Faint laughter stirs in my ears. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Abarrane snaps, her head swiveling, searching for a threat.
I’ve heard it before, that day in the nymphaeum with Annika. At the time, I dismissed it as Saoirse and her flock.
I slide a fingertip over the engraving again, and the infectious giggles multiply.
You can hear them, can’t you?
Ianca kept asking, kept saying it, and I didn’t understand—until now.
Realization rolls over me, a conflicting wave of excitement and fear. “The nymphs. I can hear the nymphs.”
But how can I hear them?
And what does that mean?
“What are they saying?” Gesine whispers, as if afraid to disrupt them.
“Nothing. They’re laughing.” At me? With me?
“According to the texts in Shadowhelm, they did not communicate using our methods.”
“Are you saying they’re trying to talk to me?”
Zander hops off his horse and strolls over to mimic my finger trail but shakes his head. “I can’t hear anything.”
I slowly trace the swirling lines, following them along the massive wall. “They’re getting louder, and there’s more of them.”
“Keep going. They may be leading you somewhere.” Gesine follows beside me, wringing her hands. This is what she’d hoped for, I realize.
To what end, though?
Did she understand what Ianca meant all along?
The chorus grows, the sounds pulling my smile despite my apprehension. It reminds me of a classroom of preschoolers, laughing hysterically at a joke.
Until they cut off abruptly.
The eerie silence echoes in my ears.
“What’s wrong?” Gesine presses.
I shake my head, straining to listen. “I think I hear … music?” A soft, haunting melody, the chords drawn out. So contrary to the elation a moment ago.
“What is this?” Gesine peers closely at where I paused when the laughter stopped. Within the carvings on the wall is a small open space. “It looks to be the shape of a hand, does it not?”
“It does.” Tentatively, I fit mine within it and then pull back with a hiss as the jagged edge of stone scrapes across my skin, drawing blood.
Laughter coils in my ears and resonates, tugging at my core where my affinities thrum with anticipation.
“‘You must bleed for them to bow. That is the only way.’” Gesine echoes Ianca’s final words, shaking her head. “Fates, she knew. She saw this.” She looks to me. “What is it telling you to do?”
The pieces are clicking together, and with them, a euphoric sense of accomplishment. Something deep inside prods, comforts, promises me this is the only path forward.
Gritting my teeth, I fit my hand back into the space, pushing farther. The soft music spikes as the stone thorns dig into my flesh. My affinities flare. I can only follow instinct now as I pull on the threads reaching out for me—all four affinities—allowing them to unravel and flow outward. I watch with a mixture of fascination and fear as a trail of my blood races along the carved lines, fanning out over the design.
“What is happening?” Zander’s face pales as he follows the trail. “That is too much blood.”
Gesine backs up to take in a better view. “Perhaps, but I fear it is too late to stop it now.”
“What have you done, witch?” Jarek draws his sword, rage contorting his face as he narrows in on the caster.
“Nothing but ensure prophecy comes to pass.” Gesine’s green eyes glow as she arms herself with her affinities. “This is what must be.”
As if in answer to her declaration, the ground rumbles, distracting Jarek from whatever he was planning. A deafening crack sounds and our horses rear, nearly throwing off their skilled riders.
The sheer rock wall splits, the center sliding backward into itself, releasing my hand from its fanged grip.
A city opens beyond.