Lucien pulled back on the reins, bringing his horse to a sudden stop. "Tarquin, what is this? It's… beautiful."
A bright smile lit up Tarquin's dark-skinned face. "Regent of the Spring Court, I give you the answer to your riddle."
Tarquin's horse came to a slower stop next to Lucien's, and they stood looking down a steep grassy hill towards a set of ruins, settled next to, and partially submerged by, an enormous lake. All that remained was a flat platform, an immense circle that the entirety of Rosehall could have fit into twice over, and piles of cracked, fallen white bricks and columns crafted in a style Lucien had never seen before. They were white with age, their paint long-since washed away if ever there had been any. A few columns still stuck up, if only slightly, out of the lakewater, but for the most part, whatever part of this ruin had been within the lake's basin was gone.
A dry breeze blew, ensuring they never became too hot for comfort. The sun had been brilliant, but not scorching, all day. Tarquin hadn't even tied back his hair, apparently preferring to let the wind simply tie it in knots instead. Shading his eyes with one hand, the High Fae repeated the words of the riddle written on the paper currently clutched in Lucien's hands.
"Where footsteps once baked in summer sun,
Creation ruined by destruction.
I am not yours to wield, but for you I will sing,
Remember this: I owe you nothing."
"You memorized it." Lucien raised an eyebrow. "That's … impressive? I think?"
"I suppose no one ever told you. I love riddles. I've always been excellent at deciphering them. I was just sad this one was so easy to solve. They're… not really riddles, though, are they? More clues… still. I'm really looking forward to the Winter Court riddle, it's far tougher. This is where you'll find this thing you need, Lucien, I'm sure of it."
"Where are we? I've never seen anything like this." Sticking to mortal travel rules to avoid detection, Lucien had ridden for nearly three weeks to get to this forgotten corner of the Summer Court, using a hand drawn map that Tarquin had made him promise to burn after they finished here.
Tarquin had simply appeared about a day ago, pleading the need to keep up appearances and not be visibly absent from his own court, or Amarantha's.
"This, Lucien, is the First Walk. It's not even in history books. My people preferred to forget it, demand no one live here, and hope the truth of its downfall died along with the memory of its builders."
They dismounted, as the hill was far too steep for their horses, and began to carefully make their way down. Here and there Lucien saw small white stones sticking up out of the grass. Just a corner here or a knob there. They seemed oddly regular in placement, and eventually Lucien came to a sudden stop halfway down the hill, looking back and forth. "Tarquin."
"Yes?" Tarquin was looking out at the lake. It reflected the blue sky perfectly, along with a line of trees along one side. Like a mirror, turned upside down.
"Is… is this whole hill a staircase?"
"Yes," Tarquin breathed out, clapping his hands together. "I'm so glad you noticed so quickly. I was hoping I wouldn't have to point it out. We haven't gotten to my favorite part yet."
"Why does this place solve the riddle? I mean, it's gorgeous, but…"
"Just wait. I'll explain it once you've seen it up close." Tarquin barrelled on ahead, and Lucien picked his way carefully after him. He'd tied his own auburn hair back tightly, but still the wind seemed to be trying to pick strands out and blast them directly into his eyes or mouth. At least he only noticed if hair got in the one eye…
Most of a year, already, Tamlin had been in captivity. Time went by so quickly when you counted your lifespan by the thousands, not by tens. Still, if it had taken this long just to get to the first place, who knew the time it would take to put everything together.
I don't suppose the Cauldron intends to bring down any miracles, he thought, as he made his way after the enthusiastic, sprightly High Fae who continued on ahead with, frankly, shockingly impressive speed considering he was moving almost entirely straight downhill.
As they came up to it, Lucien began to understand just how immense this place had truly been. The columns from far off had seemed the height of Rosehall, but as they came up to them he realized they were much larger than that. The flat platform seemed as wide as the lake, when you stood just before it.
"Why is it called the First Walk?"
"So, like I said, nothing is in the history books. Not the ones most of us know about, anyway. I only found out about this place when I took over at High Lord and was shown an extra room behind our library."
"Your library has secret rooms?"
"The High Lord who built the secondary Summer palace was fond of secrecy," Tarquin moved with casual grace and ease around the columns. They were warm from the sun, and Lucien even found himself trailing his fingertips as he walked. Sometimes, a white powder seemed to scrape off under his fingernails, and he wondered what they were even made of. "Basically everywhere has a secret room. I have a secret pantry in that palace. In the library, though, I was shown the histories that we don't learn. Including the history of the First Walk. Once I learned about it, I came here myself right away so I could see… see it for myself."
He paused, kicked a bit at a few piles of rock. Apparently dissatisfied with them, he moved on. Lucien stared around, wondering how he could possibly tell any one pile of rock from any other. "How did it get here? Why did we build it and forget about it?"
"Humans built it."
