Their Fireheart

Chapter Thirty Three

But still, when he caught my eyes, my chest clenched as he murmured, "I don't like this place."

I pressed my lips into a thin line, and nodded my agreement. All around us, the empty eyes of skulls bore into us. They were everywhere, in the walls, in the structures, the pillars, and seemed to watch us as we advanced further and further into the abandoned temple.

"Seems like this god of truth," Aedion called from the wall, "was more of a Sin Eater than anything. Some of the things people wrote - the horrible things they did. I think this was a place for them either to be buried, or to confess their sins before death took them."

Unbidden, a curse slipped free from my lips. Looking back at Rhysand again, I saw the same grim realization that clanged through me flash through his eyes.

"Not a god of truth," I spat. "A death god who collects the darkest of secrets and etches them into shards of bones, delighting in the misery of others all the while."

My remaining three mates froze at my words, whipping around to stare at me while Aedion and Chaol looked on in confusion.

"You can't mean ..." Azriel trailed off.

I didn't know how or why, but the longer I spent within the bone-flecked walls, the more sure I was. And though I could tell they didn't want to believe me, I could see the same sensation sweeping through my mates as they examined our surroundings through a new lens.

"You did mention he was from another realm originally, did you not? At least now it makes more sense as to how Mala knew to contact him," I grumbled.

The four of them cursed under their breath at that tidbit from my visit to the Prison. When Aedion demanded to know what the hell we were talking about, Rhysand filled him in, painting the Bone Carver and our recent experience with him at the Prison in broad strokes - which I appreciated, even if it didn't stop the blood draining from Aedion's face, or Chaol from turning faintly green.

I didn't like this, and knew better than to assume it was some sort of unfortunate coincidence, but since we didn't have another choice if we wanted that hellfire, I had no choice but to ignore the trepidation crawling up my spine and stalk deeper into the inner sanctum.

The temple went on and on, and it quickly became evident by the drugs, money, jewelry and supplies that we found hidden inside the skulls, alcoves and crypts that even if it was no longer an active place of worship, it had been put to good use by the denizens of the Shadow Market. However, we couldn't find hide or hair of scavengers or any other residents.

Nothing. And no sign of the hellfire.

The oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on us as we crept deeper, the only sound our cautious steps clicking across the ivory-colored floor.

Slowly, we explored the many alcoves and little hallways that branched off into the slumbering basilica. The space narrowed the further we went - walls curving in, the ceiling slanting downwards, more closely resembling ancient structures - as though we were physically walking back in time.

The never-ending bone fragments only bolstered that feeling.

"The language," I murmured. "It gets older and older the farther back we go. Look at the words they use, the way they spell them."

I glanced away from a carved shard of bone that had to be at least 600 years old, watching as Rhysand twisted towards me from where he'd been carefully opening a sarcophagus.

He hummed in agreement. "Some of them dated their confessions. We just passed one from eight hundred years ago."

"Almost makes you seem young, doesn't it?" I asked with feigned astonishment.