Ursula’s own sense of rage was building, roiling in her gut, ready to erupt.
Bael growled, his voice rising into a roar. “Hound of Emerazel—”
Ursula leapt up, knocking the table over and stepping between the two men. “Enough already!” Her voice boomed off Cera’s low ceiling. “We’ve had enough bloodshed. I forgive Kester for killing my mother. I don’t even remember her.”
And that was messed up, wasn’t it? Ursula craved oblivion, wanted to flee from something disturbing in her past—that instinct existed in the depths of her mind. But it wasn’t right. She needed to remember her mum. She needed to care, or she could never really know who she was.
Flustered, she folded her arms, unsure how to be angry about the death of someone she couldn’t remember at all. “Just fill me in on things in the future, will you? Both of you. Don’t leave me in the dark. And I need to find out who I am. I might have other family still in Mount Acidale, and I want to go to see if they are still alive. And we need to look for Zee.”
The truth was, she didn’t feel much for her mother. Hard to feel anything when you couldn’t remember, when your mum was just an abstract concept.
Bael’s eyes were the color of the void, his knuckles white as snow, but he sat down in his chair. Across from him, Kester slowly lowered the blade.
“All right,” Bael said after a few moments, his voice cracking with rage. “I’ll speak to Xarthra, and I’ll take you to Mount Acidale. We’ll look for Zee and your family.”
Ursula awoke in the morning. At least, she thought it was morning. Not like there was daylight in the Grotto, only the perpetual glow of the bioluminescent mushrooms that grew along the cavern walls. Still, the smell of sizzling bacon wafting through Cera’s house suggested that it was probably morning.
She clambered out of the bed she’d been sharing with Cera, and crossed barefoot into the main room. Cera stood over the stove, steam curling from a cast-iron pan. Cera pushed the bacon around.
“Good morning,” Ursula mumbled.
“There’s no coffee,” said Cera in a voice that was far too chipper for Ursula’s current mental state. “But there’s some black mushroom tea in the kettle.”
Ursula smiled faintly, nausea fluttering in her gut. Sounds…delicious.
On the other side of the room, two bodies stirred. Kester and Bael lay stretched out on the floor. Despite their loathing for one another, they’d been chivalrous with the sleeping arrangements. They’d both insisted that the ladies got the bed while they took the floor. In theory, this was also so they could guard the door, but given that the smell of bacon hadn’t roused them, Ursula had to question their usefulness as guards.
Ursula sat down at the kitchen table. “How did you sleep, Cera?”
“Well enough, but I got peckish, so I thought I’d fix some breakfast.”
“The bacon smells amazing.”
Cera grinned, then bustled over to the table with a steaming plate of rashers. “There might not be any eggs in the Grotto, but there’s always bacon.”
Kester sat up on the floor, stretching his arms over his head. “How’s that?” He looked tired, but the bags under his eyes seemed less heavy. “I haven’t seen any pigs.”
“Oh.” Cera beamed. “This bacon is chiropteran. The bats are good for other things than riding, you know.”
Ursula’s stomach curdled, but she plastered a smile on her face. “How wonderful.” Maybe mushroom tea wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She grabbed the ceramic pot in the center of the table, then poured a few steaming cups for the table.
She sniffed it cautiously before taking a sip. It wasn’t Earl Grey, but it didn’t have the dank, fungal flavor she was expecting. “This is pretty good.”
Cera nodded vigorously. “It has lots of caffeine.”
Kester pulled out a chair next to her, already reaching for the bat bacon. “This looks amazing.”
Cera flipped three more sizzling strips of meat onto a plate. Without hesitating, Kester dug in.
Wood squeaked over stone as Bael pulled out a chair and sat down. Immediately, Cera was by his side filling his cup with tea and slapping down slices of bat bacon.
Bael plucked a piece for himself. “Thank you, Cera.”
Ursula leaned back in her chair. “So what’s the plan?”
Bael bit into the crispy meat. “We leave for Acidale in an hour. Just us. Kester isn’t coming.”
