Belin pushed open the heavy carved doors.
“Your Majesty? Aren’t you wanted in the dining hall?” the guard said.
“Did my father pay you to ask him questions?” Belin snapped. “I need a moment to speak with my betrothed.” He pulled Violet into the dark room. Ifra followed. Just as before, the room was almost pitch-black with the thick branches of ancient trees blocking the scant light the windows might have provided, and the whispering of leaves was even thicker than the darkness.
“We have to hurry,” Belin said. “I don’t know if I can trust those guards anymore, and as he says, they’ll be wanting me to start the dancing soon enough.”
Violet suddenly clutched Ifra’s hand in the darkness. “What is this place?”
Ifra hoped Belin couldn’t see her hand clutching his. “The Hall of Oak and Ash,” Belin said.
“Can you hear them?” she said, her grip almost painfully tight.
“The trees?”
“Yes. They’re sick. I’ve never heard anything like that,” she said. “Oh no. Please, hurry, where is Erris?” She sounded almost frantic. “It’s awful. They want to die and they can’t die, and we can’t let them die.” She sniffed. “Won’t you let Ifra talk now?”
“Not yet,” Belin said, making Ifra feel almost as frantic as Violet. For a moment he’d almost forgotten about Belin lifting the wish, and he subconsciously assumed Belin had too, but apparently not.
“Jinn, can you make a light?” Belin said.
Ifra extracted his hand from Violet’s grip and summoned a flame, casting ghostly shadows along the massive trunks of the trees.
“Follow me.” Belin rushed to the throne, which was at the far end of the room, in front of two of the massive trees. He went around the back-Ifra and Violet following-to the farthest edge near the wall, and started prying up the flagstone to the underground passage. He was having trouble on his own, so Ifra quickly moved to assist with his free arm, the one that wasn’t holding the light.
Just as they moved the stone aside, Ifra had the sensation of someone touching him-or looking over his shoulder.
He turned to look at the shadows behind him, but wherever he turned, he felt the presence just behind him. It wasn’t a body, he realized, but the feather-light touch of a warm spirit. He prodded back.
Nimira. It was Nimira. She was tugging at him from somewhere nearby, with uncertain little magical tugs.
He didn’t know what to do. She could be in danger, wherever she was, but how would Belin react to her? Of course, Belin was freeing Erris, but Ifra still didn’t quite trust him. Even so, Belin was surely safer than Tamin.
Ifra exhaled sharply, making an alarmed noise to catch Belin’s attention. Belin was climbing into the catacombs. Ifra tapped his shoulder and then ran to the door, tracing Nimira’s spirit.
“Is it Tamin?” Belin was struggling out of the passageway again.
Belin’s question tugged at Ifra, demanding an answer, and yet, Belin hadn’t told him to speak, so Ifra had to leave the request unfulfilled. He ran out into the garden just as Nimira came through the side door that led to the forest, an expression of considerable alarm on her face.