Page 123 of Fated In Ruin

I wanted nothing more than to materialize into the very heart of these ruins and face my Maker.

But two millennia had taught me patience.

Those revenants were merely guard dogs—mindless guardians animated only by Ravok's will. But knowing Rom, within these walls were worse threats. I took stock of my surrounding, reality settling into my bones. Ravok was below, in the depths of the château's labyrinthine underbelly.

I followed that faint psychic tether down and down and down, deep into the heart of the mountain, tracking our cursed connection into his lair.

If tonight worked out, that dark hole would become his final resting place.

The entrance to the lower levels was hidden behind a pile of tumbled stone, what little was left of the watchtower, once standing fifty feet high. Centuries of neglect had covered the opening in a drift of decaying leaves and creeping vines, illuminated by moonlight spilling over the wreckage. I passed through the once imposing castle, heading for the opening where a set of stairs descended into the pit of darkness.

Something scraped against the stone, a rasping grind, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up straight as a low, rumbling growl broke the silence.

Revenants.

Lord de Noct was known for them, had perfected the subtle art of twisting vampires into leathery, feral creatures carved from hunger and pitiless intent. One after another they emerged from the shadows, moving in that jerky, insectile way that fed every nightmare, every evil fantasy.

These were ancient, their hides so thick they were practically shells, blind, from subsisting in the darkness for centuries, starving, from lack of fresh meat. With the fence surrounding the perimeter and the utter isolation of this place, I doubted a human had set foot inside these walls for years, and the ones who did hadn’t lasted long.

They couldn’t see me, and even with their heads raised, testing the air, my glamour locked down my scent. They sensed an intruder though, prowling straight past me, close enough to touch.

Definitely close enough to smell, and thankfully, my protective glamour kept out the worst of the stench.

I headed in the opposite direction, skirting the pile of stone, searching for the stairs at what was once the center of the castle while the revenants rooted around loudly on the other side of the Keep. Stone steps that circled down to the lower levels, if they hadn’t been caved in. But the fact that Ravok was below told me those levels were accessible.

I cleared away the tangled ivy until my fingers found the hidden mechanism—an iron lever forged into a serpent’s head, and pressed, wincing at the rattling clank of a metal door sliding back, revealing the spiral staircase descending into darkness that seemed to hum with purpose.

The revenants’ heads shot up, grotesque heads swinging back and forth as they tried to locate their prey. I stayed stock still until they were on the other side of the Keep, then glamoured a flicker of flame in my palm and began my descent, each step silent.

The stairway curved downward, the rough-hewn steps eventually giving way to smooth stone that predated the castle itself. The dungeon was a wreck of rusted iron doors and cobwebs, pools of standing water on the floor, some odd, sparkling mold covering the walls, faintly glowing.

The air changed as I descended—becoming older, heavier with moisture, the stone floor vibrating beneath my feet.Magic. Ancient and untapped. I tasted the burn on my tongue, metallic and sharp, like blood mixed with lightning.

At the bottom of the stairs, the passage split into three identical corridors, all of them lit by a line of flickering torches. A welcome mat, of sorts, and I extinguished my glamoured flame.

Ravok was expecting me.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the Maker's bond, which pulled me right.

Without hesitation, I followed.

The tunnels beneath Château des Ombres Éternelles were a maze designed to trap the unwary. Aurelius had always appreciated such games—psychological warfare was his specialty long before modern warfare gave it a name. I moved along the passages, mapping each turn, alert for the inevitable traps ahead.

The first was an innocuous shimmer in the air—a barrier spell. Had I passed through it blindly, it would have suffocated me. The magic took seconds to unravel, creating a temporary gap just large enough to slip through.

I went deeper, the hewn passages turning into natural caverns where stalactites hung like dripping fangs from glistening ceilings. Each turn was inscribed with symbols, spirals and knots that seemed to shift and change when I passed.

Then the tunnels began to change, too.

Every time I looked back over my shoulder, the torch lit passageway was either longer or shorter than I remembered, or had grown too narrow for me to turn back.

The next trap was more insidious—a subtly sloped floor covered in a fine dust, concealing pressure plates. I hugged the wall, moving at a fraction of my normal speed, the walls closing in around me. The bond with Ravok pulled stronger now, a psychic hook behind my sternum.

He was close. Just ahead.

Beneath my feet that strange hum continued—a vibration I sensed, more than heard. Like I was suddenly attuned to the pulsing energy of the planet, hearing the world’s heartbeat for the very first time.

And that’s when it all made sense, in a terrible, final way, like the mountain was crashing down on top of me and escape was impossible.

---