Ursula sucked in a sharp breath. She hadn’t been expecting things to happen quite that fast. “You know the way?”
“No,” said Bael, shaking his head. “But he does.” Bael gave a Kester a sharp look.
Kester stared at Bael over his steaming tea. “There’s a sigil in Mount Acidale. I can tell you the name.”
Ursula nodded. “And we just travel there by Emerazel’s fire?”
“Exactly.”
Anticipation rippled over Ursula’s skin. Three years ago, she’d simply turned up in a burnt-out church in London, with nothing but her name and a little note in her pocket. She’d never known who she was, why she seemed to have magical powers. She’d never known why her memory had disappeared in the first place. Would she finally get some answers?
Kester put down his tea. “There are some things you should know. First, Mount Acidale is ruled by King Midac.”
Ursula inhaled sharply. “I know. Apparently my mum tried to kill him.”
“He’s an arrogant despot,” said Kester. “In Mount Acidale, hellhounds are to be killed on sight.”
“And the dragons will recognize you if they find you,” Bael added. “They saw you use Emerazel’s fire in the warren. Lucius knows what you are.”
Ursula frowned as she processed all the new information. “I thought King Midac had Emerazel’s power?”
“He does,” said Kester. “But after the battle, he decreed that he was the only one allowed to channel her flames. Anyone else caught with Emerazel’s fire is put to death.”
Wonderful. “Let me guess. This is why no one is allowed to enter the kingdom?”
“Exactly,” said Kester. “It’s how he maintains his grip on power.”
“So is there a way to move around the city?” asked Ursula.
“Don’t use your fire, and we stay out of sight,” said Bael. “I have a contact who will help us.”
“Do you think he could help me find my family?”
Bael nodded. “And he might help us recover Excalibur from the dragons. With the blade, we can defeat Hothgar. Just like I promised Xarthra.” Bael’s gaze slid to Cera. “Can you assist Ursula’s preparations?”
“Of course, my lord—”
Bael lifted his hand. “Here in the Grotto, you may call me Bael.” He rose, slouching so his head didn’t hit the ceiling. “I must collect some things for our trip. I will return shortly.” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
Cera began dragging a basket of clothes out of the corner. “Ursula. You will need something to wear in Mount Acidale.”
Kester threaded his fingers behind his head. “Find your most outdated clothing, then. Stiff olive silk. Awkward bustles. Mount Acidale is not like New York. They’ve been isolated for hundreds of years. Their sense of style is, to put it nicely, dated.”
Cera’s body tensed. “I can’t dress Ursula in something ugly.”
Kester shrugged. “She needs to blend in. If you clothe her in Francesco Sforza, she’ll stand out like a sore thumb. Do you want her to be caught and tortured?”
“Fine,” said Cera.
“Then I suggest you search for something like a moth-eaten wool cloak.”
Glumly, Cera crossed into another room. She returned a few minutes later clutching three pairs of thick woolen stockings, a pair of black lace-up Victorian boots, a stiff crinoline dress—the color of plums—and a gray, woolen cloak.
“My, my,” said Kester. “You are good.”
Just then, the door opened with a bang. Bael stood in the entrance, and Ursula sucked in a
breath. He wore dark wool trousers, a gray waistcoat, and a heavy wool frock coat. A thin sword hung from a black leather belt. In his hand, he held a black top hat. He looked like some sort of down-on-his-luck, time-traveling Victorian gentleman.
“Don’t you look dashing!” said Cera. “Where did you get that from?”
“Consignment shop,” he said simply.
Cera shooed him outside. “Give the lady a few minutes to dress.”
While Bael and Kester waited outside, Ursula pulled on the woolen stockings and the crinoline dress. Despite the drab appearance of the clothes, Ursula had to admit they were comfortable and warm. Cera helped her tighten the corset until she could hardly breathe, and Ursula leaned down to lace the boots up to her knees.
As she threaded the laces through their holes, she felt like she was doing something oddly familiar, her fingers working expertly on the old-fashioned boots. Of course, she’d probably once worn something exactly like these boots around Mount Acidale, and she’d probably worn a corset just like the one that squeezed her ribs right now.
