“I’ll get you.”
The man coughed, loud and wet. “Hurry. It’s not safe down here. There’s something moving.”
“It’s only the walls.” That probably wasn’t as comforting as she’d meant it to be. “You’ll be fine. Tell me about yourself.”
It would keep him distracted from the horror around him.
“Well, I’m a miner. I have a family—a wife and a daughter.”
“Tell me their names. And yours.”
“I’m Michael. And they’re Beth and Little Beth. My wife is a weaver….”
He kept talking, and Nightrender kept working.
Down she went, cutting apart lines of malice where she found them, making bright, frosty light scatter through the space. It wasn’t long before a new movement sounded below. Not the man. Something else. Something bigger.
“Something’s happening!” Panic cut through the man’s voice “Help me!”
Light erupted from Nightrender’s hands, illuminating the entire cavern, and she peered far below to where Michael lay on a ramp, pinned down by a broken beam across his legs. Dirt and debris coated his skin, and underneath all that, he was very, very pale. Blood loss, perhaps. And fear. But he was alone down there—no sign of anything lurching toward him.
“What’s that light?” The words grunted out of him as he turned his head and raised an arm to shield his eyes.
She let the light ease, plunging the depths of the mine back into darkness. “There’s nothing. You’re fine.” If the mine hadn’t eaten him yet, it likely wouldn’t start now.
“I’m fine.” He sounded distant now, less afraid.
Strange that he’d composed himself so quickly, but it was better than listening to him scream at shadows until she finished her work above.
Piece by piece, she drove her sword into pockets of malice and moved deeper into the chamber until finally she reached the mal-device.
Such a small thing, causing all of this.
“What are you doing?” Michael sounded closer now, somehow, even though she hadn’t reached him. But perhaps it was just his voice echoing off the shifting walls. “Are you coming to help me?”
“I will.” Right after she destroyed the source of malice in here. She gazed down at the mal-device; it was identical to the first in every way, including the prickling energy of Princess Johanne.
“When?” Irritation sharpened the miner’s tone.
“A moment.” She positioned her sword just above the machine, gathering her strength to drive back the darkness.
“Talk to me.” Now his voice came from a different direction—slightly off to the left. Not even the shifting walls of the cavern could account for that. “I want to know where you are.” Again, he’d moved.
She knew the truth.
She turned the sword and swung just as Michael’s face appeared in the darkness. Filthy. Furious. Dead.
With holy fire crackling down the blade, Beloved sliced open his chest and tarry blood spilled out, drenching the mal-device.
With an ear-splitting shriek, it—because the dead miner was a revenant now, no longer a man—rushed at her, grabbed for her. Ragged fingernails scraped at her armor, but revenants were weak and she was ready. Her blade arced around and sliced into its legs.
Mind-shattering pain blinded her for a moment, making her stagger backward and grip Beloved even tighter, but there was no time to reorient herself. The revenant had dropped to the ramp, but not because she’d hurt it—only because its broken and bleeding legs would no longer hold it up. It reached for her, grasping with a horrible strength, but she was faster. She thrust her blade into its neck, burning it from the inside out with numinous fire.
Nightrender gasped, biting her tongue to keep from crying out, but it hurt so much. Her vision flared red, then grayed. A buzzing filled her ears.
Have you considered giving up? Even the voice seemed farther away. You don’t have to do any of this anymore.
She wouldn’t quit. She wouldn’t. Not even if her power was trying to sear away her own darkness. “Perhaps I deserve this,” she whispered, drawing her blade from the charred revenant.
The creature fell backward off the ramp and into the cavern below.
When it hit the bottom, stillness spread throughout the mine. She stared down, sadness swelling in her chest. He’d died while talking to her about his family, and she hadn’t noticed. She’d been too busy fighting off her own pain as she’d cleansed the malice.
And now she had to finish.
But a low groan sounded, and then another. Dread filled her as she lit the space.
Revenants—a dozen of them—shuffled and limped up the ramps, lugging rocks and pickaxes and planks of rotting wood.
A faint, exhausted whimper found its way out of Nightrender’s throat. Every part of her body ached, and the support beams and rock walls wavered in her vision slightly. She was in no shape to fight these revenants, but what choice did she have?
The dead creatures closed in on her.
Arms shaking with strain, she lifted her sword and summoned her power.
34.
HANNE
Death brought everyone together.
“How do you think Rune arranged the funeral so quickly?” Nadine mused as she and Hanne made their way across the outer ward. Captain Oliver and the other Embrian guards followed in their wake, far enough back that they couldn’t overhear.
“He didn’t. This is Dayle Larksong’s work. As the grand priest, he plans a funeral for every monarch. You never know when you’ll need one.” Hanne tried not to fuss with the bodice of her dress; even though her seamstress had taken it in this morning, it still didn’t fit right. “You have to admire Rune’s flexibility, though. Yesterday, a wedding. Today, a funeral. He’s really very good at attending events.”
Nadine flashed a secret smile. “I believe that is the first compliment you’ve ever paid him.”
“That isn’t true. I’ve also said he’s very obedient.”
“Hanne.”
“Believe what you will.” Hanne tapped her chin as they caught sight of mourners. “Cousin, I believe we overdressed. Funerals here are much less extravagant than at home.” In Embria, royal funerals involved parades, day-long speeches, and elaborate balls celebrating the life of the deceased monarch. Some funerals even included competitions, if the late ruler had been particularly fond of a certain sport. But in Caberwill, they simply marched the casket through the town in a most somber procession, then held a public service in the Grand Temple. Burial in the castle crypt was private.