Chapter Five
Emerging into the main street at last, Winifred saw Ian skulking in a shady corner, his iron mask casting an intimidating appearance. Her heart lurched upon seeing him, briefly remembering their first less-than-ideal encounter.
I'm betraying my mother. I think. But I'll be revealing that I'm betraying him, too. I need to find a compromise. Just... just pretend I heard some sensitive information, like what I'm supposed to be doing.
“Ian,” she hissed, now walking with him along the street. “I heard something big. Really big.”
“Oh?” He sounded interested, but then his attention slid to where she had emerged. “You're being followed.”
Startled, Winifred glanced back to the alley, and almost yelped when she saw several Golubrians emerging, eyes fixed on her. “Okay. Run! Run!”
She wasn't about to stop and wait, not when they powered towards her with such purpose. Didn't they trust her anymore? Had she messed up when speaking to her mother?
Winifred and Ian dashed, avoiding carriages, which would be too slow. The servants continued to follow them, and people in the streets gave odd looks at a fleeing werewolf and red-haired servant.
They didn't exactly have the time to stop and talk to anyone. Only escape. All the while, Winifred's mind raced through her last interaction with her mother. Had anyone overheard the conversation? Had her mother asked for her to be restrained?
No. Surely her mother wouldn't do that. Surely everything was fine. Just as long as I keep repeating that to myself.
“What in the endless dark did you do?” Ian barked, breath hissing behind the mask.
“Later!” Winifred shrieked. “Let's get to safety first!”
They attempted to make for the main street that headed towards the bridge, but saw a small gaggle of Golubrians in front.
“No, we can't trust any Golubrian,” Winifred said, lungs bursting. “Elsewhere!”
“Now I'm intrigued. You make it sound like every single Golubrian can't be trusted.”
“They can't,” Winifred said, knowing she implicated herself in her own words. They persisted in their mad sprint, hurtling over to the back end of the cemetery around fifteen minutes later.
“I...” Winifred stumbled onto her knees, taking deep, greedy breaths. “I'm dead. I can't do it.”
“We've left them behind,” Ian said, leaning his hands against his hips. He didn't seem nearly as exhausted as Winifred was. “Now do you want to tell me what that was all about?”
“I...” the words choked up in her throat. She didn't want to explain. She didn't want to show him her treachery. But it clawed up against her, demanding to be heard. Demanding for the truth to be let out at last.
“Let's just get into the palace first.”
“No. Tell me now.”
Winifred's bottom lip wobbled. She took a shaky breath and a drop of sweat slid off her nose. “I think they're coming after me because they think I'm a traitor.”
“What?” Ian's confusion washed over her. “They think you're one?”
“Yes. Because... I wasn't.”
They could have heard a pin drop in the silence between them.
“You're not,” he repeated, voice containing a growl.
Hastily, Winifred tried explaining to him why she had come here, and the conflict between her mother and the palace. “I didn't expect to like it so much. I never thought I would end up in this position—and that I could just work for my mother and not have to worry about liking anyone else.”
He remained silent as she explained, though there was increased tension in the atmosphere. A boiling anger that might have simmered under his skin.
“My mother tried to buy me over. I think she knew I was doubting. But when I found out... when I found out they were recruiting the Tarngol... that they were attacking tomorrow... I had to come and warn you.” She finished weakly, nervous of his wrath.
Eventually, he hissed, “I see.” His hands tightened, the whites of his knuckles showing. The light danced around him as if feeding off his fury. “You're a double traitor.”
The words knifed her heart, even as someone barked from behind them, “Hands up! Hands up now, and we won't be having any trouble!”
They both turned around to see about six Golubrians with bows and arrows trained upon them.
“Hello, sweetie,” the leader said, displaying grimy teeth. “Heard you was a traitor. Not allowed to kill you, of course. Important daughter and all that. But we are locking you away. Him, though. Should we kill him, fellas?”
“Nah,” someone else said, blue eyes darting about nervously. “They can take a lot of hits.”
“I'd be willing to try...”
The Golubrians bickered, before steering the both of them towards a hovel somewhere to the north of the cemetery. Stumbling inside the hovel, they encountered a set of trapdoors, opened wide. And looming darkness underneath.
“Bottoms up,” someone said from behind her. A boot into her backside pitched her forward, and she let out a hysterical scream as she plummeted into darkness. Desperately, she spat out light from her body, lighting up the hole around her, and heard Ian snarling as he was booted down as well. She hit the muddy sides and tumbled down, fingers clawing into the mud, bumping against gravel. She bounced some more before rolling across a cavernous pit underneath. Ian landed flat on his mask and let out a pained groan.
