An Isle of Mirrors (A Shade of Vampire #88) - Bella Forrest Page 0,64

king replied, slightly amused. “They’re all children’s tales, however. None of this is real. I’ve certainly never seen a Pashin or a Soul Eater.”

“Maybe they date back to an era before you were all enclosed here,” Unending suggested. “These could have been dwellers of Rothko before the mass extinction that nearly wiped your people out.”

Loren shrugged. “Perhaps. No one can confirm this, so I’d rather consider these tales part of our folklore and nothing else. There is a basement beneath this house where the most ancient of our texts are preserved. The artists who made these ceramic pieces were given access to the original writings for inspiration.”

He walked us through a couple more rooms, including a lounge area with plush and furry sofa-style seaters and a wider chamber featuring a dining table and wicker chairs. Despite being the king, Loren seemed to be a fan of simplicity. There was nothing to denote opulence, and I figured living in a small village had played a fundamental part in this. No one here cared if he had fancier linens, and they didn’t have any precious metals to mine for, either. From what I’d been able to gather thus far, the soul fae had been making do with what their isolated patch of land had to offer.

We reached a small wooden door on the eastern wall of the dining room. Loren produced a key from around his neck and showed it to us. “The first of many wards,” he said, unlocking the door. As soon as he opened it, a cold draft burst out, sending shivers down my spine.

Ahead, pitch-black darkness awaited.

“I must admit, the simplicity of your home is impressive,” Unending replied. “Of all the kings I’ve met in my long lifetime, you are the most modest.”

“It’s all I know,” Loren said. “From our ancient texts, I understand that there was once a hierarchy for our people. The upper class, the middle class, the lower class. The first had fortunes and land titles. The second had functions and homesteads, thriving on what the earth gave them. The third lived mostly in poverty or servitude. I’ve read stories about our glorious kings. Fair princesses and valiant warriors. That’s all that is left of our civilization. Memories imprinted on thin pieces of stone and crumbling sheets of paper. But I have no need for riches or a palace, when our world is so small. Besides, wealth does not define me. It’s my ability to lead the people and make sure they understand why we belong here and nowhere else that truly counts. Everything else is… nothing.”

“That makes sense,” Unending replied. “Your role is important, but it doesn’t require the artifices of monarchy to set you apart.”

“My bloodline is my wealth.” Loren chuckled. “Now, come on into the basement. I bet you’re going to love it.”

We went down a narrow set of wooden stairs. Each step creaked as we descended into the underground, and I nearly lost my breath upon realizing exactly how big this place was. It wasn’t an average basement. At first glance, it seemed as big as the village, with tunnels going in different directions and stretching for at least two or three miles, if not more, judging by the protective shield’s arch width.

Shelves covered the walls on both sides of each corridor, and there was barely a spare inch anywhere. Rolled-up scrolls, leather-bound manuscripts, stone and clay tablets, stacks of yellowing papers—everything the soul fae had written over the years, according to Loren, since before the great extinction. Stories and poems. Philosophical ramblings. Novels and novellas. Religious texts. Legal documents and yearly reports from what had once been the palace’s administrative wing. There were sketches, too, and illustrations, compendiums of mythology and legends of every nation of the soul fae.

These tunnels were all that remained of a civilization that had once spanned continents, each of its people renowned for their ability to bend spirits. This planet had been merciless in its destruction, and I really couldn’t blame Death for choosing to save them.

“Here…” Loren muttered as we headed south down a dimly lit corridor. This one was different from the others. Its shelves were loaded with various objects—most of them mundane, such as candleholders, reading glasses, shoes and pots, porcelain drinking sets, trays, and other items used on a daily basis by their ancestors. “This is the reliquary of times gone by. It has historical value, more than anything else. It’s the only place where you’ll find jewelry, by the way.