Keth fell longer than physics should allow.
The darkness swallowed them whole, the Mark's crimson glow the only light in the void. That other voice—the one wearing their mouth like a glove—was silent now. Only the rush of air and the drumbeat of their own heart filled the emptiness.
Then impact.
They hit stone hard enough to crack ribs, rolling across a floor slick with something wet. The coppery tang of blood filled their nose before their vision cleared.
They were in a tomb.
Vast pillars carved with screaming faces stretched into shadow. Between them, skeletons sat on thrones of blackened bone, their jeweled crowns still glinting in the Mark's eerie light. The air tasted like old death and older magic.
A whisper of movement behind them.
Keth turned just as Valtheris landed gracefully where they'd crashed. His silver eyes burned in the dark. "This," he said, "is why I told you not to run."
The vampire lord looked around the crypt, his expression unreadable. "The resting place of the Blood Kings. No living thing has walked here for centuries."
Keth spat blood. "Guess we're both breaking rules tonight."
A grinding sound echoed through the chamber. One of the skeleton kings turned its skull toward them. Empty eye sockets filled with crimson light.
Valtheris went very still. "Ah."
The skeletons stood in unison, bones clicking together like dice on stone. Their jawbones creaked open, and the crypt filled with a sound like a hundred voices whispering the same word:
"Thief."
Keth backed up until their shoulders hit a pillar. "What the hell did you do?"
Valtheris drew a blade made of shadow. "Not me." His gaze dropped to Keth's chest. "Them."
The Mark pulsed in answer.
Then the dead kings attacked.