Everything throbbed. Winifred spat mud from her lips and rolled to her back, staring upwards. No light shone through, and when she sent her own light up to inspect, she saw that the trapdoors had been shut.
“Great,” she said. “My mother definitely planned this. I should have realized I was too obviously going to go and spill everything.”
She dreaded hearing a response from Ian, but didn't have much choice. They were now stuck together.
When Ian didn't talk, Winifred faced him—and gaped, horrified.
The mask lay broken on the ground. Winifred stared at Ian's exposed face, startled. Underneath lay the blond hair she'd seen poking out of the gaps, those yellow eyes, and a squarish face with a rather noticeable chin. The kind of chin that could probably punch through walls. Even with the chin, he did have a wonderful, fresh look to him. A face that liked to smile. Handsome.
Ian, however, scowled at her. He then coughed, wiping away some of the dust on his clothes. “I knew there was something off about you.”
“Save it,” Winifred said, weary. “It's too late for that now.”
“You still came to warn me anyway. Why?”
Winifred began lighting up the dark area, shivering as she did so. The smoothness of the walls suggested man-made intervention. Winifred sighed, giving him a helpless shrug.
I can see his face...
“I never know how to go against my mother. She wanted to give me the world, but she wanted to destroy it for everyone else. And I did everything for her.”
Ian's teeth clenched and a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Why you? Why you in the palace?”
“Because I wanted to leave. But I didn't want to leave my mom. And this was the compromise. Guess I didn't expect to actually begin liking the people I was going to betray.”
Ian closed those yellow eyes, pulling a pained expression. He clearly didn't want to hear any of this. Probably because he was admitting that he wanted to get to know her better.
Well, he did.
“You will be executed for this, once they find out. All those lies... we can hardly trust you to live.”
“Not if I run away.” Winifred gave him a sad smile then. “Start my light show in another place. Just run as far as I can and never look back.”
To avoid looking into that hurt face for any longer, Winifred now began to examine the room. “So, they threw us down here. The traitor and the monster. Into an underground... something.”
“The tombs,” Ian whispered, also examining the walls. “That's how your lot are planning to invade. They're going to go through the ancient crypt network and enter the royal dungeons through the entrance that was blocked off a long time ago.” He smacked his forehead. “We know your people hate associating with the bodies. So going through there...”
“They'll burn them,” Winifred said. “They'll go to every crypt, break open the coffins, and burn any flesh and clothes that remain. They'll think they're doing the souls a favor. More than they deserve.”
Ian's eyes reduced to slits. “Desecration. Blasphemy.”
“Yeah, we can argue semantics later. We need to get a warning to the palace.”
“Impossible,” Ian said. “There's no way we can get out of here in time.”
“We might still have a night or two left,” Winifred said. “I did catch a time frame. They won't want to kill me because I might be a filthy traitor, but I'm still my mother's daughter. You... I'm not sure why they kept you alive. Sorry.”
“Probably easier than trying to stab a werewolf. We're pretty resilient.”
Winifred took deep, gulping breaths. Stay calm. Stay calm. Don't panic. Don't worry. We'll find a way out of this. I'll find a way out of this.
“Shame you couldn't have mentioned this a little sooner,” Ian said. “Then we'd never come down to this in the first place.”
“How can I choose a side when I don't understand what it's like to have friends? To talk to those who I'm supposed to hate and find out that I don't hate them at all?” Winifred wanted to reach out and touch him, but knew her touch wouldn't be welcomed. “I had to learn somehow.”
“Hmm.” He glanced to the top, from where they had fallen down. No way to climb back up there. “Well, I'll spare you for now. You and your lightweaving might be useful. And if I were you, I'd suggest using the time to try and make a case for staying alive. When we get out and stop the invasion, which we will—because there's no way on earth I'm letting some stab-happy Golubrians near my king—then we can decide your fate.”
“You're very optimistic about this,” Winifred observed. She glanced forlornly at the top again, where the Golubrians had sealed them from the outside.
“I have a plan,” Ian said, now moving towards the walls and resting his palms against them.
“You do?”
“Well, no, I don't.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “But people love it when I say that.”
“Oh, don't get my hopes up, will you?”
“Actually, I do kind of have a plan. It involves digging. Lots of it.”
Winifred stared incredulously at him. “You want us to try and dig? Through, what, sixty meters of earth?”
“Unless you have any better ideas, we're going to have to do something—and digging's the only solution I can think of.”
Winifred began massaging her eyes. “I suppose I can always yell up at them and ask to be let out. I am a trade-daughter.”
“And they threw you in here.”
“They might change their minds.”
“Okay. And what are the chances of them killing you?” Ian's lips curled up in amusement.
