by Bree Despain
“You never saw him?” Lexie asks. “Daphne didn’t say anything?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea what happened to him.”
Lexie presses her fingers to her lips and sits on the couch next to Joe. I know exactly how both of them feel, which means I am in a rational state . . . for the moment.
“We need to make a plan while I’m still thinking clearly,” I say. “Regardless of what’s happening to me, we need to find a way to get Daphne—and Tobin,” I say, nodding to Lexie, “out of the Underrealm.”
“What about Garrick?” Ethan asks.
“I don’t think he’ll want to leave now that he has the crown.”
Ethan crosses his arms. “Yes, but is he a threat?”
“I’m not sure. There was something off about what happened. As if he knew all along that he was going to come out on top . . . like he orchestrated it.” I shake my head, not sure where my brain was going with that.
“Garrick was the one who brought me my water bottle,” Joe says as if suddenly remembering. “It tasted funny. Acrid. And then everything is foggy after that. Do you think he drugged me?”
I nod, starting to understand—though it’s hard to believe—what role Garrick may have played in our plan falling apart. “So he’d be the one I’d send after Daphne when Dax disappeared,” I say. “Alas, how would he know Dax would go missing—unless he somehow orchestrated the call that supposedly came from Abbie, luring him away? With both Dax and Joe out of the way, he had the opportunity he needed to take Daphne into the Underrealm, making himself the default heir.”
“We’re all talking about the same Garrick, right?” Lexie scoffs. “All that kid cared about was perving on cheerleaders and playing Xbox. I doubt he’s some mastermind who could pull off usurping the king on purpose.”
“Unless that’s the way he wanted you see him,” Ethan says. “Most of the world knows me as a drawling truck driver, most of this town thinks I’m a schoolteacher, and up until yesterday, most of the Sky Army thought I was on their side. Maybe the boy only plays the part of the simpleton.”
Simpleton isn’t exactly a word I would use to describe Garrick. However, I understand what he means. I feel anger rolling through me at the idea that Garrick may not be what he seems, but I try to push it away. I need to concentrate on the problem at hand before I lose control again. “Garrick’s involvement is beside the point right now.”
“Garrick is the only point I care about.” Ethan shoves his hand toward the ground, pointing. “A child sits on the throne of the Underrealm now, and I need to know what his intentions are. What will he do if he finds the Key? Will he be able to stop the Court from using it to free the Keres?” He puts his hand on the hilt of his sword. He looks so strange standing in Joe’s modern dining room in his full Skylord armor. “While I feel for you and your lost friends, my mission remains the same. The Keres must be destroyed.”
“Then we should join forces after all,” I say, stepping toward him. “You can’t destroy the Keres without Daphne, if you remember that detail. Her voice is the only thing that will make them solid enough to kill. Which means rescuing her should be the top priority for both of us.” I don’t know how I feel about putting Daphne in harm’s way once again, but I do know that I need all the help I can get to bring her home. “Help me find Daphne, and we’ll help you destroy the Keres once and for all.”
Ethan nods and extends his hand. I clasp it and he gives it a good shake before pulling it away.
“Good,” I say. “Now, if only we knew a way to get back through Persephone’s Gate without it being an equinox . . .”
A quiet pall falls over the group. Joe covers his face with his hands again. Lexie picks at the colored loops that have grown moisture-logged in her bowl, and Ethan shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Apparently, I am not the only one who is at a loss for an idea.
“Wait,” Jonathan says, standing and swinging his nearly empty quiver over his shoulder as if he were ready to run off into battle. “I think I know of someone who might be able to help us.”
We all turn toward him. “Who?” I ask.
“Who would know more about coming and going from the underworld than Persephone herself?”
“Persephone?” The goddess of my realm had walked away centuries ago, after Hades was killed. Most Underlords presumed her to be dead. “You know where she is?”
