Page 43

Dahlia

The chimera’s body was still steaming when we finally stood again.

I didn’t want to move.

Every part of me hurt—burned, ached, trembled. My shoulder was bleeding steadily, my arm was singed down the side, and my legs barely held me upright. The only thing keeping me from crumpling again was Kieran’s hand on my back.

He was just as bad. His shirt was torn, the wound on his ribs still oozing where bloodfire had licked too close to his own skin.

His jaw was tight with pain, but he said nothing.

Just stood there with his dagger in one hand and his shadows flickering like they didn’t quite know what to do without an enemy.

We didn’t speak for a long time.

Eventually, I turned back to the sword—the one I’d picked up from the bones of warriors long dead. It was chipped now. Bloody. The leather of the grip was nearly worn through.

And I’d never loved a weapon more.

“Think I’ll keep this,” I muttered, my voice barely there.

Kieran raised an eyebrow. “You naming it?”

I blinked at him, then down at the sword.

“Yeah,” I said. “Her name’s Mercy.”

His lips twitched. “That feels... fitting.”

I nodded. My grip tightened on the hilt. “She earned it.”

We stepped out of the blood-soaked cavern together, shoulders brushing. The corridor ahead was narrow, winding—a tunnel of stone with flickers of that unnatural blue light leading the way.

We didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Until the voice came.

Soft at first. Then louder. A purr against the walls.

“You’re tougher than I remember, darling.”

I froze.

Kieran reached for me instantly, his shadows snapping to attention like guard dogs.

“Congratulations,” Calliope cooed. “You didn’t die. I was sure that one would do the trick. It’s so hard to find quality monsters these days, you know?”

Kieran snarled, eyes scanning the shadows. “Show yourself.”

But the voice echoed—disembodied, smug.

“You’re so close now. I can feel you breathing down my neck. Or is that just the locket pulsing again? It does like to sing when it’s near home.”

I stepped closer to Kieran, my fingers brushing his arm. He didn’t look at me, but I could feel the tension vibrating off of him.

“Come find me, Kieran. Dahlia. Let’s end this beautifully.”

Silence again.

No footsteps. No flicker of movement. Just the stone corridor and our ragged breathing.

“She’s watching,” I whispered.

“She’s always watching,” Kieran said. “But she’s afraid. Or she wouldn’t be taunting us.”

We pressed on. Slowly. Every step an act of defiance against the ache in our bones.

The corridor twisted and narrowed, sloped downward, then opened.

Not into another cave.

Not into a chamber of bones.

But into a throne room.

Carved from the stone itself, massive and ancient, with a raised dais at the far end and a black throne made of fused antlers, teeth, and gold-veined obsidian. Banners hung in tatters above us, inked with symbols I didn’t recognize.

The air buzzed with leftover magic. Old. Bitter. Still hungry.

I took one slow step inside.

“We found her court,” I murmured.

We stepped forward cautiously, the echo of our steps lost to the weight of magic in the air. Every torch burned blue. Every stone was watching.

And then—

She was there.

Like a trick of the eye. One blink—empty. The next— Calliope.

She sat on the throne like she’d always belonged there.

Legs crossed.

Bare feet pale against the obsidian platform.

Her dress was black silk and shadow, cut scandalously high and low in equal measure, revealing skin like carved alabaster and curves meant for distraction.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders in rich, dark waves.

And her eyes—those haunting, brilliant eyes—lit up when they landed on us.

At her feet, half-slumped and barely conscious, was Silas .

His shirt was blood-soaked. Wrists bound in glowing sigils. His head lolled forward, but he was breathing. Barely.

My stomach lurched.

Kieran growled beside me, shadows already stirring at his back like a storm gathering.

“Don’t,” I said quietly. But it was too late.

He took one step forward. “You—”

Calliope smiled.

Then waved her hand, lazily, like swatting a fly.

Kieran’s scream was sharp and sudden.

He dropped to his knees, hands clawing at his head, a gasp caught in his throat. His shadows shriveled instantly, retreating like smoke sucked back into a bottle.

“Kieran!” I cried, stumbling to his side.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. His body bowed forward as if the air itself was crushing him.

“Now, now,” Calliope purred, tilting her head. “Is that any way to greet me after all this time? I did clean up for you.”

She gestured to herself with one elegant hand, like this was a dinner party and not the execution chamber she’d carved from the mountain.

“Kieran,” I whispered, grabbing his arm, “look at me.”

His jaw was clenched, eyes wild with pain, but he blinked once.

I turned toward her, rage rising like fire in my throat. “Let him go.”

Calliope’s smile widened—slow, feline, dangerous.

“Oh, I will,” she said, reclining slightly. “Once I’ve said hello. It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”

She looked down at Silas, nudging him with her foot like he was a discarded trophy. “Your brother has been charming company. But I was hoping for something… prettier.”

Her eyes landed on me again.

“I see you brought her. And the locket.” Her voice dropped, velvety and cold. “Let’s begin, shall we?”