Winifred shrugged. “Eh, I'd say about fifty-fifty.”
“Then digging it is. Since killing me will be closer to one hundred.”
He began patting his hands against the walls, guided by Winifred's dancing lights. She watched him with unease wriggling in her stomach. Along with an unhealthy slice of guilt. The thoughts forming in her mind made themselves heard.
“I really hate being me, sometimes.”
Ian glanced at her, but kept working. Inviting her to continue, perhaps. So she did.
“I could be having a nice, quiet life, not dealing with werewolves, or cults, or anything.”
“And if you weren't a traitor,” Ian replied snidely, “I might have seriously considered courting you at a point. You do have that kind of efficient personality that makes a man's head turn. And it would have been acceptable if I told the Highborn that you were a trade-daughter. The king's keen on fixing relations with the Golubrians, even if the rest of Kanthus isn't.”
This statement halted Winifred's whirring brain, making her heart twang. “Wait. Really?” Already, that desolate sensation of loss built up inside her. I ruined it. I ruined everything. I ruined the chances I had.
“Yes. As you can imagine, plans might have changed since. Though you have seen my face.”
“Special circumstances,” Winifred said automatically, before she could stop her words.
“Yes.” He regarded her with cold eyes. “Special circumstances. We're trapped together, and my mask cracked. We'll be exempt.”
Winifred's insides began to claw at her, as if screaming. “Oh, brilliant, then. Fantastic. That's one worry out the way.” Being possibly executed, still not banished yet. “Let me illuminate the area better.”
“Tell me,” Ian said, his hands brushing over the soil and marble. “Did you ever feel guilt at all? Smiling at Kiara as you lied to her face. Lying to me and all the Kanthians around you, just to fulfill a purpose of killing the nobility and collapsing the system.”
“I don't want to talk about this right now.” I want to run. Run, run, run away, and pretend this isn't a problem. She lit up the room brighter, hands shaking as she did so.
“When else? You don't have an eternity waiting for you.” The words punched Winifred in the gut. “So, did you feel guilt?”
“I'm not talking. We need to concentrate on getting out. We can talk about killing me later.”
“If you want me to change my mind... you'll talk.”
Oh no. Those were exactly the kind of words she needed to cling onto. Giving her a desperate hope that everything might be fixed, her mistake forgotten. But how could you fix a mistake by making it worse? By admitting to those feelings you wanted to run away from?
Surely, it would break her. I have to run. I have no choice. Please, just let me run.
“Fine. You want to know? Yes. There's guilt. There's a whole lifetime's worth of guilt. It eats at me every second and I hate looking at myself in the mirror because I don't want to be this person!” It tore out of her, opening the wound inside. “I don't want the people who think of me as a friend to hate me. I don't want my mother to glare at me in disappointment. I don't want to be this person.”
Please, just let everything go back to what it was. When everything was so beautiful. When I wanted that moment to last forever, and brush away the truth, because I was liked. Because they never knew.
Ian remained silent, as the words scraped out of her, tumbling in the still of the room, threading through the light minnows, the lazy orbs. “You knew, I think, somewhere, that you'd need to make a choice. You can't have both, Winifred.”
At first, Winifred wanted to deny this statement, to say that of course she could have both, that she didn't know she had to make a choice.
But she knew. She knew it couldn't last.
She always knew.
“You know you can't keep running forever. I need to know, Winifred. If your mother comes and says she will forgive you, will you go running back into her arms?”
“I... don't know.”
“If Kiara comes and says she will forgive you, will you go running back into her arms?”
What a stupid question. It didn't make any sense. “Yes.”
“Sounds to me,” Ian said with a small smile, “that you've already made your choice. You just need to catch up with it.”
Leaving her completely puzzled, he continued rummaging around the room. “It's got marble, so we're likely on the outside of a crypt,” Ian muttered. “Maybe we won't have to dig far. If we can get into a crypt, they should be interconnected, so we can make our own way back.”
“Ian... what do you mean, I've already made my choice?”
Before he could answer that, someone opened the entrance to their hole. “Dinner's ready!” came a distant, mocking voice, along with an object thrown towards them. The entrance shut again, and Winifred dodged to the side to avoid being brained by a bag. It landed with a heavy thump on the ground, and the sound of something squelching.
“Food. How generous,” Ian said, watching as Winifred opened the bag. Squashed fruits and bruised vegetables resided inside. “Might have needed a better presentation, but I can accept this.”
Winifred's stomach growled. She dug through the food for some bananas, splitting the skin open to eat. Ian chewed on celery sticks, which made a horrible crunching sound.
“Wonder how often they'll check on us,” Winifred said, now starting on her third banana.