“Not exactly, but I do remember hearing rumors about a century ago—give or take a couple of decades—that she was taken prisoner by the Skyrealm.” Jonathan gives Ethan an expectant look.
Ethan nods. “I’ve heard those rumors as well, though I’ve never been able to confirm them. I have to admit I always assumed it was part of my grandfather’s propaganda campaign against the Underrealm, but I suppose they could be true. However, if that’s the case, they’ll be holding her in the Black Hole.”
“Black hole?” Lexie asks. “Like a literal black hole? Because that’s a little intense.”
“No, not a literal one, but almost as hard to get to. My grandfather has a secret underground prison where he keeps important political prisoners.”
“How can something in the Skyrealm be underground?” Lexie interrupts.
“Ever heard of Mount Olympus?” Ethan asks.
“Only from your, like, five-thousand-page homework assignments,” Lexie says. “According to Greek mythology, the important gods live on some floating mountain in the sky . . . Oh,” she says, getting it, “the Skyrealm is a floating mountain?”
“Yes. And the Black Hole is a prison inside the mountain. If my grandfather has Persephone, that’s where he’d be holding her. However, the prison is a labyrinth, whose entrance magically moves on a regular basis. The schedule of which is only known to a handful of my grandfather’s personal lieutenants.”
“I gather that you are not one of them,” I say.
“Unfortunately, I lost that privilege after my brief sabbatical in the mortal world before returning to the Skylord army. Besides, I showed my hand when I fought against the Skylords in order to safeguard Persephone’s Gate. I wouldn’t be surprised if my grandfather wants to throw me in the Black Hole now. And I would be even more surprised if there isn’t a bounty on my head.”
I remember now that the thing I had found oh so funny just before being ushered off to another wing of the house had been Jonathan and Ethan’s description of a skirmish between them and Terresa’s troop of Skylords. Ethan had wanted the Key so he could kill the Keres before they could be unleashed on the five realms, but Terresa had been hell-bent on crashing through the gate in order to exterminate every last member of my Underlord race. If it hadn’t been for Jonathan and Ethan’s protection, she may very well have succeeded. Ethan had fought valiantly when Terresa and her army wouldn’t listen to reason, and Jonathan had lasted for as long as he could with his injured shoulder and depleting supply of arrows. All had almost been lost, until a band of Ethan’s own men had arrived and chased the remaining soldiers off. Ethan claimed that the Skylords won’t return now that the gate is closed once more.
The battle had been so fierce, with lightning starting fires, that Ethan had brought down a torrent of rain to put them out. To the residents of Olympus Hills, it had looked like the wrath of the heavens had opened up on them. The mayor, most likely knowing that wrath was really the Skylords, issued an immediate, mandatory evacuation.
Which is why the town had seemed abandoned when I returned—and the idea that I had practically thrown myself in front of a moving car because I’d thought everyone I knew had been destroyed, when really they were hanging out in the next town over, had sent me into hysterical laughter last night. It is hardly funny now.
Ethan clears his throat as if he senses my attention has wandered. “However, we do know someone who can lead us to the prison.” He points his finger upward. I don’t know if he means to indicate the upper floor of the house or the Skyrealm.
“Who?” I ask, following his gesture to the
ceiling.
“Terresa,” Ethan says. “She became one of my grandfather’s lieutenants while I was on my sabbatical. If there’s anyone we can get close to who can tell us the location of the Black Hole, it’s her. Terresa can take us to Persephone.”
“Terresa?” I stare at him, trying not to let my poisoned brain dwell on the fact that the only person who can help us find Persephone is a power-hungry Skylord who would sooner kill me and my entire race than offer any semblance of assistance.
