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Chapter Eighteen

I woke suddenly, my blood still rushing from the memory of it all.

I sat up and finger-combed through my hair while a small grin played at the edges of my lips.

Despite the ominous conversation with Caldrius that ended my visit, this might have been my most enjoyable trip to the Underworld yet.

I never could have imagined the world that existed beyond the cold, imposing walls of Hyrax’s castle.

Even now, I doubted anyone would believe me if I tried to tell them about it.

Although, I supposed that simply proved Caldrius’ very point. Hyrax was a villain by all Mortal accounts, so naturally we would expect his realm to be nothing more than a nightmare given form.

And yet, it wasn’t.

For those who had earned eternal happiness, he had created a paradise. The Underworld was a place where everyone could live and work together peacefully, where every soul was accepted and celebrated. Hyrax ensured that while all souls came to the Underworld, not all had to suffer.

The suffering was reserved for the Undone alone. Caldrius had looked... haunted when he described them. And if a man whose legacy was infamous could look that way, what kind of creatures could inspire such a reaction? The thought clawed at the edges of my mind, refusing to let go .

And then there was how we ended things—his warning about Clay.

Caldrius had been certain Clay wouldn’t accept my relationship with him, whatever that relationship even was.

But there was also the insinuation that had lingered under his words.

He wasn’t just warning me that Clay wouldn’t accept my friendship with him; he was warning me that Clay wouldn’t be able to accept me.

But that didn’t make any sense.

Clay already knew my powers were far greater than anyone else realized. He knew I’d survived the power-stripping ritual unscathed. He knew I could kill an entire room with a thought. He knew and accepted all those things without hesitation, without fear.

Clay knew I wasn’t a monster.

I trusted him completely.

A sound jolted me from my thoughts. Footsteps. Slow, measured, deliberate. Purposefully quiet. My hand flew to the dagger stashed under my pillow, and I pulled magic to my fingertips instinctively. Whoever was in the hall didn’t want to be overheard.

Which wasn’t a good sign.

My pulse quickened as I rose silently from my bed, gripping the dagger tightly. Anxiety coiled through me, tightening my muscles and sending my heart racing, but I moved anyway, tiptoeing to the door.

The steps stopped just outside. A latch clicked softly, followed by the faint creak of a door swinging open.

“You’re late,” I heard Clay whisper.