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Chapter Twenty One

I knew immediately that someone had moved me.

The air around me was damp and stale, heavy with the scent of stone and earth.

As I slowly blinked my eyes open, the dim lighting stung as my vision struggled to adjust. Slowly, the shapes around me came into focus—a dirty stone wall, a rough dirt floor.

I slumped against the wall, my body leaden and unresponsive.

Whatever drug they had injected into me still coursed through my veins, leaving me entirely paralyzed.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even scream.

All I could do was stare down at my body, at the shackles clamped tightly around my wrists and ankles.

Panic rose like a tide, threatening to consume me.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after I’d been so diligent in being the person they wanted me to be. I’d done everything anyone had asked of me. And yet, here I was, locked away, just as I had been on that very first day in Athenia.

Memories clawed their way to the surface: burns on my arms, explosions shattering the world around me, shadows ripping my skin apart. They assaulted me, each one sharper than the last, until a strangled gasp finally escaped from deep in my throat, the first sound I’d managed since waking .

I wanted to scream, to cry, to force the panic back down, but my body betrayed me.

Then a voice cut through the chaos.

“Thea, breathe!”

Clay.

The sound shocked me out of my spiraling terror. My eyes darted across the cell, and there he was, slumped on the ground opposite me. His face was hollow, his breathing labored, and his body lay at an awkward angle, as if he’d tried to move toward me but hadn’t been able to make it far.

“You’re going to be okay,” he promised, his voice strained but steady. “I swear, but I need you to stay calm for me.”

I didn’t care about my own well-being, though. Not anymore. All my fear, all the memories, faded the moment I saw the newly purple bruise across his jaw.

But my mouth wouldn’t cooperate enough to tell him that.

I sat there, trapped in a body that felt like it wasn’t my own, focusing all my effort on forcing my quivering lips to form words. My head throbbed with the effort.

Finally, I managed to whisper, “What in all of creation is happening?”

Clay’s expression softened, relief flickering across his face. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay!” The words tumbled out in a rush, each one a little less of a struggle.

“One minute I was trying pastries, and the next I’m being stabbed with some mysterious drug—for the second time in my life, I might add—and I couldn’t do anything to stop it!

What’s the point of having so much power if I can’t—”

“Theadora!”

His sharp bark cut through my ramble, urgent and intense. My breath hitched as his eyes locked on mine, scanning me desperately. Veins pulsed in his neck as he strained to lift his head higher, inching closer despite the chains binding him.

“I need to know you’re not injured,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

“I’m fine, Clay,” I said, my tone softening. “I’m unharmed. Just angry.”

A dry chuckle escaped him as he let his head fall back to the ground. “You’re not the only one.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“I was with Damon, playing cards, when the guards rushed in shouting something about the Zion Archives being raided. Before I knew it, the syringe was in my neck.” His jaw tightened, and he exhaled shakily.

“I put up as much of a fight as I could because I knew if they were coming for me, they’d already gotten to you.

But whatever it is that they used... it’s not Mortal blood.

I’d wager it’s magically engineered—something mixed with Mortal blood. ”

His explanation faded into the background as those first words hit me like a hammer.

The Zion Archives had been raided.

“Clay,” I said slowly, the pieces of the puzzle already falling into place, “who would do that? Who would raid the Zion Archives?”

His brows knit together as he frowned. “I don’t know. Magical dealers, maybe? Looking for wares to sell. Usually, they don’t go anywhere near official archives of the High Houses. Especially not House Zion. We don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

Of course not. To raid the Zion Archives would mean taking an enormous risk—one no one would dare without a powerful reason.

Unless, of course, someone promised protection to whoever conducted the raid. And if the person offering that protection was powerful enough to ensure their safety, that might make it worth the risk.

But what was inside the Archives ?

“Clay,” I said, my voice low and purposefully quiet. “Where is the Sword of Zion?”

His frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

Zion’s Sword was his God-forged weapon, like Hyrax’s Bident. His power was stregthened when he wielded it.

