Page 49 of A Crown of Darkness
CHAPTER 28
WREN
Ahead of them, the tunnel opened up into another cavern, not as high or as wide as the previous ones. Veins of crystals ran through the stone, catching a meagre light from somewhere and reflecting it. No, Wren realised, not actually light, but that strange otherlight that indicated the presence of magic, magic of any kind, the magic of the world, sunken deep in the stones and the earth, feeding the Nox. Wren could feel it trembling in the air around them and, as they stepped into it, Finn hesitated, every muscle going rigid.
‘Wren, please,’ he said and he sounded like a knight again, her knight. ‘Step back, behind me. It isn’t safe here.’
Of course it wasn’t. Nothing was safe. Not now. Not ever.
That same ripple of heat made her shiver, the presence of the Nox swirling around her and through her. It was hungry, angry, desperate… Wren forced herself to breathe, and took a step back beside him rather than behind him. What he thought he would be able to do here, she wasn’t sure, but she still appreciated the gesture. The air was thick with enchantment, with raw and unfettered power.
In the middle of the cave, they could see a mound of treasure, like the hoard of some long-dead dragon. Gems, gold and avariety of artefacts had been gathered together and left there, some ancient storehouse or vault. The glimmer of dark magic from each and every item made Wren’s head swim.
But there were clothes, and armour, she realised. And weapons.
And on top of it all, there was a crown, dark and gleaming with malice. Wren stared at it while everything else seemed to fade away. She didn’t want to touch it. Her skin crawled with the thought.
She remembered it, somehow, but the way she remembered nightmares. No wonder she hated the thought of a crown, she realised now. No wonder the thought of something like that on her head had always produced such a visceral, horrified response. She knew why now. That crown. The Crown of the Nox.
Take what you need, said the voice of the Nox with a gentleness that surprised her, and this time it was not in Wren’s mind. It was everywhere.But touch not the crown.
On that, at least, they agreed. She looked at everything else, trying to put the crown from her mind. There was so much, endless treasure, of all kinds.
‘Where did it all come from?’ she asked.
Offerings of many lifetimes, from the great and the lesser, from kings and priestesses, from my people, my servants and devotees…
‘And at what cost?’ Finn asked, his voice not so much full of wonder as doubt. She might even say dread.
All given willingly, son of Sidon. Just as you have given. Like the blood and seed of your line. It has ever been thus. I only take what is offered.
‘Blood and seed?’ The words came out in a rush of shock and Wren put out a hand to stop him retreating. Or attacking. But she need not have feared. Finn wasn’t going anywhere.
The sacrifices of your line, the voice said. It almost sounded sorrowful, and entirely sane now, here in its heart of hearts.Have they never explained?
How could they? When would they? She saw the denial and confusion on Finn’s face and felt her heart aching for him.
‘It didn’t have to be death,’ she murmured, as realisation stole over him as well. ‘It never had to be death.’
A flicker of disgust took the place of that confusion. ‘No, they just chose to kill. My family. My father and his…my brothers…’
Generations of them…the Nox murmured, and it sounded almost in pain.
Only one brother remained. The one still trying to kill him. The one consumed with hatred.
Once it was a sacrifice made with love…
The voice was softer now, the harsh and twisted madness leaking away to leave…
Peace in darkness, Wren thought. Relief, and comfort, safety. Just as Hestia had told her when Wren had found her in the sacred space at the heart of the embassy.
The Nox was different here. At its heart. At its centre. Where its core still lingered, where long ago the people who loved it had left treasures and made their devotions, where they had poured out their love for the darkness. It wasn’t insane here, or dangerous. It was heartbroken.
‘They lied,’ Wren said. ‘Or…or forgot. They’ve all been wrong for so many years, and so has Asteroth.’
‘Why?’ Finn asked.
But Wren didn’t have an answer for that. She stepped forward, approaching the treasury of gifts. She ran her hand over shadow-wrought armour, lines of iridescent blue shimmering in the black metal. She found leather and fine woollen clothes, soft linens all neatly folded and untouched by age. There was silk too, soft and delicate, the finest quality. Beside the clothes lay a vastarray of jewellery. Anything that could be imagined was here, offered up to the Nox, the greatest craftsmanship and artistry, all given to the darkness.