"Mortals did this?" Lucien stared around the ruined structure again, as though seeing it for the first time. "But it must have taken-"
"Generations. More than two hundred years to finish. A man's great-great grandchildren might have seen finished the work their ancestor began. Of course, we knocked it down in a little less than a day." Tarquin shrugged. "But they built it as a temple, to a god whose name no one seemed to know even then. It's called the First Walk because they thought it was the first place that humans appeared, where this nameless god taught them to walk."
"Is that true?"
Tarquin's laugh echoed and bounced around the stones in a strange way, and Lucien had the creeping sensation of being watched. Deep within him, he could feel his glamour going about its business, untouched, unchanged, and so clearly no one was here to watch them. But still… The feeling of eyes on his back remained.
"Absolutely no chance. But they believed it was, and so they built it. It was much larger than this once, a whole city that was just one gigantic temple. They weren't slaves, Lucien. They were just… humans, living untouched, in a corner of Prythian. We have no idea how long they were here and we just… didn't know. They must have had some magic, some ability to hide from us, that mortals no longer do. They had a whole world here to themselves. This part of the Summer Court isn't even on the oldest maps. They built this temple, and the steps that we walked down… out of nothing. And it must have been so beautiful."
Lucien stopped, looking down at a small bit of rubble. Something glinted in the sun, and he leaned down to pick it up. He came up with a decorative comb, the type a lady might slide into her hair. It was just dull brass now. If he squinted, he could make out some carved flowers on the top.
"What happened, here? Why did they hide it away?"
Tarquin took a deep breath. He was definitely looking for something now, nudging this bit of brick or that with one foot. "The High Fae hid it away, because they didn't want their human slaves to know they could do anything this magnificent on their own. They wanted their magic to be erased from existence. And also because… of… this."
Tarquin had found what he was looking for. He smiled, crouching down, and grabbed onto what appeared to be a totally random brass handle sticking out of the ground. He turned it ninety degrees, the metal grinding together with a hideous shriek. Tarquin pulled with his inhuman strength, and dragged up a circle of the white stone, about four feet across, with the handle sticking up out of it. When he rolled it to the side, Lucien could see the intricate metal wires and hinges that made up the lock.
"I'll go first, to put you at ease," Tarquin said, and simply… disappeared into the hole in the earth.
Lucien's eyebrows had raised so far they might simply have flown away on their own if they weren't attached. He followed, heart pounding, wondering what they would find down here in the earth. How hollow was the world beneath these ruins? And how was any of it still standing, if it was hollow?
The light became abrupt darkness as he dropped a few feet down, landing on a dry, dusty stone floor. Tarquin was already standing, a ball of wisplight burning just behind his shoulder. Lucien dusted himself off, frowning around. There was a ladder laid against the wall, so at least he knew they could easily get back up. But other than that. "How is this important? It's just a room."
"Not this room. Come on." Tarquin went through a doorway Lucien hadn't noticed at first, and he followed, staring around, calling on his own wisplight just in case they were separated. They walked out into a hallway, only just as tall as they were. Lucien actually had to duck through the doorways. Tarquin hummed to himself. Everything was covered in dust, and cobwebs, and smelled like untold age.
Distracted, he nearly stumbled into Tarquin where the other man had stopped just inside a doorway. Lucien peered in around him and couldn't hold back an audible gasp.
The cavernous room stretched above their heads nearly as far as he could see. Ageless blue light burned in lanterns that had gone untouched but whose magic had not run out in all that time. The room was full of human bones. Absolutely full. There had to be hundreds, potentially thousands, of skeletons scattered in piles and rows and occasional small mountains, everywhere he looked.
"By the Cauldron," Lucien whispered. "What is this?"
"Death. This was the death of every human who lived in the First Walk, who worshipped that god. The High Fae found them, finally. The books don't tell me how. Maybe they were betrayed. But the fae came here in their numbers, and they overwhelmed the humans' feeble defenses, and they slaughtered them for having the hubris to believe they deserved to have beauty of their own." Tarquin pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Every man. Every woman. Every child. Every baby. Not a single one allowed to live. The High Fae who led the faerie armies here ordered that not a single person remain alive. That strange magic? Gone, in an instant. Then the fae knocked the temple down, burned what they could, and bashed the rest to rubble. They threw the bodies down here and forgot about the whole thing in less time than it took the humans to build it in the first place."
Lucien nodded, slowly. "Above, the First Walk - footsteps baked in summer sun. Down here, underneath a temple they built to their creation - ruined by destruction. So what about the last two lines?"
"Right. Over here." Tarquin headed off to his left and Lucien followed him, stepping delicately around and over the scattered bones that had fallen out of piles to rest, a lonely femur or skull here or there. The feeling of being watched was overwhelming, now. Maybe just all these empty, bleached eye sockets.
His metal eye suddenly seemed a bit too big and he blinked rapidly.
There was a sarcophagus, in the corner. Made from the same strangely hewn stone as the columns upstairs, it was covered in elaborate carvings, abstract designs. Some of the paint was still on this, and he had the sense that it had once been brightly colored, covered in purples and reds and blues and yellows.
"Why is there only the one?"