“Does Zion have it? In the Upperworld?”

Silence stretched between us. His gaze darkened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was cautious. “I’m not supposed to say, Thea. House Zion has never revealed the location of the sword since the Veil went up.”

He didn’t need to say anything else.

His hesitation told me everything I needed to know.

The Sword of Zion was here, in this realm. And whoever had raided the archives hadn’t done so at random. They were looking for it.

And I had a pretty good guess why.

A bubble of laughter rose in my chest, bitter and mirthless. The laughter turned into a groan as I let my head fall back against the wall, the implications crashing over me like a tidal wave.

My secrets had finally caught up with me.

Who would want Zion’s weapon? A weapon only usable by Zion himself—or perhaps by another God of similar power?

Perhaps his twin brother.

I looked at Clay, feeling sensation slowly return to my fingertips as my magic stirred weakly in my veins. I couldn’t avoid this confession any longer.

“I have to tell you something,” I said, my voice shaking with the weight of what I was about to say.

T he words came easily. Once the first one escaped my lips, the rest tumbled out in a flood—an endless, unrelenting waterfall of tragedy and secrets that I had locked away for far too long.

I told Clay about the night I first arrived in the Underworld, about the eerie stillness of that awful lake and the chilling welcome from Hyrax’s hound.

Then, I told him about meeting Hyrax for the first time, and then about every meeting afterward.

I described the way Hyrax spoke, the calculated grace of his mannerisms, the subtle power behind his words.

Through it all, Clay sat quietly, his golden eyes fixed on me as he slowly regained enough strength to prop himself against the stone wall.

His face remained unreadable, save for a flicker of emotion when I admitted to going to see Camilla while he had been in the infirmary.

By the time I recounted the prophecy, however, that fleeting expression had disappeared, his features once again impassive.

In that dimly lit prison cell, our bodies still weighed down and immovable, I told Clay everything. Every detail that had been buried deep within me spilled into the stale, dusty air. And when I finally purged the last of it from my system, I met his steady gaze.

“You think Hyrax is behind this somehow?” he asked after a pause.

“He’s trapped in the Underworld,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know how he could be, but this all feels a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

I wasn’t sure I believed in coincidences anymore—especially not ones involving my godly ancestor.

Clay was silent for a moment, his gaze distant as he worked through my words. “Do you know what he would want the sword for?”

Caldrius’ past had made it clear that no one but Hyrax could wield his Bident safely. But perhaps that restriction applied only to those with Mortal blood. Maybe the Gods weren’t bound by the same limitations.

“Maybe he’s able to use its magic somehow?” I suggested .

“Why wouldn’t he just go after his Bident?” Clay countered, frowning. “That’s in the Mortal Realm too.”

The question stuck in my mind, its implications unraveling. The Bident was Hyrax’s chosen weapon, the ultimate symbol of his power, and it was currently sitting unguarded at Hyrax Manor. Why wouldn’t he seek it out first? Why would he want his brother’s sword instead?

I shook my head softly, unease coiling in my chest. Maybe I was reading too much into this. Maybe Hyrax had nothing to do with any of it.

Then again, there was an easy way for me to find out.

I could always just ask him directly.

“When exactly were you planning to tell me about all of this?” Clay’s voice cut through my thoughts like a blade.

The air in the room shifted. While I had gotten lost in my own theories, my confession had settled between us. Clay had taken it all in, processed it, and come to terms with how he felt. And from the fire in his eyes, I could tell exactly what that feeling was.

He was furious.

I flinched instinctively, but the words that escaped my lips were bitter and defensive. “Icouldn’ttell you.”

Clay rolled his eyes, a low snarl escaping him. “You not onlycouldhave told me, you should have. All this time, I knew it—I knew you were keeping something from me.”

A dark chuckle rose in my throat before I could stop it. How dare he. How dare Clay , of all people, accuse me of withholding secrets?

“What exactly is funny, Miss Moore?”

