There’s an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Then a whispered, “I don’t want it any other way. Not with you.”

“Good.” I press a kiss to her forehead, then the tip of her nose. “Come on.”

We reach a stone staircase that goes down and curves to the left. The air grows cooler as we descend, carrying the earthy scent of the packed earth surrounding us. Layered tapestries of sand, gravel, and clay with veins of hardened caliche are etched with faint cracks and mineral stains from rare desert rains. It’s a testament to the construction for how resilient the tunnel is after all this time.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, the passageway doubles back in the direction we came from, only one story below. Its narrow confines give way to an arched doorway that opens into a chamber roughly the size of an average dining room. The faint sound of water reaches us through the packed earth above our heads.

“We must be underneath the waterfall now,” I say as we enter the room.

Taryn makes a purple flame appear in her other hand, then pushes her hands out in front of her. Balls of fire soar through the air and attach themselves to the wall like sconces. She does it twice more for the side walls until the space is well-lit.

And so is the giant, black sarcophagus in the center of the chamber.

“Wow,” Taryn says, her tone the soft reverence warranted when one comes across an eternal resting place.

Crafted of dark, glistening obsidian, the rectangular tomb is an artistic masterpiece. I study the details as I walk around it slowly, trailing my hand over the smooth surface.

On the lid, intricate silver inlays form the sketch of a sleeping male with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and powerful legs. His hair is shoulder-length, and the lower half of his face is hidden by a full beard. He’s depicted wearing tailored formalwear for the royal court, and the Midnight Crown sits upon his head.

“The sovereign sleeps devoid of light. Sovereign. Finn, is this…?”

A myriad of emotions form a knot in my throat. I can feel her looking up at me, but I can’t seem to take my eyes from the obsidian coffin. “Yeah,” I finally manage. “It’s my dad.”

“You didn’t know he was here?”

Scrubbing a hand over my mouth, I expel a heavy breath and shake my head. “A year into the Palazzo’s construction, the curse that causes our early deaths started affecting his mind. The closer he got to the end, the more erratic his thoughts became, especially in reference to his death. He kept insisting he didn’t want a traditional death pyre; that he wanted to be buried like the humans of his new homeland.

“He was obsessed with this hotel, too. One day he wanted to be buried under the canals, the next he’d say inside a canal bridge, under a sculpture, inside a casino wall. None of us took him seriously, though, because he wasn’t in his right mind. And when he died, he was burned in order to return to Mag Mell, as is custom.”

“Then maybe this isn’t him. Maybe it’s just symbolic, representing the part of him who was proud of the legacy he built here for his people.”

“Maybe.” I don’t know what else to say. This quest has taken a turn from strange to bizarre and unsettling. “What’s the last part of the clue?” We both have it memorized. I’m asking as more of a distraction than anything.

“With the treasure will be three, unlocked for thee with destiny’s key.” She looks around the room, which is completely bare apart from the sarcophagus. “I’m not seeing a treasure anywhere. Is it possible someone already got to it?”

“I suppose anything is possible. The people who worked on this during the hotel’s construction would’ve known how to get in here, and who knows how many people they told.”

Taryn gathers her hair in front of one shoulder and squeezes the excess water onto the ground. “Don’t you think your grandmother would’ve prevented that somehow, though? It doesn’t make sense to set a clue up for something that could easily be accessed by dozens of people.”

Sighing in frustration, I lace my fingers behind my neck and stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

“Maybe this is the treasure. A beloved father and king could certainly be described that way. So maybe there’s three of something in this design that we need to find.”

I look down at the silver depiction of my father with a fresh eye. “That’s a good idea. It could be a code of some kind that leads to whatever the destiny’s key is.”

“Or maybe a hidden compartment holding the key.”

For what feels like forever, we study and prod every last inch of the sarcophagus’s top and sides. We don’t find anything in threes or any hidden compartments.

“Finn. There’s only one place left to look.”

