Page 34 of To Dance with Death

I roll my eyes and straighten, poised to walk away, when he says, “There are multiple entrances, all underneath the palace. Doubtful, though, that you will be able to enter.”

“Was this your plan? To lure me here and watch me fail to save him?” He surely knew I wouldn’t be able to find Moranya. “We both know you wouldn’t have brought me here if you thought I had a chance. You want revenge.”

“Since you did the honors of ending my life?” He shoves hishands into the pockets of his loose, tattered pants. “Perhaps. Or maybe I simply missed you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I do wonder how you will get back home, though,” he continues. “And how long you might survive here, for that matter.”

This time, he turns his back on me. But I can’t resist landing a last jab—“I find it amusing that here, you once again have reason to fear him.”

His head whips back, his smile gone.

With that, I leave him behind, shoving the truth of his words in the very back of my mind.

Underneath the palace. That’s where Illian said the Abyssal was, so I do the only logical thing I can think of.

I descend.

The nearest stairwell is a dead end, but blessedly, after passing the kitchens two floors down, followed by many locked doors, I find yet another stairwell, this one nondescript.

I follow it down several stories, dreading the return journey, until finally the steps end before a large, unlabeled archway, the threshold glowing a vibrant, iridescent blue.

It takes me a moment to orient myself, to understand what I’m seeing. It’s almost as if it’s made from the aurora itself—as if I might leap into it and emerge somewhere…else.Then I spot the symbol carved into the arch: an open tome, its pages fluttering with a swirl of flame.

The Abyssal. It must be.

Souls are locked out of this place entirely. And while I have a soul, I am also mortal. Like Anton.

Anton, who can enter.

Warily, I lift a finger to the swirling mass, ready to leap back if it rejects my touch.

Light dissipates in a radius around my hand. Even as I wave it about, strands of cobalt and cerulean twist and vanish.

Perhaps it senses my mortal flesh and thinks I am Anton because of it.

Emboldened now, I step through.

I emerge into an enormous expanse.

The Abyssal is overwhelming—the length of the palace, or beyond even that, tunneling down into the mountain itself.

It feels like another dominion. Another dimension, even.

Stalactites drip from the cavernous ceiling far above, beneath which is a winding, multi-tiered library. Baubles of blue lights drift about, weightless, bobbing between crystalline trees with branches that twist and curl into and across the many, many codex-lined shelves—tiers of them, some branching into more, others rising into walkways that stretch as far as I can see. I count ten stories at least, perhaps more. And the space is split into several sections by a river, bridges arcing over it in crescents.

The whole of the Abyssal looks as though it’s underwater, with its dark atmosphere and wavering lights.

I wait a few breaths to make sure I wasn’t followed before venturing out. I have to move quickly.

But I don’t know how I’m ever going to find anything down here.

Approaching a nearby shelf, I graze my fingers down a line of codices of varying size and textures—some silk and velvet, others leathery, even slimy, though nothing rubs off on my skin. A shiver pulses through me regardless. And like the ones in the study I hid in, none are labeled, the spines void of words.

Stepping back, I examine the shelf itself, looking for any indication as to how these are organized.Nothing.

With a growl, I grab a few codices, each from a different spot on the shelves, then arrange them in a line on the floor. The birthdatesinside are all different, as are the dates of death. To my relief, though, some of the surnames match.