Page 215 of Brimstone

Ren nodded, resting a hand on the hilt of the sword that hung at his hip. “It did. And the beast that crawled through it killed all six knights on watch and dragged their bodies back through with it when it left. I was summoned as a result. Since then, it’s opened every day, for a period of three hours each time. We’ve been recording the timings. We’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting?” I already wished I hadn’t asked.

“For the wards to break once and for all,” Ren said, looking down at his boots. “For the monsters of old to return and wreak havoc anew on Yvelia. It’s only a matter of time.”

I hadn’t asked where Ren was taking us as he led us through Ajun and up the steps into the clouds. But I knew now. I could feel it, seething, close by. Too close. It was behind the ornate carved wooden door Renfis stood before.

It was a cold thing—bitter and detached.

A black gate.

It had been corrupted a long, long time ago. It wanted Yvelia toburn, and that was precisely what would happen if the malevolent forces that gathered on the other side of that gate got their way.

Onyx whined, jumping up at me, begging to be picked up. I held him tight, shivering when Ren put his palm on the door handle and slowly began to turn it.

“Wait. We’re goingnow? Fisher, what are we doing?”

“The gate will close soon,” Ren explained. “You could wait until it opens tomorrow. But . . .” He grimaced awkwardly.

“Waiting a day might be catastrophic,” Fisher said. “We’re losing ground to the rot too quickly. People are dying, and the gods only know when more infected feeders might show up. We need you to seal that brimstone rune. And brimstone only hasonesource.”

I’d known it. Even when Lorreth had told me in the square what we’d have to do if we wanted to secureanyamount of brimstone that wouldn’t kill our sprite friends, I’dknownwe’d wind up here eventually. The fates were at play yet. Renfis had been drawn to Ajun for a reason, and so had we.

Fear lashed tight around my chest and squeezed. Fisher’s eyes softened a little, as if he could feel it crystallizing like ice in my veins. He placed a reassuring hand in the small of my back. “But if you’re not ready—”

“Ihaveto be.” I didn’t say any more. Didn’t need to. Ren hadn’t had a choice. Neither had Fisher. They had duty. They had honor. They did what they needed to, because it was the right thing to do. I would do the same.

“And you?” Ren asked, turning to his friend. “Are you sure about this? There’ll be consequences. More sacrifices to be made.”

Solemnly, Kingfisher bowed his head. But . . . no. Even as I watched him, something shifted in my mind. He wasn’t Kingfisher anymore. HewasKhydan. Undeniably, the name fit him. It was like discovering the long-lost, missing piece of a puzzle. Like snapping it into place to complete an image, and finally seeing and understanding it in its entirety.

He couldonlyever be Khydan to me now. And hewasready to face whatever awaited us on the other side of this door.

“All right, then. Hold your breath.” Ren turned the handle and opened the door. “Thesmellcan be a little overpowering.”

Inside, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Another moment for me to comprehend what I was seeing and wish I could turn back around. Onyx let out a panicked yip and hid his face in my armpit. The pool wasn’t like any of the others. There was no stone lintel surrounding it. No stone basin to contain it, either. It was organic, like . . . some sort of festering sore. And the roiling liquid inside it wasblack.

“Where does it go?” I asked. “What’s the realm called?”

Only Fisher knew the answer to that question. He had gone there as a boy. The troubled look on my mate’s face didn’t inspire confidence as he admitted, “It’s never been given an official name here. The pantheon of undergods and the dragons they breed there call it Diaxis. But personally . . . I’ve always called ithell.”

51

THE OBVIOUS . . .

KHYDAN GRAYSTAR FINVARRA

I FUCKINGHATEdragons.

52

PROMISES AND HOPE

SAERIS

THICK. CLOYING. PUTRID.

Usually, the quicksilver rolled away, beading from clothes, hair, and skin alike whenever we exited one of its pools. Not so this time. Whatever the foul substance was that filled the pool at Ajun, it was nothing like quicksilver. It probed up my nose and coated my tongue, filling my mouth with the taste of rot. Passing through it felt like drowning. Unbridled panic ratcheted in my chest as my lungs pulled, desperate for air, urging me toBreathe! Breathe! Breathe!