Chapter 137
Poh started the direction the guard had gone, her grip on my elbow sharp and painful. Plush, expensive-looking rugs silenced our footsteps. Gray marble pillars bracketed every ornate, heavy-curtained window on our right and climbed to the high ceiling. On our left, oil paintings of individual members of the Byrian family stared out as we passed. Their faces were cold, their black eyes murderous, as if they still plotted death and destruction while locked inside their wooden frames. Not one of them looked like they'd ever had a good day.
Despite the overhead lighting and the sconces hanging between the paintings, the hallway swarmed with shadows. The air tasted...wrong, like a violent electrical snowstorm on Mayvel.
The hallway dead-ended in a large, open room with a fireplace burning along the far wall even though it was summer on Wix. There was no sign of the guard and nowhere he might've gone.
I sucked hard on my iron cube and whispered, "Where to?"