Page 52 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Morgana

I peek between the sashes of the carriage window, watching the neat, too-clean streets of Qimorna slip by.

I didn’t get to see much of the actual city the last time I was here, but viewing it now is not like I expected.

I’d worried that being back here would frighten me, but instead it just feels strange, seeing people going about their business, oblivious to the horrors that lie up at the high temple.

I try to catch a glimpse of Leon, Alastor, and Esther riding up ahead with some of the rebels, but they’re too far away. Instead, I sit back, facing Damia and Corrin opposite me. I give the pair of them tense nods as Lafia pores over the map in her lap.

“Yes, I think they’ll definitely take Mariste Avenue. It’s the only route that makes sense.”

My stomach clenches when I look at her focused expression.

She’s so clever and determined—and so young .

I’d not wanted her to come on this mission, but she’d insisted, pointing out that she knows Qimorna better than any of us.

That knowledge was too useful to deny, and she’s been crucial to shaping our evolving plan.

We disembarked Ravesley’s ship a few miles from the city, then rushed to the outskirts on horses supplied by the rebels’ contacts in Godom.

Thanks to Alastor, we were able to pick up the solari escort’s trail.

After he asked some questions at the coach houses on the main road into the city, we learned that an escort and carriage matching the description we were looking for had passed through an hour and a half before.

Then all that was left was for us to hire a carriage of our own and set off for the city.

The fact that we’re here without meeting any trouble is a testament to Caledon’s utter control. Unlike Elmere, there are no gates or guards on his precious holy city. He believes Qimorna doesn’t need them. The Temple keeps its city secure through fear and fear alone.

“What makes you sure they’ll take that road?” Damia asks Lafia. I know it’s not a question of her distrusting Lafia. It’s just that we can’t afford to get this wrong.

“It’s a direct route to the high temple, on a street wide enough to accommodate a carriage and multiple riders,” Lafia says. “Nearly all the streets that size are main avenues. Mariste’s the only one that isn’t so busy. It’s the best option to avoid attracting a lot of attention.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” I say. “How do we get there from here?”

Lafia gives me the directions, and Corrin relays them to the coach driver—the rebel Deedus in disguise. Meanwhile, I concentrate, reaching out to Leon with my mind.

“Leon, we need to take Mariste Avenue. It should be coming up on your left in less than ten minutes.”

“Got it,” he replies.

We sit in silence for a few agonizing moments, waiting for news from the riders up front. I notice Damia and Corrin are sitting as far apart from each other as the carriage allows and wonder what happened to the camaraderie I witnessed between them before.

Then it comes—Leon’s voice calling to me through the mooring.

“We’ve spotted the escort. Esther’s sent Cettar to give word to the others.”

“They’ve found it,” I say out loud.

The tension in the carriage rises a few notches, and Lafia folds up the map. It strikes me as symbolic. The time is done for planning, and now we have to put that plan into motion .

The first step is a diversion.

That’s where everyone else is—Stratton, Harman, and the rebels with explosive powers.

They entered the city at the same time we did.

The Hand let my brother come this time, even if it is right into the belly of the beast. We all know this is the best shot at stopping Caledon gaining more power.

That’s a risk worth laying all our cards on the table.

My brother’s group have gone straight to a Temple neighborhood. Once they get Cettar’s signal, they’ll set off all manner of bangs and fires, encouraging Qimorna’s most powerful clerics to congregate on their attack—meaning backup will be slow to come when we strike at the escort.

If we can get in and out quickly before the clerics get to us, if Hyllus can help the other group wriggle free of their clerics with his hallucinations, then we might just pull this off.

Except…

“We should have heard it by now,” Damia says, twisting in her seat to peer out the window. The carriage continues to travel along the avenue, but there’s no distant boom echoing across the buildings—no sign, in fact, that the peace of the city has been disturbed.

Has something happened to Harman’s group? My mind starts to conjure all kinds of worst-case scenarios, though I tell myself they probably just got held up.

“No signal,” Leon’s voice sounds in my mind.

“I know,” I send back. “Should we keep waiting?”

