“On their own?” Ungar shook his head. “I doubt it. Your Grace, wait here with me. Sven, you and the others fan out and search the place.”

“But don’t go through that doorway to the left of the altar,” Kham added quickly.

To the left lies death. Do not cross that threshold.

The men went right through the veil of beaded strings. The beads, which resembled dewdrops frozen on threads of spider silk, tinkled like chimes when they moved, sounding a melodic alarm that echoed through the icy temple. This place might seem open and unprotected, but no intruder could pass beyond the altar room without sounding that alarm.

Several minutes later, Sven and the others returned. “Nothing. The place is deserted. No signs of struggle. Whatever happened to the priestesses, it doesn’t appear to be foul play.”

The White Guard still insisted on accompanying her through the private residence of Wyrn’s priestesses. And truth be told, Kham was grateful for their company. With each step deeper into the heart of the mountain, her connection to the sun waned, leaving her vulnerable and defenseless.

The sooner she got what she’d come for, the sooner she could leave this place.

The last door in the hall was silver gilt and etched with swirling, diamond-studded patterns of windblown snowflakes. Pulling the key ring from her pocket, Khamsin inserted the first of Galacia’s keys into the lock and turned it. The beautiful door swung inward, revealing a robing chamber the size of a small chapel.

Kham waited as the men fanned out to search the chamber and connecting rooms.

“It’s clear,” Sven announced when he and his men returned to the main chamber.

“Good. Now, I must ask all of you to return to the main temple and wait for me there.”

Ungar frowned. “We’re not leaving your side, Your Grace.”

“Oh, yes, you are. What comes next is not for your eyes.” There was a door in this room. A door known only to the priestesses of Wyrn. And now to Khamsin, as well.

“At least take my sword.” Ungar offered his unsheathed blade to her.

“I can’t.” Galacia had warned her that no man or mortal weapon could survive the path Kham was about to take. “Now, please, go. You cannot accompany me farther.” She waved the guards towards the exit. “If I’m not back by sunrise, then I have failed.”

Grumbling, clearly unhappy at being dismissed, the guards nonetheless filed out of the chamber. Once the door was closed and locked behind them, Kham shrugged out of her coat and set to work unlacing her gown. Normally, according to Galacia, the priestesses followed a ritual of cleansing and prayer using the bathing pool, sauna, and steam rooms in the adjoining antechambers, but that was more tradition than necessity, and time was of the essence. Khamsin deposited her shoes and clothes on a bench and slipped into one of the white, hooded robes hanging from a series of wall pegs.

Barefoot and naked except for her hooded robe, she approached the small tabletop altar built into a recessed arch. Two round wall sconces with crystal shades shaped like flames flanked the tiny altar. Kham gripped the crystal sphere at the bottom of the right sconce and turned it to the left, then pulled the flames-shaped shade towards her. With a quiet hiss, the wall behind the altar slid inward and rotated sideways, revealing a secret doorway.

Inside, blue flames flickered in sconces just like the ones flanking the altar. The cool light illuminated the smooth, seamless blue-white walls of a round tunnel carved through solid ice. A puff of cold air flowed out of the tunnel into the warmer air of the private chapel. It riffled through Kham’s hair and bathed her face with dry coolness.

Kham took a fortifying breath and stepped into the tunnel.

Without the sun’s power to warm her, the icy chill seeped quickly into her body as she walked. Her flesh pebbled, hairs raising on her arms. Her bare feet went numb, then began to burn, but she continued, steadily placing one foot before the other. The tunnel went straight back for about a hundred yards, then curved sharply to the left.

Kham made the turn and nearly fell over the body sprawled across the tunnel floor. She recognized the younger of the two priestesses. Someone must have pierced her with Thorgyll’s spear because her body was frozen solid.

So much for the assumption there’d been no foul play.

Khamsin whispered a prayer for the slain priestess, then stepped around her body to approach what looked like a sheet of glass covering the tunnel. As she neared, she realized the glass was a steady, falling sheet of crystal-clear water.

Kham hung her robe beside two others, braced herself, and stepped naked into the wall of water.

The goddess tests all who attempt to enter her domain. Whatever you do, do not scream and do not run. If you panic, you die. Galacia’s dire warning made perfect sense now. Just keep silent and keep moving.

It was all Kham could do not to run. The cold was so intense, she could swear her flesh was being sliced off her bones. Not screaming was easier. She had no breath left in her lungs to make a sound. She forced herself forward, pushing her body through the falling water.

After what seemed like a lifetime, she passed through the icy veil to the open tunnel on the other side. There, the cold air of the tunnel actually felt warm against her skin. Kham continued shuffling forward until she felt a rough, woven mat beneath her numb feet. Finally, it was safe to stop.

To the left, shelves had been carved from the ice, and several pairs of white leather boots with spiked soles had been laid out in a neat row on one of the shelves. Folded, white, fur-lined robes were stacked on another. Khamsin slipped on one of the robes, tying the wraparound sashes at her waist and pulling the fur-lined hood up around her face, then she stepped into the pair of shoes closest to her size and laced them tight. The clothes were much warmer than the thin robe from the purification room, and the spikes on the bottom of the boots gripped the ice when she stepped off the mat, enabling her to walk down the next, descending stretch of icy tunnel.