Bracing my hands on the lid, I hang my head between my shoulders and blow out a breath. “I know.”

Her voice is soothing, her tone empathetic and sweet. “I can do it alone. You don’t have to do this part if you don’t want to.”

Standing up straight, I face her and brush a soft kiss on her lips. Her presence is a comforting anchor and a well of strength in this moment of eerie uncertainty. Something tells me I could do just about anything as long as she was by my side. “I appreciate that, but I’m good. Give me a hand with it.”

Together, we slide the lid open a few inches until we can get a grip on the stone slab, then lift it completely off and set it on its side to lean against the base. Steeling myself for whatever I find, I take my first look inside the tomb intended for my father.

Taryn stands next to me and rests her head on my arm in silent support as we stare down at the contents. The interior is lined in a plush, black velvet, designed to cushion the skeletal remains of its owner, as though physical comfort is a concern after death. But my father’s bones aren’t what’s resting inside. It’s his ashes.

My heart tightens at the layer of silvery ashes lining the bottom, the last remnants of a fae king; the last remnants of my father.

I wonder if my mother or maybe Seamus arranged to have his ashes buried down here. If so, I can understand why they might not tell anyone about it. Fae believe the vessel must be burned and the ashes allowed to be carried in the wind and returned to the earth. Burying them like this would cause our people to worry about their king’s place in Mag Mell.

“I guess no one got to the treasure, after all,” Taryn says, referencing the other item inside. Sitting amidst the ashes is an ornate silver box decorated with obsidian stones.

I glance at Taryn, and in her eyes, I see a reflection of my own awe and solemnity. Carefully, I reach down and lift the box from its resting place, surprised at the weight until I notice the slight rainbow shimmer to the metal.

“It’s made out of Luna, so it had to be made before we were exiled,” I say, studying it. Holding something that once existed in the Faerie realm hits me with a pang of nostalgia as I imagine there’s an invisible thread that’s able to connect me to my homeland from touch alone.

“It’s beautiful,” she says. “Do you recognize it?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never seen it before. Guessing this is where ‘destiny’s key’ comes in, but we still don’t know what that is.”

Earlier today, we searched through all of my digital archives on fae history, folklore, the stories of our gods, and random tabloid stories that popped up over the years. But we couldn’t find any mention of destiny’s key.

“That might be a moot point,” she says as I turn the box to study all the sides. “I don’t see a place where any key could go, do you?”

I sigh. “No, there’s no keyhole or holes of any kind. Maybe it’s a metaphor. Is there a fae spell or a song, a chant? Anything like that it could be referring to?”

“Not that I can think of, but that doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist. Maybe when we meet with Barwyn, he’ll know something. For now, we should take this back to the penthouse with us.”

“Agreed. I’ll call Connor on our way back and find out if he set up the meeting. Hold this for me while I put the lid back on.”

As soon as she takes hold of it, the pendant of her Armas lifts into the air and snaps itself onto the front under the lip of the cover. There’s a soft snick, then the Armas falls off as though whatever pulled it there to begin with is no longer activated.

We stare at each other in stunned silence. I know our thoughts are both racing along the same path, but neither of us is confident enough to say them out loud. Because if her Armas was designed to play a part in this quest, that means so was she. And my grandmother called it out in plain words. The only question is whether she was referring to this quest being my destiny…or Taryn.

I clear my throat and say, “I suppose we can open it now instead of waiting.”

She glances down at the box and nods slowly, as though coming out of a trance. “I suppose we can.”

I quickly replace the slab of obsidian to reseal my father’s ashes, making a mental note to question my mother about it at a later date. Then Taryn places the silver box on top, and I lift the lid on its hinges.

“Oh wow,” she whispers. “That’s not what I expected.”

That makes two of us, I think as the lump in my throat returns, bigger than before. Because my father’s riches that are nestled in navy blue velvet aren’t expensive jewels or gold coins. They’re gifts from his sons.