off, picking a necklace from the bowl and turning to Kelir. “There is this.”
A leather lace decorated with the same raptor claws that each of the Parsatheans wore—though the number of claws was many more. At least a dozen, it seemed.
“That is Toric’s,” Seri breathed. “He was here?”
Lizzan glanced at the others. All seemed affected by the sight of the necklace. “Who is Toric?”
Ardyl took the offering from Preter, her thumb gliding over the curve of a claw. “He is one of our Dragon guard—”
“And the greatest hunter in the firebloom tribe,” Seri broke in.
“But he was infected with the sun god’s magic. He feared the Destroyer would be able to see through his eyes as Vela sees through our queen’s—so he left the Burning Plains rather than be made into the Destroyer’s spy.”
“He intended to search for a way to purge Enam’s poison.” Kelir took the necklace next, his voice thick. “He must have come here . . . but he has not returned home, so they did not find a cure.”
“It would not be so easy,” Ardyl said softly, then looked to Lizzan and Aerax before explaining, “Vela called him our Dragon’s wings, and said that Toric would fly so far from home that he would not be himself when he returned. This monastery is not far from home.”
Jaw tight, Kelir nodded and returned the necklace to Preter. “If a threat came while he was here, Toric would not abandon this city or these monks.”
“We will ask what became of him, or if he is still here,” said Preter, and then he held up what looked to Lizzan a thick and fleshy worm until she understood that it was a penis. “I see nothing else of note, aside from this. This man must have wanted something from these monks very, very badly.”
“Or his lover did,” Kelir said dryly, before grimacing. “It does not rot?”
“Not in the bowl.” Where it was dropped back in again. “Come. The welcome chamber looks to be this . . . one. . . .”
He slowed to a halt and Lizzan glanced to see what had stopped him before pivoting away again, watching the passageway. Deep gouges had slashed the door, and the wood had splintered as if battered until it broke. Aerax crouched beside her, his body tense, his gaze sweeping the floor.
Gripping his axe, Kelir urged the monk aside. The shattered door no longer latched and swung open easily.
Lizzan took the barest second to glance over her shoulder and into the chamber. Dried blood. Splashed across the floor, the far wall. Her stomach tightened as she resumed watching either end of the passageway.
“Bodies?” she asked as the others followed Kelir in.
“None,” Aerax said, and she backed with him toward the chamber entrance, where she stopped while still keeping an eye on the corridor. One end of the long passageway continued past more chambers. The other led back to the great hall.
“What kind of claws make these?” Tyzen asked Aerax, and she looked to see them examining the gouges in the door before Aerax moved deeper into the chamber and knelt by a bloodied track.
Heart thundering, she almost didn’t hear the sound echoing faintly down the passageway. Instantly she hushed the others and they all fell silent.
Click-click-click-click. So quick. But not light, but more like a rapid tapping of a sharp stone against another rock, and coming from the direction of the great hall. Ardyl joined her at the chamber entrance and they both tilted their heads. Click-click-click-click.
“What is that?” she whispered.
“A wraith,” Aerax said grimly.
Lizzan’s pounding heart jolted to a halt. “You are certain?”
“These tracks are almost the same as from the King’s Walk.”
“Then we leave now,” commanded Kelir, ushering Tyzen and Seri toward the door.
Preter looked torn. “But what of the people from the city?”
“If they are still locked away and safe, they will stay that way. If not . . .” Kelir shook his head. “We’ll return with help—”
“Shh,” hissed Ardyl, swinging her glaive forward, gaze fixed down the passageway, where the click-click-click-click came ever faster now, louder as it neared. “Back into the chamber. Preter, where is the second exit?”
“This way.”
Ardyl and Lizzan backed into the chamber, silently swinging the door closed—though Lizzan could not make herself go further, standing at the edge of the door and peering through one of the shattered panels at an angle that gave her a view of the corridor where it joined the great hall.
Aerax’s strong forearm came around her waist as if