“Rowan?” I whispered. “Where are you?”
“I’ve got you.” Rowan’s deep voice sounded right below me. Warm hands cupped my waist as he gently lowered me to the floor. For a long moment, we waited there, my back pressed against Rowan’s firm chest once again. His heart thudded with such force I could feel the beat against my skin.
Rowan leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “We’re at the end of a dead-end hallway.” His breath cascaded down my bare neck, making me shiver. “I think—”
A light appeared at the far side of a long stone passage. It was the barest flicker of a torch, and it was growing brighter. My eyes widened.
Someone is down here.
All of a sudden, the Vicomte appeared at the end of the hallway. Even in the dim light, it was clear how he dressed in a garish pink coat over yellow pants and tall black boots. He paused for a moment, pulled out a watch, and checked the time. Rowan’s grip on my waist tightened. I held my breath.
Please don’t let him detect us.
A Fantome stepped up beside the Vicomte. A jolt of worry tightened my chest. The Vicomte and a Fantome? Things were becoming dangerous, indeed.
“You’re late,” snapped the Vicomte.
“I came as soon as I could.” The mage was a woman. In the dim light, I could see that she wore the long robes and had a slight frame. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the way her shoulders trembled. What could be bad enough to frighten a Fantome?
“You dawdled, Gretel. Don’t bother to deny it. You’ve been having dream visits from the Tsar again. When I summoned you here to meet me, you became worried as to what I’d do.”
“Visits in my dreams? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The tremor in Gretel’s voice told a different story, though. Memories flickered through my mind. For years, I’d had nightmares of my friend Tristan as he suffered in his afterlife. In that case, it was all because we shared a curse. Gretel must have gotten connected to the Tsar through their magick, most likely whatever spells were on the bone crawler inside her. I shivered. It couldn’t be pleasant, having a magickal connection to the most evil Necromancer in history.
The Vicomte’s voice lowered to a menacing whisper. “Are you still my loyal servant, Gretel?”
“I pledged my fealty wholly to you, my master.”
“Then follow me.”
“Whatever you command.”
The Vicomte took off down another hallway with Gretel close behind. The flicker of torchlight faded as they went on. I exhaled slowly.
Rowan let go of my waist and I spun around. The reflection from the Vicomte’s torch gave us just enough light. As our gazes locked, I knew Rowan was thinking the same thing that I was.
Let’s follow.
Rowan gestured for me to go first, and I stole down the stone passageway, careful to keep a safe distance between us and the Vicomte. The flickering shadows from the Vicomte’s torch shifted across the rough rock walls. Our path wound steadily downward. Rowan stayed close behind me, a calming presence in the darkness.
At last, the Vicomte and Gretel entered a large stone space. Here, the walls were mottled and reddish-gray. Long cones of white sediment dripped down from the ceiling, filling the room with natural columns. My eyes widened with recognition. I’d lived in a mountain for years, so I knew what a cave looked like. That said, the far wall in this place was far more than just rock.
It’s a gateway.
A series of smooth black stones had been set into the uneven wall, creating an arch that was slightly taller than me. What was once an opening beneath the arch had been bricked up with thin stones. I quickly scanned the runes etched into gateway itself. This one led to the Eternal Lands.
My pulse sped. This was just as Rowan and I discussed in the underwater cave. I fought the urge to gasp.
My people could be nearer than ever.
The Vicomte marched over to the far wall and set his torch into an obliging crevice. Gretel kept a close step behind him. At the same time, Rowan and I crept to hide behind a thick column of white stone. The air around me crackled with anticipation.
I’d never been so close to rescuing my friends.
The Vicomte turned to Gretel. “Summon the Tsar.”
“You can’t be serious.” Gretel pulled back her hood, revealing a childlike face. Her cheeks were quite rounded for a Necromancer, and her small nose turned up at the end. “You can’t expect me to face him.”
“But I do, and as you said, I am your master. Summon him.” The Vicomte stepped closer to Gretel and lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “I know he’s visited your dreams. I’m not here to punish you for that, only to ask him to stop invading your mind.”
“You are?”