“I'd imagine at least for the three meals a fullnight. We shouldn't waste time on this.” He finished the celery and renewed his attempts to feel along the walls. “I need some kind of fault line. Some structural weaknesses, so we can know where to start digging. We won't have to go up after all. Just through.”
“I can help with that,” Winifred said, wanting something to distract her thoughts from her betrayal, from the inevitable end that would follow, and Ian's odd statement that she had already made her choice. Of course she hadn't. Why else would she even be in this position in the first place? “Just...” Whilst chewing, she began to direct her lightweaving, attaching it to the walls. Slowly, the weaving crept along the cement lines, soon revealing a network of glowing lines in the surfaces. As Ian admired the intricate lightweaving, Winifred sensed something else. “Here,” she said, pointing at the wall to her side, opposite to where Ian was checking. “The wall is much thinner. And I think this wall used to be an entrance. Filled in, now. Ah, yes, see?” The light began to thread an arch shape over the center, illuminating what used to be the original shape of the door.
“How are you even doing this?” Ian shook his head in amazement. “That's incredible.”
“It's a level four skill,” Winifred said, “attaching light to multiple stationary objects. No big deal.”
“It's a big deal to me. You're quite the skilled one, aren't you? Such wonderful talent.”
Shame what I turned out to be then, isn't it?
They approached the fault line. “How are we going to get through this?”
“How do you think? Stand back,” Ian said, voice shifting to a snarl. Winifred instantly sprang away. Ian began to morph, his form stretching, claws bursting out of his fingers, clothes shifting into fur. A black-furred monster with huge biceps stood in his place, with eyes that blazed like twin orbs. He snarled again and began scratching at the line, putting all of his immense power into it. Winifred alternated between glancing upward to see if the noise might attract their attention, and witnessing Ian's progress upon opening the former door. It began to crumble fast, and some of the soil from above rained down on their bodies. Within moments, he had managed to force a hold about a hand's width wide, and rapidly sought to expand it.
Winifred trailed light into the freshly revealed room, siphoning it from their current room to do so. She had plenty of reserves left—the bracelet must have accumulated up to about five times worth her average containment—and grinned as Ian made the gap big enough for them to squeeze through. He morphed back into a human, panting, and forced himself through the gap first.
“If there is something dangerous in here,” he panted, “better me than you. I can take some damage.”
“Thanks,” Winifred said, a little anxious now. If the people above opened, they'd notice the absence of light. Maybe they couldn't see... maybe they'd throw more food down, not letting escape occur to them. Or maybe they'd notice right away and raise the alarm.
She breathed in the stale air, following Ian into the new room, a crypt with three gravestones. A chill rippled through her at the suggestion of the dead underneath. All those trapped souls. Supposedly slumbering in peace, encased in protective walls. Dust piled up in the corners, and there were offerings all along the sides from those who had paid respect to the fallen.
The names on the gravestones denoted a husband, wife, and son. All who died at around the same time.
“The virulent plague,” Ian explained. “We didn't really have a good name for it at the time. Something that affected about a third of the population in Kanthus. The survivors you see these nights were those who were either immune to the plague, or fortunate enough to not live in Kanthus when it swept through. It tended to disfigure, causing black boils to appear on the skin.”
“I've heard of that one,” Winifred whispered. “We had something like that in Golubria, too. We called it the sinner's curse.”
“I doubt this plague cared if you were religious or not,” Ian said. “Ah, here. We can start going through here.”
“We'll need to be careful,” Winifred warned him. “At any point, my people might be coming through from another direction. And they'll be watching the top, I'm sure.”
“Then we'll just have to stay underneath. I hope you're not about to get cold feet at the thought of passing our dead?”
Winifred wiped a bead of sweat from her cheek, trying hard not to think about what they were surrounded by. “I'll be fine. As long as nothing starts coming out of the coffins or something.” She shuddered.
“Don't be silly. The dead can't walk.”
As if to contradict the statement, they heard a loud, grating rumble. Like stone sliding against stone. They froze, wide-eyed, staring at each other.
“You were saying?” Winifred's voice came out as a squeak.
“There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for that. I'm sure.”
The grinding resonated again. The coffin to the side of them was glowing faintly. The lid was slowly sliding off.
“Oh, dark no!” Winifred yelped, now hurtling down the passage. “Nice knowing you. Bye!”
Ian hastened to catch up with her, his breathing matching hers. “I don't understand. What was that all about?”
“I'm not staying to find out!”
“Maybe we should wait, it could be something important...”
“I think getting back to the palace is a little more important, don't you?” Winifred grabbed at his hand and helped to tug him along, because he was showing signs of wanting to turn back. “Please?”
He examined the absolute terror in her eyes, then nodded. “Okay. Palace it is. But still... that's never happened before.”
