Page 141 of Crown of Darkness
The grimalkin leaps up on the edge of the throne, its paws delicately avoiding the skeletal bones. “The situation. I can’t smell anything other than dust. But if the Crown of Shadows has the power I think it does, then it would hardly be unguarded.”
“Crown of Shadows?” Andraste mutters. “It’s just an old rusted crown.”
Eris hauls her pack over her shoulder and tugs something from it, as Andraste backs away with a mutinous expression.
I circle the throne as she and Eris argue.
Just a long-dead king sitting there, pierced through with briars.
I slice through the thorns curling around the crown and lift it from his head. Nothing moves, but it feels as though the room somehow exhaled.
Grimm and I share a look.
And…
Nothing.
Rust crumbles in my hands, revealing part of the metal is breaking away. Iron? What sort of fae king would wear a crown of iron? The ache in his temples must have been horrific, and his skin would have burned. If I wasn’t wearing gloves it would have blistered my skin.
Unless… this is not the Crown of Shadows.
Something clicks within the crown.
Sharp needles suddenly stab through the crown’s grooves, slashing through my fingers. I cry out and drop the cursed thing, and it vibrates on the ground as if my blood has activated some long-dormant spell. Little mechanical clicks come from within it. Each prong realigns itself, turning upside down, until the bloody thing looks like it has eight legs. The hollow circlet that once sat upon the Briar King’s head forms an armored carapace.
I back away.
Why does everything that is dark and unseelie have such a hankering for spiders?
The grimalkin hisses as the thorns in the room start to shiver and shake. Stone grinds in the walls, dust falling from the ceiling. And the Briar King’s skeleton vibrates on its throne.
We need to get out of here now.
“Grimm!”
The furry meld of shadows leaps into my arms, clawing its way up onto my shoulder. “Move, you cursed meat suit!”
I leap from the dais, drawing my sword.
“What in the Darkness just happened?” Eris yells.
“It’s a trap!”
But who set it?
The oracle said that if I took the crown from King Myrdal’s head, then I would understand everything.
But none of this makes sense.
“Thief,” hisses the Briar King, his hollow eyes turning to somehow lock upon me. Blue lights gleam in the center of his eye sockets like a pair of will-o’-the-wisps. A wight. I’ve roused a wight. “Now you shall pay the price for disturbing my slumber.”
* * *
The ground starts shakingas the Briar King lifts a metal-clad hand, clenching the fingers of his gauntlet shut.
“W-what is that?” Andraste demands.
“All that remains of King Myrdal after Mother was through with him.”
