Then came a section of stacked sandstone, in tan and gray and white, which had been magicked or carved—I couldn’t tell which—into a herd of horses galloping down the hallway. The strata of the stone were clearly delineated and curved along the horses’ flanks, flowing manes and huge, wild eyes. The frieze was carved in extreme relief, as if coming off the walls, and the animals were fifteen, maybe eighteen feet high. The flowing manes almost closed together over our heads, giving the impression that we were in the middle of the herd, running along with them. Or about to be trampled, because they were so lifelike, I could almost hear their hooves thundering all around us.

Then, just when I was sure that nothing could top that, came a section of sedimentary rock, filled with huge seashells, their surfaces still iridescent with mother of pearl. There were also the fossilized remains of large sea creatures trapped within the rock, most of them fish or eels—the latter’s skeletons rippling sinuously through the stone—or the imprints of ancient plant life, so perfectly preserved that I could almost see them move with the current. There was no color here, except for the vague, brownish tan of the rock, yet my brain kept trying to add it anyway—red to some coral, green to a turtle peeking out of some rock, yellow to some sponges—because it was all so real.

Including stranger things, scattered here and there, which I couldn’t explain: a strand of pearls, perfectly strung and still gleaming softly, fallen to the sand; a three-pronged impression in the rock, too straight-edged to have been made by nature; the skeleton of a crab, clinging to something that almost looked like a human hand.

I squinted at them, not sure what I was seeing in the dim, flickering light. It made the whole tunnel seem to move, as if splashed with rolling waves, confusing the eyes. And added to the strange realism of the scene, as if we’d plunged beneath a reef without knowing it.

But then the corridor curved, and I saw something up ahead that assured me that I wasn’t seeing things, in the most gruesome way possible.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I felt the fey’s steps falter, as if he hadn’t expected this, either. The slowed pace gave me time to examine the latest fossil in detail as we approached. Only, in this case, I would have wished for less.

Because it wasn’t an animal captured in stone this time.

It was a person.

I blinked, hoping what I was seeing was a trick of the light, which found all the dark places in the rock and made the dips and bulges seem almost to flow, like water. But the image remained the same. And it wasn’t merely a hollow in roughly the right shape, which would have been bad enough.