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No one answered her.

“I can’t do anything right.” Anthea buried her face in her knees, and whispered, “Always failing, always letting everyone down. Maybe this is where my story ends.” A sorrowful chuckle escaped her, filled with irony. “Just another pile of bones. How fitting.” She let out a ragged sigh, “I was so foolish to think I could make a difference. Look where that got me.” Her fingers clutched the rough ground beneath her, nails scraping against the stone as she addressed the skull again, “Soon, I’ll be just like you. Sorry for the dagger.” Visions of Ari and Treia danced before her eyes. “At least my sisters won’t have to mourn me again,” she whispered. “To them, I am already gone.”

Then the fire went out, plunging Anthea into total darkness. A shaky, almost mad laugh bubbled up from her.

“Perfect. Just fucking perfect.”

47

Anthea jolted awake, blinking—streaks of faint light filtered in through the opposite wall, painting a path in the suffocating darkness.

She scrambled to her feet, eyes fixed on spots where it came through. Rushing toward it, she noticed the peculiar arrangement of stones in that area—they were too systematic, too regular.

This wall was man-made.

Anthea yanked the dagger from the skull.

She chipped and pried at the small stones. With each stone she pried loose, hope swelled in her chest. Stone by stone, the barrier began to crumble. Sweat dripped down her face, her fingers bled, and her arms ached, but Anthea didn’t stop. She could feel a cool breeze, more pronounced now, on her face as she worked, and it spurred her on.

One stone became two, two became four, and soon, a hole was forming, just large enough for her to peek through.

Beyond the hole was an expansive hollow cave, dotted with what looked like ancient, abandoned huts.

Anthea started kicking at the wall, using every ounce of strength she had left. With every push of her hips and thrust of her legs, the wall wavered. And finally, with a powerful shove, the barrier crumbled away.

Dusty and bruised, but very much alive, she stepped out of the tomb.

The sheltered village inside the mountain was a picture of long-abandoned serenity. Her heart pounded in her ears as she took in the sight of it. Although it was hidden within the mountain’s embrace, an opening overhead let in patches of sunlight.

The sight of the stream running through the middle of it was a godsend.

Rushing to it, she fell to her knees, plunging her hands into the icy water. She scooped some of it up, bringing it to her parched lips. It was bitterly cold and tasted of minerals and earth, but it was the most exquisite thing she had ever drunk.

Anthea drank until her thirst was satiated, then splashed some water onto her face, washing away the grim and sweat.

Then, she walked to a large rock and sat down. Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out the dried meat. Four meals or so were all she had left, and she had to make them last?—

Was Beldor alive? Had any of them survived the Iron patrol’s assault? No—she shook the thoughts away. It would not help her to think about that. She finished one of the strips.

Anthea got up, dusted off her pants and looked around. The small village seemed to stretch before her like a snapshot from a bygone era. Makeshift huts were scattered all around the cavern. Whoever had inhabited them were long gone. They had been constructed with care, their frames built from stalagmites and stalactites broken from the cave walls, lashed together with vines that had turned brittle and gray with age. A few of the shelters had remnants of what seemed to be tools, now corroded and overgrown with moss, scattered about their vicinity.

With a deep breath, she pushed the weathered leather flap of the first hut aside and stepped inside. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could make out the remains of a life once lived here. A pair of earthenware cups, a stack of crude plates, a walking stick leaning against a wall.

She went from hut to hut, finding each in much the same condition. In some, she found worn out bedding, in others, tools, and in one, a tiny carved figurine of a dragon next to an ancient leather woven book. She bagged these items.

Back outside, Anthea slumped down against the side of one of the huts. Her body ached.

Then, her eyes landed on a sealed archway. There were faded engravings, spelling out a name?—

Illiyara

And dates.

Anthea recognized the name: The queen who had disappeared.

Could this be connected to the reason she was here?

She got up and walked closer, noting the details around the stone arch.