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My fingers curl around the sithean stone, trying to focus on the pulse for any change. Come on, Elionn, where are you?

Its pull grows steadier with each step away from the celebration, tugging me deeper into the Dark Spire’s forgotten corners. I follow its guidance, trusting the connection more than my own senses in this place where reality bends to the Dark King’s will.

A pair of courtiers round the corner ahead of me, their skin gleaming with oils that mirror their surroundings. I duck into an alcove and flatten myself against the cold stone as they pass.

I wait until their footsteps fade before continuing forward.

The ground floor grows less opulent the further I venture from the public areas, gilded edges giving way to plain stone, polished surfaces dulling with age and neglect. The sithean stone hums beneath my glove, its pulse growing more insistent.

My heartbeat quickens in response. Does this mean I’m getting closer to Elionn?

The blood tattoo prickles beneath my glove, and the sithean stone flares colder in response. The chill intensifies with each step until I can no longer ignore it. I stop in a shadowed corner and peel off the glove, letting the stone swing free from my wrist.

As I flex my fingers, I freeze.

The tattoo inked with Elionn’s blood glows in the dim light. It’s never done that before. I grip the cold stone once more, and it flares silver-bright at my touch, illuminating the corridor ahead.

“Show me,” I whisper to it. “Where is he?”

The stone pulses once, hard enough that I gasp, then settles into a steady rhythm, pointing the way.

My breathing quickens as I round a corner and find myself behind the meeting hall where Theron met with the Jade delegation. The crack in the wall that we saw earlier gapes wider on this side, a jagged mouth splitting the stone. Fractures split the flagstones beneath it, pushed aside by twisted roots that pulse with a faint opalescent light.

I follow the fracture, tracing its path as it leads me toward a ruined archway with one side crumbled into rubble.

Beyond the arch lies what must have once been a courtyard, now reclaimed by vegetation. Vines thicker than my arm wind through collapsed columns, while flowers with luminous centers turn toward me as if tracking my arrival.

I pass rooms with doors hanging off their hinges, areas where the ceiling sags from centuries of neglect. Dust coats the surfaces here, undisturbed by servants or courtiers. The neglect has to be deliberate, a way to discourage others from wandering this far.

I pick my way through the undergrowth, following the widening crack in the earth. The flagstones give way to natural rock, and the fissure cuts deeper here, its jagged edges a wound torn open rather than a clean cut.

The path ends where the mountainside meets the foundations of the spire. Here, the crack widens to reveal a fissure that runs straight into the rock, large enough for a person to slip through sideways. Opalescent light pulses from within, casting rainbows across my skin.

The sithean stone flares, burning cold, and my hand snaps open in response, letting it swing free again as I shake away the burn.

I approach with caution and place my ear to the mountainside, listening for any sign of Elionn, but only a distant, rhythmic thrumming answers, like a massive heart beating beneath the earth.

I move backward once more to study the opening.

The fissure cleaves the rock as if a giant put it there with the stab of a massive blade, its edges ragged. I step over the broken earth that leads to it, pacing away from the opening to find a crumbled stone wall and the forest visible beyond.

Elionn could have slipped into the Dark Spire here, but would he be reckless enough to step through the fissure?

I return to it and crouch, my fingers hovering inches above the lip where opalescent light pulses in rhythm with my heartbeat.

The rift runs deep into the mountain, disappearing into darkness beyond the reach of the glow.

“Would you be foolish enough to go in there, princeling?” I whisper to the crack.

I flick my wrist to bring the sithean stone back into my palm. It pulses, synchronizing with the light emanating from the fissure, and my skin prickles.

Theron had said there would be no mistaking the connection once it formed, and everything in me says Elionn went this way.

Rocks bite into my knees as I shift position. “Princeling, are you there?”

Only the steady pulse of light answers me, but it quickens at the sound of my voice, as if responding to my question. The air around the fissure shimmers, and cold rises through the crack.

I lean closer, and my hand rises of its own accord, fingers stretching toward the light. As I make contact, pain lances up my arm, a burning cold sensation that travels from my palm to my shoulder and down into my chest.