When she’d fully dressed, Kester and Bael pushed through the door again. By the doorway, Kester plucked a golden flask from his pocket, then began the familiar task of pouring liquid over the floor in the shape of Emerazel’s sigil.
Bael stared at the floor, and Ursula could tell from the tension in his shoulders that the fire still made him nervous. “Are we ready?”
“Almost.” Kester thrust the flask at Ursula. “You might need this to return.”
As Kester knelt to light the sigil, Cera ran to Ursula and threw her arms around her. “Be careful.”
“I will,” said Ursula. “And you keep an eye on Kester.”
Cera pulled away from the hug. “I will. And I’ll fatten him up too.”
Kester cracked a smile, before looking at Ursula more solemnly. “Cera’s right. Be careful. Mount Acidale is dangerous enough as it is, and Midac and Lucius would like nothing more than to kill you. Now go. The sigil will take you to the Church of Laverna.”
The flamed burned brightly, and Ursula stepped into the flames. Warm firelight danced over Bael’s skin. He wouldn’t be immune to the flames like she was, but her magic could protect him—as long as he stayed close.
Ursula launched into the traveling spell, grabbing Bael’s body to pull him close as the flames erupted around them. And with Bael in her arms, she felt her body crumble into ash.
Chapter 13
Ursula barked a cough as they reconstituted in a small room, their ashy bodies solidifying over a rickety wooden floor. Coughing, Bael brushed a few bits of ash from his jacket.
Ursula surveyed the space. Dim, silvery light streamed through long, slatted windows in stone walls, highlighting ash and dust motes floating in the air. An enormous brass bell hung above them.
“It looks like Kester put us right into the bell tower of Laverna,” said Bael.
Ursula crossed to the closest window, peering between the slats. She squinted as an icy breeze blew against her cheekbones. Okay. Maybe it hadn’t been morning in the Shadow Realm, because the moon hung in the sky here in Mount Acidale, and no one moved on the dark streets below.
Far below them sprawled a tangle of timber-frame houses—built close together, with sharply peaked roofs. Smoke curled from their chimneys. Ursula sniffed, taking in a sulfurous scent that tickled something dormant in the back of her skull.
Bael stood by the window. “Mount Acidale is not known for its beauty.” He touched her elbow. “But let me show you the castle.”
He led her to the opposite side of the tower room. Peering through the slatted windows, Ursula could see more of the Mount Acidale slums, but also the looming mass of a larger structure—a ruin, really. A crooked jumble of stone that might have once looked like something stately.
What may have been beautiful towers were now roofless stumps, dark soot scarring the walls. Ursula couldn’t help thinking it looked like the partially decomposed carcass of a monstrous creature.
A scream pierced the air, and Ursula’s body stiffened. Hard to mistake the shriek of a dragon.
Ursula pointed to the ruined castle. “Did the dragons do that?”
“No,” said Bael. “That was Kester’s and Emerazel’s doing. In the Battle of Mount Acidale, Emerazel’s followers torched Calidore Castle, almost razed it to the ground.”
“Does the king still live there?”
“As far as I know,” said Bael. “Not all of the castle burned. Many of its rooms are still habitable.”
As Ursula studied the ruin, Bael moved around the room behind her. She jumped at the sound of creaking hinges, turning to see him lifting the top of an ancient trapdoor.
“I think this is the way down,” he said simply.
Ursula followed him down a short wooden ladder, then down a dark staircase that wrapped around the interior of the tower. Their footsteps creaked as they walked, and Ursula shivered at the eerie atmosphere. The air smelled of mold and damp leaves.
At the bottom of the dank tower, Bael tried a doorknob. When he found it locked, he broke it with a sharp kick just above the lock. The door swung open to reveal the interior of a church. Or a temple, perhaps—one covered in dust and cobwebs, with symbols of flames etched into stained-glass windows.
They crossed into the center of a sanctuary, where Emerazel’s sigil hung above them. Rows of church pews faced them. Carved into the stones on the far wall was a Latin inscription: Hodie mecum eris inferno.
