"Where's Gabriel?" Kiara asked, looking for their guide.

"He stayed behind with Riqua," Vahanian replied, positioning himself so that he could look down the corridor. "I'm not crazy about being split up like this."

"Neither am I," Carina agreed. "I'd feel better if we could stay together."

"So would I," Tris agreed, "but the rooms are too small for all of us, and I don't have the feeling we've been given permission to wander around."

"You're the Lord of the Dead," Vahanian tossed back. "Aren't they supposed to listen to you?"

"Royster was a bit obscure on that point. As far as the vayash moru go, I have the distinct feeling it's an honorary title," Tris replied.

"They're bound by the Blood Council's ruling, aren't they?" Kiara asked, pulling her cloak more tightly around her.

"So I'm told. Let's hope Gabriel is reading his people correctly."

They gathered in the larger crypt, which was barely big enough for them all to find a seat. Tris lit the torches. Here beneath the ground, it was cold enough that Carina began to shiver, gratefully accepting Vahanian's offer to share both his seat and his cloak. Kiara also drew close to Tris. After a while, body heat together with the torch fire helped to warm the small room.

Carroway distributed food for them out of the packs from their horses. Kolin delivered extra cloaks and wineskins filled with an old, sweet vintage, then left them to their meal. Jae was quiet, picking at the bits of meat and cheese Kiara put out for him. The group ate in silence, each deep in thought. Or perhaps, Tris mused, the uncertainty of how close their hosts might be lingering and how well the undead could hear. He was sure that each of them was putting off sleep just as long as their exhausted bodies could remain awake.

He knew his own opportunity to rest would have to wait. Here among the bones of the dead, the restless spirits clustered around him, so thickly that he was amazed his companions could not see them. He couldn't resist their pleas for intercession and release, and so he worked until his head throbbed and he could no longer fend off sleep.

Tris's companions waited until finally fatigue won out over fear. Carroway took the first watch.

"Sleep with one eye open, all right?" Kiara joked nervously.

"I don't think you need to worry about that," Tris assured her, seeing the uneasiness in her eyes as he kissed her forehead. From the moment they had approached the ruined temple, the whispers of the dead brushed his mind, like a hushed conversation just beyond hearing. The presence of the ghostly watchers was likely to keep him from getting any restful sleep, even if he could banish the memories of the murdered villagers from his thoughts.

Kiara and Carina disappeared into their crypt, and Carroway took up his post at its door. Just then, Riqua appeared from the shadows of the corridor. "I see you haven't yet gone to your rest," she said to Tris.

"Forgive me, but that sounds a bit ominous, given where we are," Tris said with a thin smile.

"Come with me, Prince Drayke. I have something for you, a gift from Bava K'aa."

Tris exchanged a glance with Vahanian. "Get some sleep, Jonmarc. You need it more than any of us."

"I don't sleep well in crypts," Vahanian said. "And I'm sworn to keep your royal hide in one piece. So if it's all the same to you, wherever you're going—I'm going."

"As you wish," replied Riqua. She led them down a maze of corridors. Tris called hand fire to light their way, and Vahanian carried a torch from their crypt, pushing back some of the tomb's darkness. They followed Riqua to an older part of the necropolis where dust and the smell of death permeated the air.

Riqua stopped at a mausoleum wall, where the dead were laid to their rest in stone drawers behind intricately carved slabs that depicted their likeness and the dates of their life. Vahanian hung back, keeping watch on the entrance to the corridor. Riqua moved to one of the plainer slabs and effortlessly opened a heavy drawer that might have taken three strong men to close. She reached inside, undeterred by the old corpse that lay shrouded inside. From beneath the body, she drew a small, thin book.

Tris felt his heart begin to pound as he recognized the binding.

"Do you know what this is, Lord Summoner?" Riqua asked, handing him the slim volume book-marked with a yellowed, thick envelope.

"The missing diary of the Obsidian King."

Riqua gave a short, harsh laugh. "Missing? Is that what the Sisterhood told you? It's never been missing. Bava K'aa gave it to me, years ago, for safekeeping. Do you know why? Why she chose to keep its location secret, even from the Sisterhood?"

"Because it contains something so powerful, with such a great potential for misuse, that she couldn't trust it to anyone else."

"Because it holds a secret of life and death," Riqua said. "It's time for you to hear the whole story about your grandmother, and why her love nearly cost the Winter Kingdoms their freedom. But first, pay heed to that envelope, and the page it marks. You hold in your hands something beyond the wealth of kings, beyond the greatest spoils of war. Tell me what's written on the page—mind that you do not speak the words aloud."

Tris read over the yellowed handwriting. His hands began to shake as he realized the meaning of what he saw. He looked at Riqua, ashen. "It's a spell to separate the soul from the body," he said quietly. "Gray magic, if it belongs at all to the light."

Riqua took the fragile envelope from his trembling hands, and withdrew a sturdy vial on a strong leather strap. Riqua slipped the strap over Tris's head, so that the vial hung around his neck. "What could equal the importance of the spell?" Tris asked,

"Before her death, Bava K'aa made one final potion. Doing so weakened her, and hastened her passing. What you hold in your hand was created at the peril of Bava K'aa's very soul, because its working is indeed gray magic. It's a potion capable of curing a mortal wound. Such a potion requires the power of a very great sorcerer, and drains the maker of such power that those few powerful enough to create it can only do so once in their lifetime. Think, Prince Drayke. How much would a dying man pay for such an elixir? How many people would a desperate man kill?"

"I don't understand," Tris said, staring at the vial as if it might burn him. "What does the combination mean?"

"There's one more item you have not seen," Riqua said. Tris realized that there was a sealed note slipped into the back of the book. He was shaken to see his own name written on the envelope, in the unmistakable hand of his grandmother.

"Read it."

Within the envelope was a small sheet, and on it, one sentence: "You must do what I could not, because you have what I did not," he read in a voice just above a whisper.

"Before his fall, the mage who became the Obsidian King was in love with your grandmother." Riqua said. "His name was Lemuel, and he was one of the most gifted Summoners of his age. Like your grandmother, he rose on his gifts alone, without a noble name or a wealthy family. And like your grandmother, he became the advisor to kings and almost without peer in mortal influence."

"And that power corrupted him. He presumed to the rights of the Goddess."

"That's what the Sisterhood told you, and it's true—in part. Lemuel pushed the boundaries of knowledge within that gift farther than anyone— even Bava K'aa—had ever gone. But something went wrong when Lemuel attempted a very old working. Bava K'aa, who was with him when it happened, believed that an ancient, evil spirit took possession of Lemuel. She blamed herself for not being able to intervene. That spirit called himself the Obsidian King, although the Sisterhood believes that he has been known by many names throughout the ages, taking and abandoning human hosts as it suits him."