The Drowned Tomb (The Changeling Series Book 2) by James Fahy Page A

but also, rather luckily, cushioned the blow. He ran his hand across the wet stone, sending water spattering away into the darkness. There was something carved into the surface. Lettering of some kind, but it was gibberish stonework to Robin, like ancient Norse runes.
    “Something like…?” Henry prompted as Robin silently took in the stone table, realisation dawning. He pulled his hand back, flinching involuntarily.
    “I think,” he stared. “I think it’s a coffin.”
     
    Henry had wasted no time in clambering down through the hole and into the chamber after that, still wearing his ridiculous swimming cap. Robin had expected Calypso to protest, in the way that adults often did in treacherous situations such as leaping into hidden and unexpected graves, but she had merely peered down with interest, her head on one side and her long hair trailing into the hole like creepers.
    “What a curious thing,” she said thoughtfully. “Tell me, Scion, what does it say on the sarcophagus?”
    “I can’t read it,” Robin replied, as Henry, dusty and breathless, scrambled the last few feet and appeared at his side in the darkness. “It’s all gibberish.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” his tutor said breezily. “You are the Scion, are you not? What does it say?”
    Robin gave Henry a weary look. “I told you it’s all scratchy Thor-speak,” he called back. “Runes, or whatnot.” He glanced at the illegible stonework again to confirm this.
    It wasn’t illegible. Clearly carved in the wet dark stone were words. Robin slowly read them aloud, disbelieving.
    “Here lies Etrea of the Silver Bough. Trusted guardian among the maidens of The Pale Tree.”
    Henry blinked at him, looking from the stone to Robin. “Are you making that up?”
    “It’s … a minute ago it was all just … just lines,” Robin insisted, staring at the tomb.
    “It’s still all just lines,” Henry insisted, staring at him oddly. “Rob are you having … you know … a moment?”
    “He is the Scion.” Calypso’s voice rolled breezily down, as if the two boys were dim idiots. “The Arcania speaks to him. That is all.”
    Robin was still staring at the words. It was like looking with two sets of eyes at once. His brain knew that what he was seeing was eldritch chicken scratch, but something inside him understood it. The ‘other’ who lived buried in his head like a worm in an apple, the inner self that he had playfully named ‘Puck’, was looking out of his eyes.
    “How curious to find Etrea here, at Erlking of all places,” Calypso said. “I suppose it was the only place she could go. All those who didn’t come with us to Dis fled to the safety of the Fae. Not that it did them much good, in the end.”
    “Traitors?” Robin looked up, shielding his eyes against the sunlight. Looking at the letters had given him a sharp headache. Or maybe that was the crash…
    “This is the grave of an Undine. My people, the nymphs, we served them once. We lived alongside them. They are very ancient. When the war came, most Panthea joined Eris and fought against the Fae, against your kin, Robin. But there were those Panthea who stood against Eris. The Undine, Etrea here included,” his tutor explained. “Rebels who did not believe in the cause of the Empress, who wanted no part in her war. When Eris won, and the Netherworlde was conquered. The Undine fled back to the Pale Tree. A safe and secret haven. It was my home once, home to many nymphs. It had been lost to us now. Hidden from Eris by the powers of the Undine. They retreated from the world. Some of them also came here it seems.”
    “This was someone who stood against Eris like you then,” Henry mused, looking back at the sarcophagus. He removed his swim cap with a snap of elastic. Calypso shook her head casually. “Oh no. I was no traitor to Eris. Like most of the Panthea, I was loyal to her. Nearly all nymphs were. We abandoned the Undine and went to her call. The decimation of the