“Frankly, you are, Mr. Vail,” I snapped. “As if you have any right to criticize me for keeping things from you.”

He scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “How long are you going to punish me for not telling you about Elaina? I’ve already told you she means nothing to me. ”

I stiffened, surprised. “I was actually referencing your secret little plans with Prince Damon,” I shot back, my voice dripping with venom. “But thanks for reminding me it’s actuallytwiceyou’ve left me in the dark.”

“And both were for your best interest!” he countered, his tone rising.

“That’s not for you to decide, Clay! You should have trusted me.”

“Just like you should have trusted me enough to tell me about the Underworld! Damn it, I could have helped you, Thea. You didn’t have to carry this burden alone.”

“It isn’t your burden.”

“That isn’t the point,” he growled. “I have spent every day for months knowing that the person I care about most is hiding something from me. I watched you wither away. Watched you spend days without sleeping. Walked the palace halls looking for you, only to learn you’d been at Hyrax Manor for over a week.

You fought an invisible battle by choice. I fought one you forced upon me.”

My mouth snapped shut, the audible click of my teeth echoing in the cell.

Damn him.

He was right.

We sat there in silence, both of us breathing heavily, until the tension in the air grew too thick to ignore. But this tension wasn’t just born of anger. It was something deeper, something far more complicated.

Clay broke the silence first, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Thea, what you’re saying... you’re suggesting that you have the ability to travel across the Veil.”

I stared at him, studying every detail of his face. The way his blonde hair fell messily over his brow, the tight line of his jaw, the flicker of something behind his golden eyes. I memorized it all because I knew this might be the last time I saw him as my friend.

I think we both knew the significance of what I was suggesting .

Clay studied me, his brow pinched as his mind turned with thoughts he wasn’t willing to say aloud.

“I didn’t tell you because I was afraid.” I finally admitted, the words ripping out of me like shrapnel. “Terrified that you’d look at me like some kind of monster. Like I was just another pawn in Hyrax’s game, because yes, I do understand what I’m suggesting.”

His golden eyes softened, but the tension in his jaw didn’t fade. “Thea, I could never—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “This isn’t just about you, though. You may be the most powerful person in this realm, but if my father finds out about that prophecy, if anyone else finds out—”

“I know the risk,” I whispered. “Do you think I haven’t lived with it every day?”

A tense silence settled between us, heavy and suffocating. Clay’s eyes flicked to the cell door, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard something.

“Do you hear that?” he murmured.

I strained to listen, but the pounding of my heart drowned out everything else. Then the sound of heavy boots echoed in the hallway, and my breath hitched. Torchlight flickered, and the faces of several Tennebrisian guards appeared beyond the bars.

Ashburn stood at the front, his face downcast, his shoulders tight with tension. He wore the same armor he had donned to welcome us into his country, but now it carried the weight of betrayal.

“The paralyzation should wear off soon,” he said, his tone formal but edged with unease.

Clay’s glare was sharp enough to wither stone. “Do you understand that drugging and imprisoning the Crown Prince of Athenia is an act of war?”

Ashburn flinched, his bravado slipping for just a moment. He bowed his head respectfully, but his voice wavered as he said, “We were attacked, Your Grace. Actions needed to be taken to ensure the kingdom was safe from enemies. ”

“And we are your allies,” Clay growled.

Ashburn only nodded solemnly. “We hope you understand the need for precautions.”

“Now what?” I rasped, my throat dry and raw.

“The monarchs wish to discuss the attack with you both. My men will help you to the throne room.”

The thought of being carried, limp and helpless, through the palace hallways made my stomach churn. I could probably float myself with magic, but one look at Clay told me he already knew what I was considering—and disapproved.

He was probably right.

Terrifying the Tennebrisians any more than we already had wasn’t the best idea.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered as the guards approached us. “You and I are going to have a very long conversation about trust when we get out of this.”

“If we get out of this,” I muttered, my voice tired.