They passed through another crypt. One coffin this time, and several golden chalices piled up in the corners. Someone else who had fallen to the virulent plague—but a Highborn.
“We must be in the disease section of the tombs,” Ian whispered. “I had heard they sorted out all the ones who had died from the virulent plague to one side of the cemetery. It's quite overgrown now, and I think the original entrance is gone, so no one can access this area. It's separate from the other tombs. Probably because people still held a superstition about the plague. Going too near the bodies might make you contract it yourself.”
“I swear, if that's true...”
“It's not,” Ian said, chuckling. He did have an edge to his voice, however, as if talking to her and saying all these things out loud were the only things keeping him from panicking. “Otherwise we'd likely have outbreaks every ten years or so for those who are assigned to clean out the tombs.”
“Doesn't look like these tombs have been cleaned out for a while,” Winifred replied, indicating the heavy amounts of dust, cobwebs, spiders, and rats scuttling along the corners.
“Do you want to let go of my hand now?”
Winifred let out another squeak and let go, as if his hand had set hers on fire. She still felt the lingering heat afterwards.
“I don't know who happens to be more scared,” he said, rubbing his fingers. “You, or me.”
“Should be me. You're the one who can shift into a big, bad wolf.”
They passed through a maudlin network of tombs, some with multiple gravestones, others with elaborate statues marking the final resting places of the dead. All of them dead because of the same reason. Meanwhile, Winifred had that awful, gibbering sensation at the back of her mind that they were being chased. She kept imagining that old, groaning sound, the tomb glowing. And something clawing its way out.
Nope, nope, not going there.
Not thinking about that. “Can we go any faster? I feel like there's something behind us.”
“Thanks!” Ian cuffed her lightly about the head, and she flinched from the shock of contact. “Best not to think about things that will make it worse for us.”
“Wish I had Kiara's ability,” Winifred muttered. “Maybe then I could actually protect myself. Instead of making pretty damn fish and acting as a human light source.”
“Hey. Don't dismiss the human light source. We wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for you. Don't underestimate yourself!”
“You're giving me a pep talk? Don't you hate me?”
“Not right now, I don't.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “Because I feel like I'm getting to know the real you.”
“Yeah. The real me. A traitor. A sell-out. A two-faced fake shell.”
“That too. But at least you're being honest now.”
“If you're considering flirting with me, can we wait until we're out of the creepy tomb place first?”
“If we get out,” Ian muttered. “I'm lost. I've never been in these places before. They sometimes send werewolves down to patrol, in case some thief wants to steal the valuables in the tombs. But not me. I was assigned to murder cases. Usually had to investigate low-life killings because of drug misuse or domestic violence. Few times, though, I had some good cases. Well, good for me, not good for the people who became victims. Serial killings. Those required good detective work.”
“Can we not talk about killings when we're surrounded by dead people?”
One corridor. Another tomb. This time with eight gravestones crammed together, and the sculpted image of a skeleton standing on top. They were racing for their lives, racing against time, and racing for the lives of the Highborn Kanthians in the palace. Even now, the Golubrians were preparing to surround and use the passageways underneath. They would break open the prison to create a huge diversion and employ expert assassins from all around the world. And Golubrians could afford to recruit big.
They stopped when they reached one tomb with a noticeable crack in the floor. Ian, running fast, went straight over the crack—and fell through the sudden hole in the floor with a yelp.
“Ian!” Winifred dashed over, peering down into the new crevice. “Are you okay?”
“Ow,” he replied from the darkness. She sent light down to him, and saw another kind of chamber. An older tomb, perhaps. “Oh, I heard about this. The oldest tombs were quite deep. We found room afterwards when the spaces started running out.”
“Yes, great,” Winifred said. “Need a hand back up?” She was already holding her hand down, waiting for him to jump up and grab hold.
“Hang on a second. There's something else...” Ian went off, and Winifred groaned in irritation.
“Come on! We don't have an eternity!” She deliberately threw his own words back at him, and he ignored them.
“My god,” he said, disappearing into the darkness where her light didn't reach. “I think... I think we're in the same mausoleum as the First Wolf.”
The phrase meant absolutely nothing to Winifred. “What?”
“The first werewolf. The one, or ones, who started off the whole Kanthian line, making Kanthus what it is now. Look, I'm getting old Kanthian script here. We haven't used that in centuries. Longer, even.”
“Is this really the time to do so? Ian, the whole palace is in danger right now. Just get back up here, we can look later if it's so important.”
“And this is the actual tomb of the First Wolf,” he said, voice coming back distantly. Winifred debated just following him down there. She didn't like being alone, and the crypt she knelt in had a way of pressing around her. Even if she wasn't exactly Ian's number one companion right now, it was better than... this.
