A Love From A Different World

Chapter 50

He was scared. And anxious. And nervous. And about a hundred different emotions he did not have time to dissect. Rhysand did not want to be here, especially not with Celeana. He had visited the Bone Carver before, of course, but this time everything was different. Because this time, she was with him. And he was terrified for her.

During the entire flight there he had been racking his brain, trying to decide if bringing Celeana along was the right decision. He knew that Azriel did not like it. But then again, the High Lord cared very little about Azriel's opinion as of late.

Celeana had seemed as nonchalant as ever when he told her about the prison. But she did not know this prison. Did not know what it took from you every time you stepped foot inside, what you had to give to leave.

They drew closer to the entrance and the gates of bones loomed over them. Celeana raised her eyebrow but said nothing as they opened slowly.

"No guards?"

"They dwell within the rock of the mountain," he murmured, "They only emerge at feeding time, or to deal with restless prisoners. They are nothing but shadows of thought and an ancient spell."

"That's poor security," There was playfulness in her voice, and Rhysand had to remind himself that this was a serious situation. He resisted the urge to give her a small smile.

They walked along the rough grey wall and Celeana put out a hand to touch it. He wanted to tell her not to because any of the roughhewn that the jagged bits could have been a nose, or a craggy brow, or a set of sneering lips. Instead, he stayed silent.

But the silence did not last. Not when Celeana was around. "Do all the High Lords have access?"

He tried not to be suspicious of her questions and rayed they were only out of curiosity. "No. The Prison is law unto itself; the island may be even an eighth court. But it falls under my jurisdiction, and my blood is keyed to the gates."

"Could you free the inmates?" Was there an underlining motive behind her questions? Was she planning on freeing someone or-

"No. Once the sentence is given and a prisoner passes those gates ... They belong to the Prison. It will never let them out. I take sentencing people here very, very seriously." He answered her to the best of his abilities, trying to silence the doubts in his mind.

They fell into silence again for a moment. He discreetly turned his eyes to her and watched as her face contorted. It was as if she could feel them sleeping, pacing, running hands and claws over the other side of the walls. As if she could feel how ancient, and cruel they were. Rhysand knew, because he had been here before. They were infinite, and patient, and had learned the language of darkness, of stone.

"How long," She breathed. "How long was she in here?"

"Azriel looked once. Into archives in our oldest temples and libraries. All he found was a vague mention that she went in before Prythian was split into the courts—and emerged once they had been established. Her imprisonment predates our written word. I don't know how long she was in here—a few millennia seems like a fair guess." A strange look of understanding passed over her face.

"You never asked?"

"Why bother? She'll tell me when it's necessary."

"Where did she come from?"

"I don't know. Though there are legends that claim when the world was born, there were ... rips in the fabric of the realms. That in the chaos of Forming, creatures from other worlds could walk through one of those rips and enter another world. But the rips closed at will, and the creatures could become trapped, with no way home."

"You think she was one of them?"

"I think that she is the only one of her kind, and there is no record of others ever having existed. Even the Suriel have numbers, however small. But she—and some of those in the Prison ... I think they came from somewhere else. And they have been looking for a way home for a long, long time."

The fleeting look on her face scared him. It terrified him and froze his blood. Because Celeana had briefly allowed her face to express hope. There was a glimmer of hope as he spoke of the realms, as he spoke of a way home. He could not allow himself to think further of what he had just learned. Because that would change everything. It would mean-

He could not fathom what he would do if it was indeed true. It was impossible. So he did nothing. Nothing but steady his breathing and force his heart to start beating again. And then they continued to go further down.

"Just a bit farther."

"We must be near the bottom by now."

"Past it. The Bone Carver is caged beneath the roots of the mountain."

"And the bone carving?" Unlike him, Celeana looked relaxed, almost bored. Not a hint of panic or nerves that were suffocating Rhys. It would have been astonishing if it wasn't so terrifying. Even as they went further and further down, where time and space had no meaning.

Celeana barely seemed winded.

"You'll see," He simply answered. Rhys stopped before a smooth slab of stone. The hall continued down—down into the ageless dark. The air here was tight, compact.

Rhysand laid his hand on the bare stone. It rippled beneath his palm, forming a door.

Like the gates above, it was of ivory bone. And in its surface were etched countless images: flora and fauna, seas and clouds, stars and moons, infants and skeletons, creatures fair and foul It swung away. The cell was pitch-black, hardly distinguishable from the hall.

"I have carved the doors for every prisoner in this place," said a small voice within, "but my own remains my favorite."

"I'd have to agree," The High Lord answered as he steeled himself. As he prepared himself for what was about to come.