“Well, we’re in the right place,” said Bael.
“How do you know?”
“The inscription,” he said, pointing at the Latin text. “‘This day you shall be with me in the infernos.’ The words Emerazel speaks to her followers when she personally reaps their souls. This is definitely the Church of Laverna.”
Given that the king had forbidden the use of fire magic, it was no wonder the place seemed a bit shabby.
Bael started down the central aisle toward a pair of large wooden doors, and Ursula followed, her crinoline gown practically trailing on the dusty floor.
As they neared the exit, the sound of creaking wood pierced the silence, and a small door opened in one of the walls. A man stepped into the sanctuary, dressed in a dark robe. He looked like a priest, but apparently he was a priest of Emerazel. One forbidden from using her magic.
“Who are you?” he asked. Ursula could sense the fear in his voice.
“We were just leaving,” said Bael, starting toward the doors.
The priest’s eyes widened as he looked past them toward the sanctuary and the broken bell tower door. “You must leave at once,” he said in a sharp whisper. “If Midac were to learn of the sigil—”
“Just on our way out,” said Ursula.
And with that, Bael pushed open the church doors. Outside, a bitterly cold wind nipped at Ursula’s skin, and they crossed onto a narrow street, the houses crowded over a cobbled road. Mist curled through the air. Ursula shivered, pulling the wool cloak tightly around her.
“Should we be worried about the priest?” she asked.
“No,” said Bael. “Laverna is a goddess of thieves and deceivers. He won’t be compelled to tell the truth.”
“Well, that is reassuring.”
If Bael heard her, he didn’t show it, instead starting across the small churchyard at a brisk trot. Graves jutted out of the bumpy grass at odd angles, and Ursula hurried to catch up with Bael.
“What now?” she asked.
Bael paused for a minute, squinting his eyes. “This way.”
Ursula walked briskly to keep up with him, taking in the scene around her. Three-story, rickety houses loomed over the street, built so close together they blotted out most of the moon. Although they’d left the Grotto, Ursula still felt that sense of dark claustrophobia. She followed Bael down streets so narrow she could practically touch both sides if she stretched out her arms. Not that she had any desire to actually do so. A misting rain had left the cobbles slick with
ice, and it took her full concentration not to slip on the stones.
Bael peered at her, his gray eyes glinting in the gloom. “Do you recognize anything here? Anything familiar?” His voice was nearly inaudible.
She shook her head. “Maybe a vague sense that I’ve been here before, but that’s about it.”
“I haven’t been to my home in centuries,” he said. “My real home. I don’t like what it makes me remember.” He slid his gaze to Ursula. “You might not like what you remember here, either.”
A chill snaked up Ursula’s spine. “I know. But I have to try. You once told me I shouldn’t run from my painful memories. I think you were right.”
Silence fell over the pair again. As they made their way through the maze of streets, Ursula felt a familiar prickling of the hair on her arms. Somewhere in the darkness behind them, someone was watching.
“Bael,” she whispered as loudly as she dared. “I think we’re being followed.”
Bael’s hand immediately went to the blade at his belt, and they both picked up their pace as the street opened onto a larger avenue. The fog thickened around them, and a misty rain fell. Bael grabbed Ursula’s hand, pulling her into the shadowy entrance of a store. A horse neighed in the distance.
Ursula was pressed up close to Bael’s powerful chest. Warmth radiated from his body, and the intoxicating scent of sandalwood curled around her.
“What are you doing?” Ursula whispered, half tempted to just rest her head against his body and close her eyes.
Bael pressed a finger to his lips.
A clattering sound echoed off the buildings, and Ursula peered around the corner. A black carriage was emerging from the fog. Pulled by a brace of horses, it barreled over the cobbles. From its roof, a coachman slapped the reins, urging the horses onward.
Bael pulled her closer, enveloping her in his shadowy magic to cloak her. It took Ursula a moment to see why. Armed with a long rifle, a footman rode next to the coachman. As the carriage passed, Ursula caught a brief glimpse of a young couple sitting inside. Then the carriage disappeared back into the fog.
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