Goddess that dotted the temples. Sleek onyx hair cascaded down her back.
Stolas appraised the Keeper. “I didn’t know this was that type of party.”
Her laugh was enchanting, mesmerizing even. “Hello, Seraphian Prince. Did you come to finally fulfill your end of our broken agreement?”
His gaze flicked to Haven and back to the Keeper. They didn’t have much time.
“No, but I have brought you something you will like even more.”
“The mortal girl poking around my things?” the Keeper murmured, and Haven froze. “How you spoil me.”
Stolas could only distract the Keeper for so long before she realized their plan. Haven searched the canvases on the wall, cringing at the macabre depictions of demons feasting on mortals. The disquieting, otherworldly creatures locked in graphic scenes of battle. Many of the canvases were cracked and dulled with age, their ornate golden frames rotting.
Where are you? Something drew her gaze to the center of the gallery, and her heart wobbled strangely.
There.
The painting was smaller than the others, but still larger than average, the size of an ordinary window. The frame was a simple unvarnished wood. Inside the frame, a pretty woman with long blonde hair was holding a newborn baby.
Creeping as quietly as possible onto a threadbare silver and red rose-patterned couch, she reached for the frame—
She jerked her hand away from the dark magick just as archaic symbols glowed over the frame, burning a pale blue.
The frame was spelled against thievery. By the cold magick she felt coming from the runes, one touch would have probably incapacitated her. Maybe there was a way to disarm them?
She squinted at the bizarre symbols engraved into the frame, but the runes didn’t look familiar.
Her heart sank. To come all this way just to see the painting and not be able to touch it . . .
There had to be another way. Breathing hard, she looked for clues that would point to immortality. But there was only the mother and her baby inside a plain, sparsely furnished room. The couch was brown and spotted with age and use. The side table beside it was empty. And the only décor was a painting on the wall behind them—
A painting. She peered closer at the canvas. Compared to the poor furnishings and plain room, the art was expensive. A heavy golden frame of ivy enclosed what looked like, from here, a woman with floating white hair spewing golden light from her mouth.
Flowers were strewn in a neat arc over her head. Above that, a river flowed.
It was strange, and yet . . . she couldn’t take her eyes off the image.
A painting—inside a painting.
Something tugged at her memory. Another piece of art, this one created by Stolas’s mother.
What if this was the same? What if she could enter the art itself? What if the true painting was disguised inside this one, hidden in plain sight?
That would explain where the second painting went.
Before she could overthink it, she slid off the couch and backed up. Then she sprinted onto the couch and leapt into the frame.
Her eyes squeezed shut against the expectation of hitting the wall. Instead—instead she tumbled into another room.
Into the painting.
It couldn’t be possible, but it was. Somehow it was. Instead of cold, dusty marble, the floor pressed into her cheek was worn wood. The suffocating stench of vile magick was gone, replaced by the smell of honeysuckle and freshly-baked bread.
The room wasn’t glamorous by any stretch, but someone cared enough about this place to keep the floors swept and clean. Soft warm light spilled from open windows onto a ragged scarlet rug.
Humming drew Haven’s attention to the couch. The woman wore a shawl over a gray sheath dress, and she was rocking her baby in her lap. Her golden eyes sparked with endless love.
Haven’s throat clenched as she stood and drew closer. The song the woman sang was familiar. Demelza hummed the same tune. It was a lullaby.
Haven froze as the woman’s voice filled the air.
“The stag in the wood, the bear in the field, they will all bow down to you. The ravens up high, the Shadowlings of nigh, they will all swear oaths to you. The mortal kings, they will fall one and all, to worship at your feet. But those that don’t heed the shadow of wings, the bite of fiery eyes, your wrath will come and swallow them whole, the girl of fire and ice.”
This scene had happened. Somehow Haven understood that, just as she understood her mother had preserved the memory