She finally stumbled into a clearing and exhaled a huge sigh. Here, the air was still humid but not so suffocating. Her gladness at being out of the trees died as she got her first look at Tineroth.

A vast courtyard surrounded by palaces and temples of breathtaking height and grace stretched before her. They were feats of architectural mastery, and Imogen doubted anything built in the Berberi kingdom surpassed them. Berberi, however, wasn’t a dead kingdom.

The majesty of Tineroth lay in ruin, its edifices crumbling derelicts of an age only remembered in legend, its very existence doubted by more jaded folk. The slim, delicate spires that had beckoned her from the far side of the gorge were nothing more than hollow relics. Tineroth reminded Imogen of Niamh—a once beautiful woman diminished by an insidious sickness.

“Welcome to Tineroth.” Her voice fell flat in the thick air.

There were none to greet her or give her a tour, and for that, Imogen was heartily thankful. Tineroth didn’t feel haunted, but that sense of being observed refused to fade, and she eyed her surroundings closely.

The city offered numerous places to shelter, places with a roof and likely a dry floor, but she was hesitant to explore them. Who knew how sound they were? The thought of being buried under a pile of timber and stone that collapsed on her while she slept made her shudder. Death came to everyone, but she didn’t want to die here.

She journeyed deeper into the city, suddenly glad for the light that refused to leave her and now circled her feet in a glowing corona. She felt like a walking oil lamp, but it was better than groping her way through the dark with only a weak torch and limited fuel to light her way.

The courtyard led to a line of roofless cloisters, and she followed their outer walls until she reached a much smaller garden surrounded by low-roofed structures that might have been private temples. The windows of each building looked toward the courtyard with an eyeless stare, and she tried not to imagine what might be following her progress from those black recesses.

The garden sported a fountain in the center, dry except for a small, stagnant puddle that gathered in the shallow bowl. A new worry joined an ever growing list in Imogen’s mind. She had a good supply of fresh water in the two flasks stored in her sack, but she’d have to be careful not to waste it. She’d seen no clear pools or streams in the dark wood or the city so far.

The fountain was not the only statuary in the garden. Straight paths cut from the same stone that paved the bridge spread like the spokes of a wheel in the garden. They led to a center hub on which sat a catafalque of white marble stained green with lichen.

The effigy of a crowned monarch, also carved of marble, lay supine atop the bier. A Tineroth king, forever bound in stone, rested in eternal state. The light at Imogen’s feet cast a golden glow across the marble, and for a moment the stone shimmered in the garden’s darkness, illuminating the king’s features.