The Heirs of Death

45. The Stone Tower

Extra lengthy chapter (double the size, actually) to compensate for last week's missed update.

THE STONE TOWER

The Stone Tower was everything like I'd seen in my dream back on Earth: bleak, grey and suffocating. But the stairs weren't cracked and the ceiling wasn't falling.

Instead, mighty pillars stood proud at each level, monsters carved into them just like the ones in the throne hall. They looked and felt more alive than not, an unsettling, thick feeling running a claw down my spine whenever I stared at them for too long.

The sconces were alit, a dull, blue fire hissing, wavering with the occasional gusts of winds, stretching shadows on the floor, the wall, the ceiling. Long and shallow, flickering with every step I took.

The only speck of color had been red. Stark, crimson red through the mosaic arts stretching on the risers of the stairs. The higher the level, the more brutal the scene became, taking its whole shape when viewed at the base of the staircase. They were the same stories found in the hall, in our building, everywhere in the castle. Their victory.

There was no carpet here, and the rustling of my cape against the marble floor had been the only sound beside the fires and the howling winds. A heavy length slid from my shoulders, black as coal, ran by a single line of bright scarlet in the very middle, thick as finger.

I rarely wore it, kept it for the formal gatherings. Which was a continuous reminder of how important today was. That atop this tower, the most powerful—most deadly—generals and leaders were gathered, waiting for us to discuss the new strategies.

I'd been through many similar ones, albeit smaller, more concentrated on a certain region. But now, what was coming, all the whispers of the court in consideration, a blood bath was being planned. And it was Leon, Yesar and I alone who could—who had to—scheme as hard as possible to lessen the damage.

The last stairway was all that stood between me and the old and massive Nightbleed doors, their sight a suffocating weight like nothing I'd experienced before.

Leon was atop the stairs, too, waiting for the royal family to arrive. He'd came in flying, spared himself the pain of the eight, unending levels. But I had wanted to see this place for the first, and last time, before leaving. Wanted to know what was so crucial about it to be the start of my nightmares. Nothing stood out, nothing made it feel more special than any other council tower I'd been in.

My fingers interlaced with my husband's as we stood, facing the double doors, the scents of the auras behind them thin and frail. Such a heavy power kept this place protected. Impenetrable without an invitation.

A thundering sound echoed within the walls as I faced the doors, taking in the long, two-inches-deep claw marks lining them. They ripped across the crescent and sun carved into them as deeply as the Eziaran emblem—those doors were of the many things they had kept after laying hand on the continent.