Page 112

“Elara, you don’t know how dangerous it is out there,” she says.

“I do,” I say, swallowing my own fear. “But this has to be done.”

She grips my shoulders, staring into my eyes with a long searching look. She frowns and her lower lip trembles.

“Don’t die,” she whispers. “Not now.”

“I won’t,” I whisper back. “I swear.”

Mazabuta talks rapidly with Z’leni in their language. Ryatuv comes closer to Annalise and I. He is also staring at her belly with an expression I can’t really read. Surprise, excitement? Something.

“Go in peace,” Z’leni says.

“She could return with us,” Mazabuta says, staring at me.

Ryatuv hisses, his tail twitching.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m staying.”

Ryatuv places his hand on the small of my back, silently supportive. Z’leni looks conflicted. His eyes dart between me and Mazabuta. Finally he shakes his head and growls.

“As she wills it,” Z’leni says at last.

“Dragoste?” Mazabuta asks, looking at Z’leni.

I’ve heard this word before and it makes my heart skip, almost painfully. Z’leni doesn’t look away, his eyes boring into mine.

“Dragoste,” he says, not a shadow of a doubt in his voice or on his face.

My mouth is dry, my heart racing, and my pussy is soaked. I swallow. Hard. Ryatuv presses his hand into the small of my back, silently possessive.

Mazabuta offers his hand to Z’leni who takes it and they shake. Then he walks over to Ryatuv. The two men stare at each other for a long moment then Mazabuta extends his hand. The tension builds so high it’s hard to breathe but Ryatuv takes the offered hand, clasping on the wrist. They shake with a sharp gesture then part.

Annalise smiles tightly, her eyes full of worry as Mazabuta takes her hand then they disappear into the tunnel.

40

ELARA

The air is thick, heavy with heat and the stench of rot. Every step makes a sickening squelch. I gag quietly behind my hand, trying not to think about what I’m stepping in.

Z’leni moves ahead of me with eerie grace, almost gliding over the slick stone. Ryatuv follows close behind, his hand hovering protectively at the small of my back whenever the tunnel narrows. He’s like my shadow made flesh.

We’ve been underground so long, I’m not sure I remember what clean air even smells like.

“Are you sure no one patrols these?” I whisper, my voice strange and small against the wet stone.

Z’leni doesn’t turn. “No one dares. The tunnels reek of waste and death. The Shaman never bothered guarding what no one wanted.”

I swallow, hard. The sharp stink of rot is everywhere. The walls drip with wet, green slime. Somewhere ahead, water trickles in an unnatural rhythm. My imagination supplies eyes in the dark. Watching. Waiting.

“Comforting,” Ryatuv mutters, low and grim.

We walk in silence for a while, moving deeper and deeper into the bowels of the city. Z’leni doesn’t pause or falter, even as the path twists like intestines. We squeeze through tight stone passages and rusted grates.

How does he know the way so well? Was he ever sent down here? As punishment? Or did he come by choice?

Finally, the tunnels widen and Z’leni halts, raising one hand.