"I don't know. My theory is that this was here before the deaths. That this whole room was built to house this one sarcophagus, and when the High Fae decided to dump the bodies here, they moved it over in the corner to get it out of the way.." Tarquin and Lucien stood before it, looking down at the heavy lid. There was a woman painted on it, still faintly visible through dust and grime. She was smiling and holding a sword in one hand and what looked some a strange variation on a harp in the other.
"I get it," Lucien said softly. "Wield. Sing. Sword and harp."
"Right. I love riddles. I thought of this sarcophagus right away."
"I can't believe we slaughtered so many humans and no one remembers. Some of the High Lords are so old-"
"These ruins are at least three millennia old," Tarquin breathed, eyes shining. "No one alive today, no kingdoms, no courts… nothing then was like it is now. Not even the kingdoms of the past. Everything was different. If you so much as touch those bones, they crumble to dust."
"Do we… have to open it?" Lucien felt his lip curl, just slightly, in distaste.
"Help me with it. I've never been able to do it myself and I've never dared bring another with me."
Lucien and Tarquin strained with the lid, and at first it resisted and stayed stubbornly shut. Eventually, though, it began to grate and groan and slowly slide. Dust plumed up into the air, causing the two to sneeze and cough in response. Eventually, though, it fell completely away with a crash that shook the floor around them. Lucien heard at least a few piles of bone crumble and clatter behind them.
Or whatever's watching us is surprised at our sacrilege.
He didn't know what he'd expected. A fair maiden, perhaps, her beauty preserved for eternity. A withered corpse. Bones. Instead…
There was a woman carved of moss agate lying on her back inside the sarcophagus. She had been finely, and carefully carved, right down to individual tendrils of her flowing, long hair, carved to lay around her as if she truly was a maiden in death. Her powerful, muscled physique was a warrior's, though, and not particularly feminine. In one hand she held a sheathed sword, mottled green stone fingers curved around its hilt, lying on her stomach. There was no harp.
Her eyes were open, empty green orbs. Her mouth was even parted, just slightly, as if at any moment she would speak.
"Priestess," Tarquin said quietly. "That makes sense. The books mentioned they entombed virgin priestesses in stone. I didn't expect…"
"That she'd be literally encased in her own body? That she'd look like she could beat the life out of us with two fingernails? I'd wager she rattles, if you could shake her. Bones are probably inside. This is beautiful." He reached out to touch the sword. Its sheath had carved symbols on it, ancient words Lucien could not read. He let his fingers touch the woman's hand where it gripped the hilt-
And her stone fingers popped open with a soft hisssssssss. Lucien jumped back with a surprised cry. Tarquin simply stared, his eyes alight in this dark place. "Take it," Tarquin whispered.
"Why should I be the one to take it? What if she gets up and slaughters me?"
"Then you'll buy me, the High Lord and most important person here, time to flee. Your death will not be in vain."
Lucien smirked, reached back out, and picked the sword up. It felt surprisingly light in his hands. The woman had not moved anything other than her fingers, but when Lucien looked back he could swear her expression had changed. The slightly parted lips were now a determined line, maybe the slightest hint of a smile at the corner. He watched her fingers carefully close into a fist.
"Tarquin, she…"
"I know. They had to have magic, right? Humans don't have magic. It's why the mortals needed fae help to win the War. So… why did these humans have it? What makes them different?"
Lucien fastened the sword onto his belt, where it hung easily, like it had always been there. He gripped it with one hand, pulled it out of its sheath, and the blade rang with a high, perfect note, bouncing off the walls around them, echoing and harmonizing with itself. The blade was shining, as sharp as if it had been made a week ago, rather than thousands of years.
"I was right," Tarquin said, only a little smugly. "It sings."
"I am not yours to wield, but for you I will sing," Lucien recited. "Remember this: I owe you nothing. What do you think the last bit means?"
"We slaughtered all of the people this sword was made for," Tarquin said with an elegant shrug. "I imagine it means 'you can use my sword but also go to hell, you genocidal bastards'."
Lucien couldn't help a laugh, the sound echoing around the cavern. Laughter seemed like an insult in this place, and he quieted himself.
"Let's get back up on the ground." Tarquin frowned, looking around in the dim light. "You'll need to make camp and I need to be seen in Amarantha's Court to stay above suspicion. I'll let you know if I hear anything useful. When's the last time you were in a sword fight?"
Lucien thought of Feyre's death, of his desperate attempts to fight off Amarantha's creatures as they overwhelmed the estate. He swallowed. "It's been a bit."
"I suggest you spend some time practicing. If the riddle means you to have this sword, I expect it also means you to use it."
Lucien nodded, and the two men headed back through the cavern of bones, down the hallway, and set the ladder up to allow themselves to climb back out. Back up in the fresh air, Lucien looked at the sword again.
It didn't look like much, but he could still hear the song, the harmony that had bounced off every wall. Tarquin was right; there was strange magic here. Utterly unfamiliar to him, and those like him. A magic so threatening his ancestors had slaughtered thousands of people to bury it.
"I hope what I'm doing won't end up burying us."