Again, the grinding of stone made her almost leap out of her skin. “Ian... Ian!”
No answer.
The lid in the tomb creaked. With a screeching wail, it began to slide off. “IAN!”
His voice came back muffled, too distant for her to hear. With a curse, she plummeted down into the hole, bruising her hands from the impact. What direction did he go in again?
“Where are you, Ian? Where in the dark did you go?”
Again, he took far too long to answer. “Winifred?”
“Ian!”
“Did you come down as well?”
“Yes! The graves are moving, Ian! Ian?”
She followed her light through a disused, broken-down tunnel, and finally spotted Ian, standing in front of what looked like a magnificent tomb, with a statue of a crouching, snarling werewolf. The coffin was again made of stone, and the top of the lid appeared cracked. Shivers rippled up and down her spine. Why was Ian wasting time like this?
“You see?” Ian said, stepping out of the darkness and holding up his hands, impressed by the sight he witnessed. “This is the tomb of the First Wolf! Isn't it amazing? I knew when I fell down and saw the old stonework that we must have fallen into the earliest tombs of Kanthus. I had heard the First Wolf wanted to hide his tomb from prying eyes... though it does look as though other people have been here before.” Ian now scowled, examining the empty room. “All the treasures are gone. And someone's clearly tried to crack open the lid itself.” He sounded disgusted that someone would even dare crack the tomb open, but Winifred again felt that Ian's priorities were slightly out of balance.
“Yes, great, old tomb, horrible people opening it. Now can we get in damnation out? Please?”
“Oh? What's going on, then?”
“Are you joking? Run!”
Fuming that Ian didn't listen to her as she yelled about the graves moving, she beckoned for him to follow her.
“But, if your lot get down here, then they'll burn the body...”
“Priorities, Ian!”
She sped off, and skidded to a halt when she saw a corpse rising from the ground, leaking dark light. A horrible, desiccated thing that should not, in any way, have been able to walk. Its rib cage stuck out of the dried, blackish skin, and it was missing its lower mandible.
A skeletal hand stuck out of another tomb, followed by a full skeleton, glowing with a kind of anti-light—a gray, pulsating discoloration that seemed to attack the light sources that Winifred had made. Dark light. Old magic. The stuff the night hordes were supposed to be made of.
“Okay, not this way. Not this way! Another way!”
“What—” Ian saw the walking dead as well and stopped, yellow eyes wide. “Oh.”
He promptly followed after Winifred, deciding it best not to stand around and talk anymore. They'd wasted enough time as it was.
Winifred groaned as she ran down past the tomb of the First Wolf, only to find a dead end. “Oh no, we can't go here. This just gets better and better.”
“We'll be fine. There should be another way out... somewhere. Might have to break down a door or two, but I'm sure we can manage.”
“Look,” Winifred panted as they dashed back through the tomb, trying to ignore the staggering skeletons. “All you had to do was not go down the creepy hole. Might have saved us a lot of trouble.”
“To be fair, I wasn't expecting the floor to give way underneath me. Now, on the other hand, if you hadn't followed me down...”
“Not exactly expecting the dead to rise up and attack, was I? Were we?”
Ian rubbed his face, possibly from regretting his choice to continue exploring. “Yes, okay, you were right, I know perfectly well we don't have the time...”
“This is probably why we burn the dead in Golubria. So they don't do any weird nonsense like this!”
Ian let out a snort, either from disgust or irritation or amusement, Winifred couldn't tell.
Worse than the skeletons, though, was when the tomb of the First Wolf shifted, and a gray-lit corpse clambered out of the final resting place. Skeletons, with the shadowy gray shape of a werewolf knitting the outside.
Shaped like a werewolf, with human bones underneath. Now it advanced upon them, and Winifred couldn't control the moan of terror that slipped through her lips.
Was this what her mother had managed? Were all these corpses the “secret” weapon the Golubrians had procured?
How?
Didn't that mean... didn't that mean that somehow her mother had found a way to use the night horde's magic? But if that was the case, then surely she committed sacrilege against her own beliefs.
Winifred no longer understood. If this was the secret, then it made sense why her mother had withheld the secret. If Winifred had caught wind of such a method being utilized, then she would have likely blurted it out to the Kanthians far earlier. Raising the dead?
Dark curse that. No one sane would even dare.
It now put her adult-gift in a questionable light. Maybe her mother was hoping the thought of how expensive the gift was might encourage her daughter to be more favorable to Susan. Winifred's insides knotted up, finding the information abhorrent. Finding her whole life abhorrent. Ian, not realizing the little breakdown she was going through, barked, “This way! We have an exit! And, oh no... is that...?” He'd seen the First Wolf as well.
