Page 11

Chapter

Eleven

I find Kaldar in the last cell on the left, lying on a small bench. The rest of the dungeon is empty, as usual. If the king wants someone dead, he doesn’t typically bother locking them up first. As the person who carries out most of those killings, I would know.

A yawning pit opens in my stomach as I realize how much of our conversation Kaldar might have overheard. Thanks to the warmth radiating across my cheeks, I know I’m still blushing. And based on the calculated gleam in the advisors eyes, he noticed.

Fuck.

“What about me?” I ask, attempting to distract him. “Am I perfectly safe?”

His eye twitches. “Unfortunately.”

“I’m sure if that changes, you’ll be the first to let me know.”

“Happily.” He makes a meal out of the word, relishing each syllable.

Thorne’s gaze flits back and forth between us. I ignore the questions in his eyes, not wanting to give Kaldar anything else to use against me. Though I do notice his features appear colder now. He’s once more wearing that mask of detached amusement he used with both Darrow and Baylor. I’m surprised to realize that every time I’ve spoken to him alone, his warmth felt genuine. Although I know better than anyone emotion can be faked.

“Interesting company you’re keeping, Lady Iverson,” Kaldar comments, a sly grin curling his thin lips. “I’d love to discuss what you and the ambassador were doing down here, but unfortunately, this area is off limits.”

I blink innocently. “Then why are you here?”

“His Majesty trusts me more than you,” he boasts.

“Are you sure?” I pull Baylor’s note from my pocket. “Cause this little letter here says you’re supposed to open some door for me.”

Kaldar’s eyes settle on the royal seal embossed in the wax. Darting forward, he snatches it from my hand and rips it open. His face contorts with anger as he reads the king’s instructions.

“ You are being assigned to search for the sword?” he demands as the color drains from his face.

I nod. “By order of His Majesty the King, who trusts me to hunt down the sword while you…” I trail off, making of a show of looking around the empty cell. “Guard a door.”

He clenches his fists, crushing the letter. “His Highness relies on me for a reason. I have been given tremendously important responsibilities.”

“By your mother, perhaps,” I mutter.

He scowls. “No, that’s?—”

“You’re right,” I agree, waving him off. “I hear she prefers your brother anyway.”

His hands shake, and for a moment, I think he’s finally going to leap at me. Fates, I wish he would. My body braces, ready for an attack.

“As entertaining as this sparring match is,” Thorne interrupts, his tone bored, “we should be going.”

Rolling my eyes, I step back and give Kaldar room to do his job. He approaches the wall to our right and reaches into his pocket. My spine straightens when he pulls out a small knife, but instead of directing it at me, he uses it to slice open his own palm. I grimace, but before I can ask what he’s doing, Kaldar rubs his bloody hand over the wall. The red stain he leaves behind is quickly absorbed by the stones, as if it’s some sort of sick offering. A moment, later a hiss of air escapes from the rocks and a large portion of the wall swings out, revealing the entrance to the tunnels.

I hang back as Thorne moves closer. His brow furrows as he inspects the hidden door. “A blood spell?”

“Yes.” Kaldar lifts his chin proudly. “I am one of the few His Majesty trusts to be capable of accessing it.”

I roll my eyes as I move closer, noting the gentle breeze that dances through the air, carrying an earthy scent with it. Inside I find a damp stairwell, lit by generously spaced out gas lamps, giving the corridor a haunted atmosphere. Lovely.

“Were you familiar with the guard who stole the weapon?” Thorne asks as he turns back to Kaldar.

“Grell Darby.” He nods, tucking his hands behind his back. “I hired him.”

“I wouldn’t brag about that,” I mutter under my breath.

Thorne’s lips twitch momentarily before flattening out, erasing any hint of amusement.

“You two should be going,” Kaldar says flatly. “It’s a long way down.”

I bite my lip to stop myself from needling him any further today. I’ve probably provoked him enough. Thorne crosses the threshold first, his large frame appearing disproportionate in the narrow tunnel.

“Don’t mind the rodents.” Kaldar steps up to my side, flashing me a dark glare. “They only come out when they’re hungry.”

“Does that mean if I feed you, you’ll go away?” I ask as I step through the threshold, praying I make it out alive.

His only response is to slam the door behind us.

“Do you think he was lying about the rats?” I whisper, my gaze catching on the cobwebs that cling to the walls.

“Let’s hope so,” Thorne says grimly.

Half an hour passes as we silently navigate the steep stairs. They are narrow enough that I have to take calming breaths as I remind myself the walls aren’t closing in on us. Thorne walks several feet ahead, leaving me with nowhere to look except the back of his head.

“I got the impression the king’s adviser isn’t your biggest fan,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Trust me, the hatred is mutual.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he says dryly. “He’s such a charming man.”

My lips twitch. “What about you, Reaper? Any enemies in Death’s court?”

“No,” he sighs. “I’m universally beloved.”

I roll my eyes. “There’s that imagination of yours again. Do you often lose touch with reality, or is this a new development?”

“I prefer to think of it as shaping my own reality.”

He disappears from my view as he follows a bend in the stairwell. Maybe it’s the eerie atmosphere, but this place has my anxiety spiking. There’s a sinister energy to the air. It’s palpable enough that when I turn the corner and catch up to Thorne a few seconds later, I’m strangely grateful for his company. This isn’t somewhere I’d want to explore alone.

“Don’t let the Fates hear you talking about shaping your own reality,” I warn him with a teasing edge in my voice. “Those three sisters will think you’re trying to steal their job.”

