Page 18 of The Night Prince

“Aye.” Callum’s face darkens. The trees get closer together and cast their shadow over us. “That’s what troubles me.”

As we delve further in, the scent of wet leaves and moss gets deeper, and a building comes into view among the trees. It’s a small chapel, with a singular spire. As we get closer, it’s evident that it’s in need of some repair—the walls are crumbling, and the stained-glass window above the door has been smashed.

Callum’s forehead creases. “That’s interesting.”

“Is it for worshipping the Moon Goddess?” I ask, knowing that Wolves don’t pray to the Sun Goddess like we do in the Southlands.

“No.” Callum approaches the door, and pushes it open. “We worshipGhealachoutdoors, where the moonlight can touch us. You will see at the ritual next week. This is something different. Come.”

He heads inside while I pause at the threshold. It’s sparsely furnished, with only a few pews, and a stone altar beneath another smashed window at the other end of the room. Glass crunches beneath Callum’s boots as he heads toward it.

My muscles tense. I’ve never liked religious buildings. Even though this chapel is a far cry from the extravagant houses of worship in the south, memories of the High Priest’s crop flash through my mind.

“Aye, it’s what I thought.” Callum looks at the circular window above the altar. “This is one of Night’s chapels.”

“The god who keeps the Moon Goddess prisoner?” I ask.

“Aye.”

Curiosity getting the better of me, I suck in a deep breath and walk inside.

“Why would any Wolves worship him? Isn’t he one of the villains in your story about the Elderwolf?” My footsteps echo as I walk down the aisle between the pews, and stop beside Callum at the altar.

I recall the story Callum told me, about the origin of Wolves. The first wolf, the Elderwolf, had fallen in love with the Moon. She gave him the power to shift so he could fight the dark creatures who belonged to the God of Night. Until the Sun Goddess became jealous, and sentenced the Moon Goddess tothe prison in Night’s sky. Her imprisonment was what stopped the Wolves from being able to shift at will.

“Before the first men and the Elderwolf, Night’s monsters roamed the earth—soul-suckers, winged beasts, water serpents.” He turns to lean against the altar, hands clasping the edges of the stone. Grey light flits across his jaw as branches sway outside the broken windows. “WhenGhealachwas locked away in his prison, she tricked him into imprisoning all his dark creatures. Night was imprisoned, too, in the process. Before then, many Wolves prayed to Night, asking him to spare them from torment.”

“They prayed to him because they feared him, not because they loved him,” I say.

“Aye. Some Wolves continued to worship him, even after he had takenGhealachprisoner. We call them Night’s Acolytes. In my grandfather’s day, they rose up against us—not just here, but in other wolf territories like the Snowlands too.”

My eyes widen at the mention of my mother’s homeland. “Why?” I ask. “What did they want?”

“They were determined to free their dark god from his prison.”

“Is that possible?”

“They believe the Heart of the Moon is the key. It’s why finding the relic would be a blessing and a curse. It would mean freedom for my people, and would help us in the war against the south. But—”

“It could start an entirely different war, with those who worship Night.”

“Exactly.” He shakes his head. “Why any wolf would choose to turn their back on their goddess is beyond me. Their means of worship are much darker than ours.”

His gestures at the floor by my feet with his chin. The stone is stained dark brown.

My stomach curdles. “Is that blood?”

“Night’s Acolytes would sacrifice people in the hopes he would bless them with his dark powers.”

My breath mists in front of my face as I cast my gaze around the chapel—there are small symbols carved into the stone walls that I can’t quite make out from here. Part of the roof has caved in at the far end and there are a few branches protruding into the building. It seems like a ruin of whatever it once was, yet there is a strange feeling in this place—cold and dark and eerie.

“Should we be worried that Blake has this chapel on his grounds?” I ask.

“Blake is a lot of things, but he’s never struck me as a religious man. It’s an old building, and it doesn’t look like it’s in use any longer. In fact, it looks like the windows were intentionally smashed. Like I said, Bruce was an unpleasant male, as was his father. This will have been their chapel.”

My attention snags on the symbol carved in the stone arch above the altar. It’s the image of a key, the bow comprising of two crescent moons facing one another. It seems familiar, though I can’t place it.

“Come, let’s leave this dark place,” says Callum. “It smells like blood and despair.”

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