Page 69 of The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire #1)

Zane’s heart thudded against his aching ribs as he groped blindly through the near-darkness.

Slivers of dreary light shone through slits in the stone walls.

He latched onto the weak rays like lifelines, taking slow, shuffling steps past them before speeding through the next stretch of darkness.

He’d never feared the dark before, but Mordir now lurked in the inky shadows, waiting to claim him for death.

A splinter of light glowed on the jagged floor. Zane slowed his steps.

Then a pulser cracked across his back, and he gasped. The impact burned through the mottled bruises spanning his spine.

“Keep moving!”

Gritting his teeth, Zane stumbled into the shadows.

Cobwebs clung to the iron rafters overhead, and dust swirled under his feet.

One of the stocky Feds elbowed his way past to a pair of rusting iron doors, bolted by a piece of rebar.

He yanked on the metal rod. With a screech, it skittered out of the latch, and the doors groaned open.

The yawning hinges vibrated through the stone floor and up Zane’s legs.

Eerie lights shone in the next chamber, casting the stone walls in minty hues. A muffled drip-drip-drip pattered in the room. Muted cheers rang beyond the walls as Zane shuffled through the gaping doors.

Then he froze, his left foot hovering mid-step.

Zane’s mouth fell open. His legs trembled, threatening to collapse. The awful odor of blood and shit twisted up his nose as he gaped at the mutilated corpse staked to the wall.

Depthless black gouges stared at him where panicked hazel eyes had been hours ago.

Zane’s stomach heaved. Clamping his lips together, he swallowed a scorching wave of bile.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

A ghastly rictus split Grant’s face in half; long gashes bisected his jaw, lengthening his purple lips.

Smears of blood coated his white, exsanguinated face.

“Consider it a token of the Prime Minister’s appreciation,” a legionnaire drawled. “The Duchissa ordered us to return him to Titan when she found him searching the dungeons, but we thought this would be a more fitting farewell, don’t you think?”

Zane locked his wobbling knees, willing them not to give out. Dried blood streaked from Grant’s busted nose, spanning down his lips, his chin, his bloodied chest. Viscera seeped out of a gash in his gut.

Zane lurched forward, spewing bile at his feet.

Grant was supposed to find Mylis and tell Mira where he was, but if they’d found him…

Panting, Zane swiped his sweat-soaked palm across his mouth. Surely, if they’d found Mira, they would’ve used her as the warning instead of Mylis’s father. She couldn’t have been taken—yet.

“We thought we’d give you a taste of what you have to look forward to, when you lose this duel. Carik might make an example of your princess, too?—”

As blinding rage crashed over him, Zane shut their voices out.

He tunneled deep into his memories, crash-landing on the bench of that cell with Kalie’s lips pressed to his.

Ensconced in the halo of her warmth, he let them shove him past Grant’s leaking corpse.

He took a shuddering breath and inhaled the aroma of Kalie’s hair; they jostled him down a stone hallway, and he sank into the warmth of her gentle touch.

She was light and joy, and that stolen moment glowed bright enough to scatter the darkness.

Ancient carvings ringed an archway above a pair of iron doors. The legionnaires shoved the doors open, and Zane burst through, onto a stone platform lit by the lights of circling camera drones. An icy breeze slammed into him.

It was a mirror to the platform where Iliana had sabotaged Kalie’s coronation.

Thunderous cheers boomed through the mountain range, shaking the platform under his feet and jolting through his bones. Zane spun around.

Vine-covered granite walls jutted out from a rocky cliff behind him, climbing to a colossal golden balcony that half-shadowed the platform.

A crush of bodies squeezed onto the ledge, jostling to get closer.

Iliana and Selene were surrounded by Ryker’s rebel Dalians and Nadar’s Aquisians.

Legionnaires were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, with assault rifles crossing their chests. Between them stood Kalie.

That was the worst part—the claimants were held in the custody of the others’ guards. Kalie was at the mercy of the legionnaires.

Gripping the railing like her life depended on it, she leaned over the edge. Zane tried to flash a reassuring smile, but the weight on his shoulders was too heavy. If he failed, she could end up just like Landon Grant.

Scuffling footsteps jolted his attention to a gray-haired man in an azure tunic. His face was identical to Ryker’s. His father, maybe. The man bowed and presented a gleaming sword. Words circled him— legacy, honored, use it .