“If we don’t move soon, we risk getting too close to the city center and losing the carriage. This is the ideal spot, and we won’t be here long.”

If the others are okay, then they may start their distraction any moment, and if they’re not—I try not to dwell on that possibility—then we’re wasting time for nothing

“We’ll just have to go now,” I say.

I sit up taller, swallowing. “Something must’ve delayed them, but we can’t afford to wait.”

“You want to go ahead?” Corrin says .

“Yes, tell Deedus.”

The carriage lurches as the rebel coaxes the horses into a gallop. We round the corner onto Mariste Avenue, soon catching up with Leon and the others.

And there it is ahead of them—a large carriage surrounded by clerics on horseback.

“Now, Corrin,” Damia orders.

The crime lord concentrates, and in just a few moments a swarm of shadows is cascading down the buildings on either side of the street, swirling across the cobblestones and shrouding the carriage in a bubble of darkness.

The few civilians on the street scream and run for cover, while shouts of alarm go up from the epicenter of the darkness.

We launch ourselves from our carriage as the escort grinds to a halt.

Damia grabs an incendi torch from Esther’s outstretched hand as the others lift torches of their own.

I cast a ray of sunlight between my fingers, then together we all charge into the shadows, leaving Corrin standing at the edge of the darkness, his face taut with focus.

Inside the lightless bubble, it’s chaos.

Horses whinny and rear, and clerics curse in confusion.

Some of them are incendi and have enough power to fight some of Corrin’s darkness with light of their own, but once you’re inside Corrin’s artificial night, it’s almost impossible to tell where it ends or how to escape.

It’s enough to have the clerics close ranks around the carriage as they try to work out what’s happened, and that’s when we strike.

The clash of blades and the fizz of magic surrounds me as the rebels fall upon the clerics.

I’m no expert with a blade, so I keep my hands free and my eyes peeled.

No one can be allowed to leave the shadows, or they might attack Corrin.

A cleric to my right half disappears, having found the edge of the shadows, but before he can turn to call to his comrades, I strike him down with a sun beam.

Then I search for Damia and see her ducking and dodging the escort’s defenses, crippling the clerics with laughter as she makes a beeline for the carriage .

There’s sudden heat by my face, and I throw myself to the ground as a flare of flame bursts through the air I was occupying a second ago. My hand goes to my belt when I lock eyes with a cleric, his face contorted with rage as he lifts his hands again.

“Heretic!” he spits.

I fling the knife I’ve pulled from my belt, calling on the fact that I want nothing more than to survive this moment.

My orbital magic buries the blade in the cleric’s neck, and he slumps to the ground.

Gasping with fear, I’m suddenly aware of a hand reaching down toward me.

“Stand up, Ana.”

I grab onto Leon, knowing it’s him without any need to look, and let him pull me to my feet.

He squeezes my hand, then rides back into the fray before we can exchange another word. We don’t need to. We’ll know if the other one is in danger—we’ll feel it. And there’s a battle to be won.

“Fuck!”

I recognize Damia’s voice even over the din of the fight. She’s reached the carriage by now and has flung the door open, but something’s clearly wrong. I push forward. Between the clashing bodies and horses’ feet, I glimpse the face of a terrified child crouching on the floor of the carriage.

Behind him is another, and another.

There’s not one but six children in the carriage. Of course, one wasn’t enough for Caledon. He’s found all the solari he can.

“I need more hands!” Damia screams. She was supposed to grab the solari and run for it, but even with her strength, she’ll only be able to take three children at most.

A cleric charges toward her, and I sear his legs so that he topples to the ground .

“I’m coming!” I shout, my heart thudding with fear for those children. We have to get them out before a stray spell or blade finds them.

But before I can get any closer to the carriage, light floods the street, blazing through the shadows until they disappear like whisps of smoke. I blink at the sudden daylight, my eyes struggling to adjust, and when they do, I see two things that cut like ice through my veins.

Corrin lies on the ground, blood welling from his stomach, and a small army of more than fifty red-uniformed figures surrounds us.