“Yes,” Winifred managed to utter, though her heart wasn't in it.
“How is it moving? How are they all moving?” Ian blinked. “Never mind. Come on.” Now he seized Winifred's hand, almost crushing her fingers, and dragged her along. She staggered after him, barely able to focus. She should... she should conjure up magic. The night hordes didn't like light, did they?
“Suppose it's magic,” she finally managed to say. “Something the Golubrians did. Or maybe it's me.”
“You? Well then. Turn it off?”
“If I knew how, don't you think I would have?” The other possibility continued to claw at Winifred. On one hand, it might be her mother. On the other hand, the creatures didn't start stirring until Winifred had approached the graves. So what if she was somehow triggering the effect?
She didn't know. Didn't want to guess. Not when that glowing werewolf loped towards them, reaching out a twisted, gray hand. Gradually, the scenery transitioned around them into something less crumbling and old. They were sloping upwards, punching through a couple of doors, stumbling through rooms with less dust and cleaner walls.
“We're getting into the newer sections,” Ian said, stating the obvious.
“Great! So we'll be out soon, right? Near the palace?” And hopefully not right in the center of the cemetery, because I don't like my chances of being surrounded by more of the dead rising.
“Yep. And then we can warn them. Gods, I was wasting so much time. I shouldn't have kept going. I'm sorry, Winifred.”
“No need to be sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry. I directly helped contribute to this mess we have.”
“We can argue the finer points later. Right, let's get out of here.”
One more door. Ian slammed his shoulder against it three times before the hinges gave way, felling the door away from them. They heaved themselves out of the tombs and saw a side entrance, one that led to the werewolves’ residential quarters. There were also a couple of surprised guards who gaped at them in their werewolf forms, yellow eyes trying to comprehend the sight.
“Guards!” Ian roared, dragging Winifred unceremoniously behind him. “I need to speak to the king right away. The palace is soon going to be under attack. Golubrian insurgents are going to make an attempt on the life of the king. Rouse everyone, get them here!”
Both guards blinked before snarling at each other. A conversation? It certainly looked like one, since they gestured at one another as well. One bolted off, the other gestured to Winifred and Ian to come in.
“Thank you,” Ian said, still jerking Winifred with him.
“I hope we're not too late,” Winifred said, turning to face the fence that separated them from the main cemetery. For all she knew right now, the dead were beginning to rise in their thousands. Because there were a lot of skeletons in this place.
“Oh, and get more reinforcements here,” Ian said. “We're going to get a nasty surprise from behind us.” He indicated their escape route to the confused werewolf. “Explain more later. Or, well, you'll see for yourself shortly...”
Winifred yelped, the bones in her hand almost being crushed by Ian's grip as she zipped along with him, dashing into the werewolves’ residential section. Ian continued hollering the alarm, and werewolves, some masked, some not, came stumbling out of their rooms, alerted by him.
So many revealed faces. And not all of them would be married. Winifred suffered from an extreme bout of blushing, mingling with the heart-pounding terror that raked through her body. Adrenaline rushed through to combat all those emotions—the same sensation that raged through Ian as he screamed for reinforcements.
He halted the screaming when they turned down the opulent hallway into the next residential section, and almost crashed into Kiara and Mordred, who were coming to inspect the noise. Likely Kiara had been in Mordred's rooms.
“Mordred!” Ian gestured wildly. “Alert the king! There's going to be an assassination attempt!”
“Kiara!” Winifred said, focusing on her princess. Wondering if any word of her potential betrayal had reached the Fjordan's attention. It shouldn't have, but news could sometimes travel in unexpected places. Someone from the corner of a street might be watching, for example, and begin the rush of rumors that a whole city might take up less than an hour later.
“Winifred!” Kiara grinned at her friend, though there was a trace of nervousness as well. “Where have you been?”
“Long story, talk later,” Winifred said, adopting Ian's message. “The palace is in danger.”
“Ooh, danger,” Kiara said, completely nonplussed. “I do like danger. Bad danger?”
Someone else came striding up now, emerging from another one of the rooms. Winifred inwardly groaned when she recognized the newcomer as the other Fjordan princess, Kiara's older sister, Bethany. Dealing with one Fjordan princess was bad enough. But two?
“What is wrong with you, Kiara? Didn't you hear them yelling about an assassination attempt?” Winifred glanced behind where she and Mordred had run from, suddenly afraid that the dead would be chasing them through there already.
“Hi, sis,” Kiara said, now attempting a winning smile. The excitement didn't leave her face, though. Trust Kiara to treat it like something fantastic. She'd probably love the idea of the dead rising up to take over Kanthus. Get a great kick out of it whilst everyone else ran around screaming in terror.