Zane was half-aware of offering his thanks as he took the leather grip. It was far heavier than the blade he’d used sparring with Theron. As he twirled it through the air, his arm trembled.

Maybe, by accepting the sword, he’d just signed Ryker’s father’s death warrant, too.

Counting his steps, Zane trudged to the edge, where stone fused with a translucent crystal bridge. Twenty-two paces across the platform, then it dropped into a rocky cliff.

He shivered.

About fifty feet below, waterfalls cascaded down the jagged rocks, crashing into an inky lake at the base of the mountains. The foamy mist wafting off the gurgling falls froze into ice crystals, carried through the night sky by violent gusts of wind.

Another chorus of cheers rang out.

Zane turned, and the sword nearly slid from his clammy hands.

Hewlett’s nephew wasn’t physically intimidating. Late-twenties, athletic, average height. But the utter lack of emotion on his face made Zane shrink back.

“Legends will remember today as the dawn of a new era.”

The Speaker’s many rasping voices boomed through the mountain range.

Up on Kalie’s balcony, the crush of bodies had parted like a tide, allowing the limping crone to take center stage before a massive throne.

On the balconies above, wide-eyed nobles turned to each other and pointed, their mouths hanging open.

“Princessa Kalista Hannover has invoked Fallé di Azura and launched a challenge for the throne against Duchissa Iliana Lexington. Only the goddess knows their motives. Only the goddess can determine their fate.”

If his stomach hadn’t been twisting into knots, Zane might’ve laughed. No goddess was determining his fate. He only had himself to rely on.

A blur of black and burgundy barreled through Kalie’s troops, slamming to a halt next to Selene. Mira’s chest heaved and fell as she bent over the railing.

Zane let out a choked breath of relief. She was alive.

Sweat shone on Mira’s flushed face. As she glanced at the Speaker, she edged away.

The Speaker continued. “Fallé di Azura is an ancient rite, existing since the days after Queen Azura’s murder, when Calla challenged her uncle Zagan for the throne.

When Calla emerged victorious and became the first duchissa, she won the right of succession not only for herself, but for all female descendants of her bloodline.

With her victory, the gods—Zagan’s brothers and sisters—sacrificed their mortal shells to banish the devil beyond Azura’s Arch, where our Queen vanquished him to the depths of hell.

Then, the gods dueled with blades of light and shadow.

Now, we mortals carry on the tradition with blades of fire and steel. ”

Resting her wooden staff against the railing, the Speaker spread her arms wide, as if summoning power from the skies.

“We call on the goddess’s judgment!” she cried, thrusting her arms into the air. A violet glow rose off her robes. “We call on the goddess to test their faith!”

Zane pressed his lips together. So theatrical. The violet lights turned off, the Speaker’s body crumpled, and she sagged against her staff. Kalie tried to shift towards her, but the legionnaires surrounding her held her back.

His jaw clenched, and as he met Mira’s eyes, he jerked his head towards Kalie.

Mira nodded.

She would take care of Kalie, if it came to that. Which it would.

The Speaker’s hoarse voices boomed: “Champions, please shake hands.”

Zane trudged towards Hewlett’s nephew. His swollen hand was numbed with okul salve, but there was no way it could take the weight of the sword, so he offered it to Hewlett instead.

His pale hand clenched around Zane’s, crushing the snapped bones.

Zane breathed deeply to fight the pain, and finally they separated, pacing to their respective sides of the platform.

“Noble warriors, we wish you strength in faith and deed. Whatever happens now is in the goddess’s hands. May Azura bless you.”

Zane swallowed rapidly. The way she said it sounded so final. The end. His grip on the sword was clammy, but he couldn’t shift it to his other hand to wipe the sweat away. He dropped into guard, raising his eyes for one last look at Kalie.

Her lips moved, forming words he couldn’t hear.

Someone shouted.

A blade hummed as it whipped through the air .

Zane threw himself out of the way, whirled around, and held his sword aloft, gasping for air. Stupid. He couldn’t afford distractions.

They circled each other. Hewlett jabbed his blade at Zane.

He batted it aside, spinning and parrying as Hewlett struck again.

Their swords danced between them in a furious exchange of blows.

Sweat trickled down Zane’s forehead. His bones ached and his wounds burned.

Clenching his teeth, he took up a defensive stance.

He had to do this. For Kalie.

Hewlett slashed. Too slow. The blade ripped a gash in Zane’s left arm, leaving a stinging trail. He grunted. Blood dripped down his skin.