real. I believe her."

"But Seraphina's bones have never been wrong."

Caelan moved to my left, his hand on his sword hilt, his eyes like poisoned daggers.

"My Godmother says she is dead. So she is dead. Anyone who touches her, I'll feed them to the wyverns."

Fourteen-year-old Finn balled his fists. He stood behind his brother, voice trembling but spine straight.

"Godmother, we believe you."

The woman on the bed watched them. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"None of you believe me... Fine. Then investigate. I'll go with you."

She sounded utterly heartbroken, her voice thick with sobs.

I stared at her, my chest aching.

Ten years ago, Elara shielded Dante. She took that wyvern's sting with her own body. The one meant to pierce his heart.

She shook with fear. But she stood her ground.

This woman... her tears looked real. But her eyes held none of that courage. None of that defiance in the face of death.

I bent down. Picked up the shattered pieces of my rune bones. A biting chill spread from my fingertips.

The shadow of the dead hadn't faded. It clung to my palm, silently pointing the way.

I looked up. Out the window. East.

"The East." My voice was quiet, but everyone heard. "The ducal family's crypt."

Dante didn't hesitate. He turned to his attendant.

"Ready the griffins and the carriage. We leave now."

The woman struggled to get out of bed. She was too weak to stand, but she shook her head stubbornly.

"I'm going too. I have to prove I'm Elara."

A maid rushed in with a velvet-lined wheelchair. She sank into it, trembling, and sobbed quietly the whole way.

I ignored her.

A quarter of an hour later, we arrived. The ancient ducal cemetery in the East.

A vast Moon Pool spread out before us. The water was dark green. Horribly still.

I stared at the surface. The stench of death... it was seeping up from the bottom.

"Open the floodgates."

Dante commanded.

The water level dropped with shocking speed. Soon, the muddy bottom was exposed.

Before the guards could go in, Caelan had thrown off his coat. He jumped right into the knee-deep sludge.

"Son!" Dante yelled from the edge.

Caelan didn't look back. He dug frantically through the mud with his bare hands. Covered in black slime. Like a wild animal.

"I found something!"

He shot up, holding an oilcloth-wrapped object. He scrambled ashore, dripping mud and water.

Dante rushed over. He practically snatched it from him.

A guard brought water to wash away the mud, layer by layer.

The oilcloth appeared. It was an ancient, coarse linen, soaked in preservation spells.

Dante's hands were shaking.

Everyone thought they would find Elara's bones inside.

The woman in the wheelchair covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook violently. Tears splashed onto the armrest.

Dante's hands trembled as he unwrapped the oilcloth, layer by ancient layer.

The last layer fell away. Everyone froze.

No bones. No rotting flesh.

Just a small silver box. Palm-sized. Old. Engraved with intricate vine patterns.

I recognized the craftsmanship instantly.

Fae work. And very, very old.