Ick. Piaras’s frozen expression told me he was having the same thought.

“Crypts?” I looked from the prince to Mychael.

“Yes, there is a small network of catacombs beneath the mausoleum,” Chigaru told us both.

Mychael said nothing. I kept my own mouth shut, but I was thinking plenty—and most of what I was thinking wasn’t suitable for polite company. Ocnus hadn’t mentioned catacombs. Maybe he hadn’t known. Maybe the little weasel had. Since Mychael and I thought Ocnus had told us the truth, we had let him go. His ship was probably halfway to wherever by now. I hope he was seasick. The only things worse than dead dusty bodies were dead dusty bodies in a dark tunnel. The beacon continued to hum happily. Apparently it didn’t care about Ocnus or dead bodies in a dark tunnel, dusty or otherwise.

I heard a splash and the slap of something against a muddy bank. It wasn’t small, and it was entirely too close.

“A small pond in the orchard,” the goblin prince said calmly as if that explained everything. “I believe that was a serpent dragon, what you might know as a knucker. They prefer to feed in the night.”

Other Mermeian nobles kept ornamental fish. Naturally, the Mal’Salins would be different.

Piaras was incredulous. “Your family keeps knuckers as pets?”

“They keep themselves, spellsinger. Like the temple ruins, the pond was already here. Oddly enough, the serpents did not occupy it until my family acquired the house.”

Who said only opposites attract?

We were alone. No one had made any move to follow us. That was both good and bad. I didn’t want anyone following us, but at the same time, I expected some kind of interference. The complete lack of opposition made me more than a little jumpy. Garadin’s spell preparation on the terrace paled in comparison to the one he had ready to let fly at the first sign of a Khrynsani temple guard. I had knives that were likewise itching to go airborne, but I didn’t want to inadvertently waste any on a waving tree branch. The wind was up, so there were a lot of those. My guard was also up, along with the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.

Vegard moved swiftly out of the shadows toward us. I relaxed my grip on the throwing knife.

“We’re in position and ready, sir,” he reported to Mychael. “Feroc and Hugh took out the wards around the outer garden walls. They weren’t easy, but they weren’t difficult either—and no sign of an alarm being given. Or Khrynsani guards. That has them worried.”

“Sarad Nukpana does other things this night,” Primari Nuru said. “He cannot spare the strength.”

I knew the primari was right. “He wants me here,” I said. “If you want someone in your house, leave the door open.”

“Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” Garadin said.

I shot him a look.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Try harder next time.”

We approached the temple and mausoleum from the back through the trees, hopefully out of sight of any goblin guards roaming the grounds. I still hadn’t seen any. I liked this less every second.

The mausoleum was built of a smooth dark stone and was only about thirty feet across. I walked into the center of the single room. Thankfully all of the vaults were still sealed. I was sure the crypts below wouldn’t be as tidy. Various titles and first names all ending with the last name Ramsden were etched into the stone, and the most recent date I could see was from over a hundred years ago. I ran my hand over the wall’s dark surface. It was cool and perfectly smooth. The canal that surrounded The Ruins was less than fifty yards away and flooding was common. I wondered how the crypts had faired. Hopefully we wouldn’t be finding out.

“No one’s here,” I said, though I was still careful to keep my voice down. “Good.”

“You expected someone?” Garadin said.

“If a couple of the guests wanted to be alone, this would be the perfect place.”

Garadin thought about that. “Good point.”

“Here?” Piaras asked, clearly creeped.

“It’s not my idea of romantic surroundings either,” I assured him.

The goblin prince looked around, then gazed outside at the moon and the clouds racing overhead. His black eyes glimmered in the faint light. “Actually these surroundings are very romantic.” His voice was low and almost wistful.

I didn’t know whether to feel reassured that he had romantic thoughts or disturbed that he was having them in a mausoleum—and while standing next to me.

“I cannot believe it,” Primari Nuru was saying, her voice echoing faintly against the walls. “How could something that powerful be concealed so closely without our knowing?”

Mychael answered her. “The Saghred has remained hidden for nearly nine hundred years, Primari Nuru.”

“How long has it been here?”

“Only the stone’s Guardian could answer that.”

“And he died centuries ago.”

“Apparently that’s come open for debate,” I said.

The primari’s dark eyes widened. “But that would make him—”

“Very old and very tired.”

The prince spoke. “Sarad Nukpana knows the Saghred is in Mermeia, but I would give much to see his face when he discovers that he has been meditating next to it for over a year.”

“Meditating?” I asked.

“According to agents I have in my brother’s court, when the grand shaman is in Mermeia, he sits here for hours at a time. He finds the surroundings relaxing.”

Sarad Nukpana sits with dead bodies for fun. Why wasn’t I surprised?

“Raine?” Mychael was looking at me expectantly.

I took a deep breath. Right. It was my turn now. I relaxed as much as I could considering where I was and who was with me—and what I was looking for. I slowly walked around the mausoleum. It wasn’t large, so it didn’t take long. The beacon’s vibration had increased in intensity when we’d come inside, but the signal wasn’t getting any stronger, though if it didn’t stop soon, my shoes were going to vibrate right off my feet.

I stopped. My feet and the stone floor beneath them were the only things that were vibrating. The mausoleum’s dead were in the walls around me. The catacombs’ dead would be under the floor, beneath my feet.

Crap.

I looked at Mychael and pointed down. “Guess what?”

He looked almost as thrilled as I did.

“Time grows short, Your Highness,” Mychael told Chigaru. “Would you please show us the entrance to the catacombs?”

The goblin prince’s expression was unreadable. “It would please me very much.”

“Do you require more light?” Mychael asked.

Chigaru shook his head. “This is more than sufficient.”

The goblin prince walked slowly into the corner of the mausoleum farthest from the house and ran a long-fingered hand along an upper vault until he came to what appeared to be several flowers carved into the stone. He pressed at several points, there was a faint click, and a panel below the flowers swung open into inky darkness.

The goblin turned to me and smiled as if from a private joke. “Your catacombs, Mistress Benares.”

I knew there was a reason why I still didn’t like him.

I had expected the entrance to the catacombs to be in the floor. It had never occurred to me that it would be hidden in the wall. The vaults in the mausoleum were stacked four high, one on top of the other, and covered every wall. The vaults concealing the entrance to the catacombs were fake. Where there should be four bodies interred was an incredibly steep and narrow stair leading down into the center of the hill.

Mychael held out his hand and stared at his palm. A pinpoint of white light flickered to life from the center of his hand, beneath the skin. It was no larger than a firefly. It spun, weaving a trail of light until a globe, the size of his fist, hung suspended above his open hand. It glowed steadily and seemed to solidify, the interior crackling with something akin to lightning. It floated down the stairs, then stopped, hovering, waiting for us.