“I had to encounter both Fjordan princesses, didn't I?” Ian sighed.
“I'll go and tell Father,” Mordred said, meaning the king. Being one of the sons of the king had some advantages, after all. “You seem sure it's going to happen now.”
“Yes.”
“Tell him,” Winifred said, “that we may be facing more than just the living...”
“Oh, wow,” Kiara said. “What did I miss? And does that explain why you two are covered in soil?”
“I don't think you would have enjoyed being there, Kiara. The dead started rising out of their tombs. We might have to deal with the entire cemetery, on top of a Golubrian assassination attempt.”
Bethany let out an irritated hiss at the mention of Golubrian. Yes, she'd had a bad experience with the slave side of things, hadn't she?
“Talk on the way,” Ian said, now ushering them all towards the throne room. Mordred had dashed ahead, ready to warn his father, to help galvanize the rest of the palace into action. They'd likely need to pull resources from the city as well, from those patrolling the fenlands to the lower slums. The ones in the swamp would be too far away to contact in time. Not if the plan was moments, maybe hours if they were lucky, from being executed.
“I'll need to prepare defenses,” Ian said. “Inform the police and all that, so I'll leave you at the throne door. You better explain what's going on, they'll want a full account. One last thing, Winifred,” he said, squeezing her hand again. He'd never let go the entire time, and their skins were starting to sweat. “Not all of my trust is there with you yet. But I believe I can rely on you. Because I know you've picked the right side.”
Winifred's heart twanged painfully. The words made her want to curl up into a ball, block them out, because somehow, a compliment hurt worse than the words of accusation she expected. It hurt because she wanted to believe that she couldn't be trusted.
That she didn't have an eternity.
“I'm not sure if I have,” she whispered. Kiara furrowed her brow in puzzlement at her. Bethany was too focused on reaching the throne room, her long red skirts swishing. Both Fjordan princesses had opted for reds in their clothes, which did help to flatter their raven-dark hairlines.
“Just look in your heart. You'll see the answer you've already made. All you need to do is open your eyes.”
“I...” Winifred stumbled to a halt with her words. Ian didn't give her a chance to finish. They had reached the throne doors at last, and he sped away to the west side, intending to alert more of the palace into action. The two guards in front of the door, in their werewolf forms, instantly bowed to admit them inside.
“Are you two married now?” Kiara asked, jerking her thumb towards where Ian had vanished.
“What?” Winifred gaped at her friend as they were ushered through.
“The mask's gone,” Kiara explained, before taking up an over-dramatic, pompous tone. “You have gazed upon the face of a god. Perhaps you are now bound to one another for all of time.” She dropped the voice. “That's an impressive chin he's got, isn't it?”
Bethany shook her head, clearly exasperated with her younger sister. Her thin lips tightened. “I'll make sure everything's running smoothly in here, then I'll go and find Ronan. He's patrolling near the fenlands at the moment. Though I imagine we'll need use of my powers...” she trailed off. “Oh, if any of you see Yelena at any point when I'm not there, send her my way.”
A new face popped up behind them. The king and queen stood in earnest talk with their son, Mordred, unperturbed by the influx of people. Winifred vaguely recognized the next newcomer as Vasha. One of Kiara's court friends, and a Highborn. Instantly, Kiara grinned and hugged Vasha. The blonde-haired Highborn grinned as well, before saying, “What are you all doing here, then? Invading a personal meeting of the king? Scandalous!”
“What are you doing here?” Bethany asked, instantly butting heads with the Highborn.
“I was told to come by Ian. Who has he married, do any of you know? He's not wearing the mask anymore.”
“Winifred,” Kiara promptly replied.
“No! He's not married anyone! It's... gah!” Winifred said, flinging her hands in the air at Kiara's look of disbelief.
“Sweetie,” Bethany said, now interjecting, “I saw the way he was holding your hand. He's not going to let go of you anytime soon.”
“Cool,” Vasha said, folding her arms. “Marrying a servant? Had to happen. You guys have more contact with the werewolves than I do. Anyway, why am I here? Do you know?”
Winifred took a deep breath, struggling to control the blushing explosion over her skin. Didn't really work. “We're going to try and prevent the assassination attempt of the king and queen, and probably everyone in the palace with Highborn blood or associations with the Highborn. Which I may have helped with.”
“Wait. You helped?”
“Long story. Explain later. Talk to king now.”
The faces of the others examined Winifred in judgment, making her want to shrink into her shoes and vanish.
“Someone,” Kiara said, one eyebrow arched, “has a lot of explaining to do...”