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A chill works its way down my spine, despite the heat still radiating from the dais. “What would you do if we stumbled upon him?”

“We stand in the heart of the beginning of the courts. Knowledge is here that has not been seen in centuries.” His attention returns to the dais. “Imagine the secrets he holds.”

Another chill goes through me. While Elionn came here searching for an end to the crystalline blight, a niggling suspicion tells me Kelaros’s interest is not so altruistic.

When night falls, we camp in an alcove outside the ceremonial hall, neither of us willing to sleep within the vast chamber, not with its pulsing dais and the ceiling caving in overhead.

I clear a patch of smooth stone, while Kelaros picks his way through the debris, gathering fragments of crystal that litter the floor.

When he finally manages to coax a fire to life, it burns with a strange violet flame, offering heat but doing little to push back the thick darkness creeping in on all sides.

“The fire won’t last long.” As Kelaros settles across from me. The flames hollow his cheeks and turn his sockets to empty shadows. “This fuel burns too fast.”

I grunt, not bothering to answer.

In silence, Kelaros begins to break the food crystals he gathered into smaller pieces.

I pull my own piece out to do the same. “How did you figure out these were edible?”

“I saw one of the native beasts eating it, so I took a risk.” He shrugs. “I had nothing left to lose.”

“What type of natives survive here?” I use one of my knives to cut off a piece of the hem of my skirt and fashion a sling for my crystal pieces.

Kelaros tips his head toward the darkness beyond our little circle of violet flame. “Mostly things half-made, like the court itself. Fractured creatures that should not exist outside memory.”

He rolls a crystal shard between his fingers, the light catching on its edges. “Some are echoes of the court’s former glory, dancers with no faces, courtiers trapped in an endless bow. They wander the halls until they crumble to dust. Harmless enough, if you don’t look at them too long.”

A chill shivers through me. “And the others?”

His mouth twists without humor. “Predators. Things born from what the court remembers most clearly. Hunger, jealousy, and rage. You’ll recognize them by the way the air shifts before they arrive. The light will ripple, and the shadows lengthen in ways they should not.”

I pause in the process of knotting my makeshift bag. “Do they take solid shape?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugs again, but the movement is too casual, giving away the fear he tries to hide. “Wolfish things with too many jaws. Serpents that swim through stone as though it were water. I’ve seen creatures with wings made of glass shards that scrape across the sky, the sound alone enough to make a man’s ears bleed.”

The violet fire crackles between us. “And the beast that ate the crystal?”

Kelaros leans toward the flame, and a hint of dark amusement touches his features. “A hollow stag. Tall as two men, ribs open to the air, its heart a crystal lantern. Beautiful, until you become its prey. Then it chases until you collapse. It doesn’t need to eat you. It only needs to run you into the ground.”

I force myself to set another piece of crystal into my makeshift sling, the brittle edges snagging fabric. “Charming.”

“Better than the glass moths.” Kelaros leans back on his elbows, watching the violet flames curl. “They’re drawn to breath. Let one settle on your mouth while you sleep, and you’ll never wake again.”

“Wonderful.”

Just the kind of new nightmares I need in my life.

Silence falls between us, and minutes stretch, maybe into hours. It’s hard to tell without a moon to mark the passage of time. Theron would hate it here. I hope the lack of moonlight hasn’t driven Elionn to madness. Losing contact with the ley lines leaves me itchy with unease. It must be the same for the Silver fae without their moon.

Despite the fire, a chill seeps through my bones from the stone floor. I shiver, wishing the fae silk offered more warmth.

Kelaros stares into the dying flames, lost in his thoughts. His fingers tap a pattern on his knee that matches the pulse of light from within the Great Hall, and his lips part, once, twice, as if about to speak. But each time, he thinks better of it and swallows the words.

“Can it be fixed?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

Kelaros’s eyes snap up from the fire, pinning me with sudden intensity. “Fixed?”

“The Opal Court.” I gesture at the ruins. “If the sleeping king wakes, can it be… healed?”