I wanted to keep that promise so badly, too.

With a miserable sigh, I shake out my now-torn skirts and stretch my legs, eyeing the crypt. Everything is awash in crimson shadows, making it seem far more ominous than it truly is. It’s just a crypt of Old Prell, I remind myself. Where they honored the dead. Gwenna walks briskly to the far end of the crypt and leans over the open sarcophagus, and then turns back to me, her expression stunned.

Oh gods, what now?

“Aspeth? You need to see this.”

FORTY-ONE ASPETH

Imove to Gwenna’s side, my heart hammering with dread at what she’s found. Kipp crawls up to the corner of the sarcophagus, peering in, and I can hear Lark and Mereden stirring from their position by the door. My thoughts race as I try to figure out what it might be. More ratlings? The corpse of a fae? But no, they’re all gone. They left this land when the god Milus was destroyed by the other gods. Maybe it’s a spider. Maybe it’s a whole nest of spiders.

But when I get to the side of the sarcophagus and peer in, the sight inside is strangely calming. It’s a woman, a thousand years dead, her hands clasped over her heart in a benediction to Lady Asteria of the Skies. Her skin has withered tight against her skeleton, her long hair spread out about her in a decaying tangle. Her head is covered with a faded fabric and circlet, and her dress is of the same faded blue that must have been vivid and beautiful once. Her expression is serene, as if she’s finding the afterlife as calm and enjoyable as promised, a hint of a smile on her tight, narrow lips. Preserving lichen coats the inside walls of the sarcophagus and is dusted over her corpse.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, and to me she is. She’s slept here, undisturbed, for over a thousand years. Longer, because she would have been buried before Old Prell fell into the earth. “The blue of her dress is called Asterian blue, and they wore it in funeral rites so Asteria would smile upon them—”

Gwenna nudges me. “Save the history lesson. Look at her hands.”

I look. I don’t see it at first, because I’m too busy noticing all the wrong things, like the embroidery on the cuffs and the fact that her belt is crusted with jewels and her shoes probably are, too. She has bracelets on each wrist, and each one has glyphs on it, and I want to pull one off and interpret it even though that seems a terrible thing to do—

—and then I notice the ring.

Her hands are folded over her heart, one under the other. The one hidden underneath is wearing a ring, and the ring glows with a faint reddish light. It’s the same shade as the rest of the light, which is why I didn’t notice it at first.

I suck in a breath.

“Is that the same ring?” Gwenna asks. “The match to the one we have?”

“It could be.”

But I know it is. I just know.

“Who do you think she was?”

“Someone important. She was buried with her jewelry instead of it being passed down to the family, which means they had plenty of wealth. Her dress is one of nobility, too.” The inside of the sarcophagus has more glyphs along the edge, and I run a finger over them, deciphering as I go. “ ‘My beloved wife. My other half. We will be together in Asteria’s paradise. Wait for me.’ ” I touch the final symbol. “This is probably their family name, but it’s unpronounceable in our language.”

“How beautiful,” Gwenna breathes. “He must have really loved her.”

I eye the little smile of the dead woman and stupidly, foolishly, think of Hawk again. If we’d had time, would he have loved me like this woman was loved? I’m an idiot for even thinking about it right now, but I can’t help it.

“May I see?” Mereden asks, getting to her feet and keeping her weight off her ankle.

Gwenna and I exchange places with Lark and Mereden, and as I lean against the slab, I run my fingers over the glyphs on it. I know they say the same thing.

Beloved wife.

Other half.

Wait for me.

Lark sits on the edge of the sarcophagus and gazes down at the woman. Then she glances over at me. “You should take the ring, Aspeth.”

Her suggestion feels like blasphemy. “I can’t. It’s hers.” I glance over at my staff. “I should return the other to her. We don’t know where her husband’s body is, or if it’s even here. At least we can reunite them that way.”

“She’s dead,” Lark says, ever practical. “She has no use for two rings, much less one. You should take them and save your father’s hold. I’m sure the dead would understand.”

But the very idea feels wrong to me. Whenever I’ve thought about the guild, I’ve had such a romantic view of it. Of dashing through tunnels and uncovering artifacts just lying about, waiting to be retrieved. Now I know the reality. There are spiders the size of plates. There are ratlings and cave-ins and guild politics.

And the dead have faces. And we’re robbing them.

I shake my head. “I don’t think I can.”

“Now is not the time to grow a conscience, Aspeth,” Gwenna says, worried. “You said these rings were powerful. That you needed them. They’re here. We’re here. Might as well take them.”

Take them. Become a grave robber.

Because that’s what the guild is, right? It’s got a fancy name, but it’s just a bunch of people looting corpses. The thought hurts me down to my soul. Is this what I’ve idolized? Glamorized? Dreamed of all my life? I want to learn about Old Prell and the magics they used every single day. I don’t want to strip the dead of their possessions. I don’t know if I can do one without the other.

Mereden’s voice rings out clear in the crypt. “My father would take the rings.”

I sit up, looking over at her.

Her expression is calm but full of sympathy. “I understand how you feel, Aspeth. But my father would take the rings. He would break every finger from this corpse to take the rings. He would tear every bit of jewelry from her and not feel a bit of remorse. So would anyone else in the guild.” She gestures at the sarcophagus. “You can put the ring with her and close the lid. And it will probably stay closed for a few more days, until someone comes to find us. And then they’ll loot this place, because that’s what the guild does. They’ll end up sold separately or together to some rival of your father’s and then where will you be?”

She’s right. I hate that she’s right.

“You can put them back and have a clear conscience and let Barnabus conquer your lands,” Mereden continues in that practical voice of hers. “He’ll put your family to the blade and Honori will become Chatworth Secondary, because there’s already a Chatworth Hold. You can leave all of this for someone else, or you can take the rings and keep them together as they were intended to be.” Her voice grows soft. “You can honor the people they came from.”

“How do I do that?” I ask, aching.

“Name your kids after them,” Lark suggests.

“I can’t pronounce their names!”

“You’d better mucking practice,” Lark replies, but there’s a gentle note in her brusque words. “Make sure their names live on. Make sure their love lives on. What greater way to honor them?”

To my horror, I’m crying. I’m crying because I can be morally right and dead, or I can do something I know is wrong and save a father I don’t even like and people who don’t care about me. I cry because all I wanted was to save myself and have an adventure, and now I’ve doomed my friends at my side, and the Taurian I’m falling for is going to hate me.