The wave appeared to have solidified again as quickly as it had come, gluing everything in place. Including the skulls, long since stripped of flesh, but howling at us from all sides. I was suddenly, profoundly grateful that I wasn’t actually here. So much suffering, so much death, all crowded together in one place, might have overwhelmed me, even without touching anything. Staring into those large, darkened eye sockets, I was sure it would have.

Because, Faerie or no, this place was definitely haunted.

Which raised an uncomfortable question. Guinn had said that fey bodies and souls were linked in a way that those on Earth simply weren’t. That the two were inseparable until the body completely rotted away and the world reabsorbed it again, freeing the soul to live anew in another form.

Only… what happened if that cycle never took place? What happened if the bodies were displayed like trophies in a wall of stone? Did that mean that the souls were also trapped here, bound to stay forever, silently screaming?

I was glad for my ignorance; glad I didn’t know.

Footsteps, quiet but echoing in the stillness, hurried toward us. I wanted to look up, to see who it was, but the fey didn’t turn his neck or even lift his head. Not until the footsteps faltered as they neared us, and a hand found our back.

And then, when he did look up, his face was hot. I could feel the anger staining our cheeks, even without being able to see it. And his expression must have matched it, because the bearded fey we’d seen below abruptly drew back a few steps.

“When?” my fey said, his voice hard.

“A few days ago. He had it moved in shortly after you left.”

“How… convenient.”

“He wants to throw you, Arsen—to provoke a reaction—”

“I know what he wants.”

“You mustn’t let him!” The hand was back, this time clutching our arm. “I know what this means to you—”

“Do you?” My fey—Arsen, I guessed—rose to his feet and gauntleted his hand again. “Do you indeed?”

The bearded fey paused, and then shook his head. “No,” he said. “In truth, I can’t imagine. But my prince—”

“Don’t call me that! There is but once prince here, and he is a monster.”

He started down the corridor again, but his feet faltered after only a few steps, as if the silent cries echoed in his head, too.

“It was beautiful,” Arsen said, looking around. “Like nothing I’d ever seen. I was barely old enough to hold a sword, but after father… after father’s death, I was head of house. I was required to be there—”

“I know—”