The path forks and then forks again, taking us deeper into the odd maze of walls, arches, and weeds. Before long, we reach the garden with three paths. Prickling awareness skitters over my skin as a pressure builds inside my chest. I rub my hands, which are suddenly cold.

“That way,” I whisper. My feet step carefully, my boots silent against the dusty cobblestones. Beside me, Theyen is a little less quiet. Dead weeds crackle underfoot, the sound uncomfortably loud.

“How can you be certain?” he says.

The pressure increases with every step, spreading through me, my whole body feeling stiff and unwieldy. I’m overcome by the same dread that grips me when I’m in the Dead Wood.

“Can’t you feel it?” I shake my head as a slow ache begins to throb at the back of my head. Steady and rhythmic like a heartbeat.

Theyen tilts his head back, observing the stone arches that bridge the passageways leading from one garden into the next. “I feel nothing.”

“Well, at least you admit it,” I mumble, which earns me an amused glance.

The path curves sharply to the left between high brick walls and then abruptly opens into yet another enclosed garden. This one is larger than the others and more elaborate. The length stretches thrice the width, framed by tall columns. Webbing stretches between columns, wispy and tattered like old lace. Instead of weeds, there are empty beds of dry, fissured soil.

The path ends at a large structure hidden behind more webbing. It’s an abandoned section of the castle, and the only way in appears to be a single wooden door.

I press my palms against the sides of my dark tunic. The sensation of clammy hands groping at my skin washes over me, and I barely keep from shuddering. Looking at Theyen, who appears unaffected, I ask, “What do you think?”

His lip curls. “How appropriately morbid.”

He really can’t feel it, whatever this is. I dig in my heels as the power presses ever closer, imaginary claws raking against my mind. Beckoning.

From somewhere beyond the door comes the sound of something moving. Something heavy. Click. Click.

I go rigid. Beside me, Theyen stiffens as well. Whatever power rests here swells against me. It stings my nostrils and coats my tongue in a bitter aftertaste. I fight the urge to gag. The magic is strong, old enough to have soaked into the surrounding maze like an oil slick. It feels tainted. Unnatural like the Dead Wood.

Something rustles beyond the wall at our left. Through a crack, I glimpse a large white creature scuttle past. Click. Click. Click.