“Perhaps they’ll find it endearing? I hear they enjoy a little defiance.”

“I certainly hope so,” I murmur, thinking of how many times I’ve probably strayed from their plan.

We walk for a while longer until we reach a circular landing that is about ten feet wide. I spot an entrance to a dark tunnel on our right, but what lies beyond is a mystery. Every tiny hair on my body lifts, leaving me with the sense that we’re being watched. As I scan the darkness, I almost expect to see beady eyes staring back at me.

The ceiling is low, only a few inches above Thorne’s head. Drawing in a shallow breath, I silently will the walls to stop closing in on me. Old fears rise from the depths of my subconscious, clawing their way into the present.

I’m assaulted by images of rocks caving in, crushing us beneath their weight. My breath hitches as I remember choking on dirt fifteen years ago. How it filled my mouth when I tried to scream. The way it burned my eyes as I searched for a way out, clogging my nostrils with each desperate breath. It touched me everywhere, as if the ground had open up and swallowed me whole.

“Angel?”

I startle at the sound of his voice. Looking up, I find his wary gaze watching me, seeing far too much. Pushing my shoulders back, I take a deep breath, holding the air in my lungs for several seconds before releasing it.

“Are you—” His question is cut off by a high-pitched shriek coming from the tunnel. His attention shifts behind me as his eyes grow round with fear. “Get down!”

I don’t need to be told twice. I dive to the ground, curling into a ball and using my arms to protect my head. Dozens of wings flap around us as we’re swarmed by a colony of bats. Their wails stab my ears, louder than anything I’ve heard before. Eventually the noise dissipates, leaving only stark silence in its wake.

I sit up, finding Thorne a few feet away. A blanket of dust covers him, clinging to his clothes and hair. A laugh bubbles up my throat, halting when I realize I most likely look the same.

“At least they weren’t rats,” Thorne comments.

I scowl at him as I rise to my feet, both of us doing our best to wipe away the grime. “They’re rats with wings. That’s not better.”

He chuckles, but I stiffen as a pressing question reoccurs to me.

“What happened to your wings?” I demand. “Where do they go when you’re not using them?”

He shrugs, leaving me behind as he starts down the tunnel. “Maybe I’ll show you someday.”

I huff, following after him. “Do you practice being mysterious, or does it come naturally to all reapers?”

“I don’t know,” he calls back. “I haven’t met many others.”

I quickly catch up, grateful that the tunnel is wide enough for us to walk side by side. “Really?”

He nods. “Let me guess, you thought I came from some hidden colony in the mountains of Death’s realm?”

Heat creeps up my neck at his words. That’s exactly what I assumed.

He laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “Yeah, that wasn’t quite my situation.”

“Are there other reapers?” I ask tentatively.

He lifts a shoulder noncommittally. “Speaking of which, I’m curious why you haven’t told anyone what I am?”

I look ahead, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe I know no one would believe me.”

He nods. “That’s why I haven’t told anyone about your eidolon .”

I freeze, turning to face him slowly.

“Don’t you recall introducing me to your pretty little friend?” he teases, running a hand through his messy hair.

“I didn’t forget,” I correct him, my cheeks now burning. “I simply didn’t expect you to know what they were called.”

“I read,” he says, offering no other explanation.

My eyes narrow. I know damn well that topic isn’t mentioned in many books. It’s not information most people just stumble across.

“By my estimation,” he continues, “you’re the first Illusionist to be able to summon an eidolon in at least five centuries.”

“Six,” I correct him. “If we’re counting.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up in a crooked smile. “That, combined with the fact that you’re also a wraith, makes you truly rare indeed.”

I toss a few copper strands over my shoulder. “The Fates must pick favorites. Try not to sound jealous.”

“Formidable as you are”—his lighthearted tone disappears, leaving him sounding almost regretful— “you wouldn’t stand a chance against me in a true fight.”

“I guess we’ll see,” I murmur, not understanding his sudden shift in mood.

“I hope not,” he says softly before changing the subject. “Are your parents as gifted as you?”

I shake my head. “My father has no magic, but my mother came from a strong line of Illusionists . Or so I’m told.”

He raises a brow.

“She died when I was born,” I explain.

Sympathy creeps into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

I nod, unsure of what to say next. We carry on in silence for a while until we reach a deviation in the tunnel, leaving us with two options. We could continue following our current path or diverge to a new one that leads up a flight of stairs.

On instinct, I step toward the new path. It feels right. Inevitable almost. But Thorne shakes his head, pointing the other way.

I start to follow him, but as if I’m being pushed by some unseeable force, I find myself turning back to the staircase again. As I take a step toward it, something unexpected happens.

My collar pulses.

A flash of heat radiates against my skin, fading quickly before repeating. I grab the necklace, my fingers frigid compared to its warmth. What’s happening to me?

Something tugs at my arm, startling me. I glance down to find a gloved hand wrapped around my bicep.

“Iverson,” Thorne whispers, his brows furrowed with worry. “Are you alright?”

I pull myself from his grasp, hating how strange I must seem right now.

“We need to go that way.” He nods in the other direction. “ Listen .”

It’s only then I hear the faint voices in the distance. I frown. How did I not notice them before?

Touching my collar again, I find that the stones have cooled. Whatever was happening, it’s over now. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I reluctantly follow him toward the original path. Still, I can’t help myself from glancing back once more. Whatever is up there, something tells me the sword isn’t the only thing Baylor hides down here.