Chuckling, I give up the hardass routine and hook an arm around her waist to draw her against me. Thankful for the shielding glamour, my other hand frames the side of her face, and I kiss her with all the passion of a male going off to battle. Just because I can.
Eventually, I force myself to break the kiss when I’d much rather see how well our shields work and lay her down in the water right where we stand. Taking advantage of the seconds it takes her to get her bearings from our kiss, I step through the curtain of water and holographic tiles into the pitch black.
Taryn immediately follows, not even giving me time to extend a hand to help her through. “That kiss was a trick.”
“Not a trick, solnyshka. It was genuine need for your smart mouth with a bonus effect of avoiding your argument against my inner Neanderthal’s need to protect you from potential harm. Very different,” I say, echoing her earlier rationale. I know she’s not really miffed when I hear the half-hearted scoff. “Now, where do you suppose Grandmother Moira hid the light switch?”
A purple flame the size of a torch appears above her open palm, illuminating the passageway and casting dancing shadows on us in all our soaked-to-the-bone glory. Taryn’s curls are much longer, weighed down from the water, their tips brushing the upper swells of her breasts above the low neckline of her black top. Her matching cotton shorts are plastered to her thighs, but with her favorite Birkenstock sandals and half the amount of wet material on her body, she’s a lot better off than me in my boots, jeans, and T-shirt.
“That’s a handy party trick,” I say, nodding to her flame as I try to rub the water out of my hair.
Taryn gives me a droll look. “So help me Brigid, Verran, if you start calling me something ridiculous like Switch, I will shave off your eyebrows while you sleep.”
A hearty laugh bursts from my chest. Lacing my fingers with the ones on her free hand, I carefully lead us farther into the passageway. “Don’t worry, Switch is something I’d never call you.”
“And why is that?”
I stop to pull her in again, making every excuse I can to touch her. Dipping my head, I speak into the pointed shell of her ear. “Because in my world, a switch is someone who enjoys both dominating and submitting. And last night you submitted to me so beautifully, so completely, I can’t imagine you wanting it any other way. Am I wrong, little sun?”
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.