Hades, help us. We’re doomed.
chapter eight
daphne
By morning I’ve come up with what I think is a reasonable escape plan—and one that should take care of two problems at once. I need a distraction, and the fact that Garrick is playing host to a Keres needs to be revealed to the Court. Which means I need to provoke the Keres that is attached to Garrick. I can’t risk doing it here in the palace, where I will be powerless to fight it, so my plan is to force it into revealing itself once the search party is far enough away from the palace that my powers will return. My plan is to use my vocal powers to cause it to take solid form, and while the guards fight it off and Garrick is freaking out from having his secret exposed, I will make a break for it and head for the caves that are just beyond the pomegranate orchards that the Lesser boy told me about.
I am so sure of my plan that I do not mind that Garrick has sent four guards at first light to escort me to the stables. I take in my surroundings, appreciating the beauty of the palace for the first time. The walls and floors are smooth, cream-colored marble—alabaster, I think it’s called. The walls are adorned with tapestries and relief carvings, all seeming to depict different stories from the Underrealm’s history.
I recognize one that tells the story of Persephone accepting Hades’s pomegranate and choosing to trade being the goddess of springtime for becoming the queen of the underworld. Another tapestry tells the story of when Hades tried to create a child for barren Persephone and created the Keres by accident. The woven design shows Hades locking the monsters away in the Pits. The tapestry next to it shows Hades’s second attempt at creating children—the twins, Life and Death. It depicts the god and goddess’s great joy—and then despair when the two children were stolen away by Zeus, who tried to claim them as his own.
The golden doors that lead out to the stable show Hades sending his Keres to steal the children back—and the ensuing battle between the Skylords and Underlords that followed for centuries afterwards.
I wonder if there is another carving or tapestry somewhere else that shows when Orpheus stole Hades’s Kronolithe, and then Hades’s subsequent death at his godly brother’s hands. Haden told me how Zeus had Hades torn into pieces and his body scattered across the five realms so that he would find no honor after his death—so I decide perhaps I don’t want to see that story depicted anywhere. Because, you know, gross mental images and all.
I wait with my guards in the stables for Garrick and the Court to arrive. I am shaking with anticipation, revving up to enact my escape plan, when Garrick arrives.
“My queen,” he says, taking my hand as if I had offered it to him. He lifts it to his mouth and plants a kiss on my knuckles. It takes all my willpower to smile instead of yank my hand away in revulsion. I need to play the part of the willful queen for another hour or so. “You look as beautiful as I had imagined you would,” he says, indicating the white dress, gold cloak, and crown I allowed a couple of the women from the Court’s harem to dress me in. “I am very pleased.”
That’s when I catch it. The use of “my” and “I” rather than “our” and “we.”
I squint as Garrick moves past me. The lighting here is dim but I watch for the telltale signs of shadows following him. My heart sinks into my stomach when I realize that today Garrick has only one.
The Keres I had been hoping to use as my distraction is gone.
The search party travels by chariot. The one I share with Garrick is obsidian black, adorned by gold trim. It’s pulled by two sleek black stallions the size of Clydesdales. Two chariots are in front of us on the narrow path and two are behind us. I gather from the passengers’ clothing that each chariot contains a member of the Court as well as a member of the King’s guard for their protection. I am glad that Garrick and I don’t have a guard in our chariot, because it will make escaping easier when an opportune moment comes, but it also makes me uneasy as we approach the Wastelands.
I wish now that I had claimed the Key was on the protected Elysium shore rather than in the place where the shades of the dead wander freely, looking for their next meal, but it’s too late to change the location from where I’d previously indicated on the map. I have to admit that when Garrick had announced I wasn’t permitted on the first search party outing and demanded I show him on a map instead, I had chosen deep in the Wastelands in hopes that perhaps Garrick wouldn’t come back.
When the chariots enter the pomegranate orchards, I am taken aback by not only the beauty of the rows and rows of spindling trees dripping with red glistening fruit, but also the smell. It’s so fragrant and floral, it reminds me of my mother’s greenhouse behind her shop. Tears flood my eyes as I once again wonder what happened to her after the play. She must have been so confused. Panicked. As far as she knew, we were all going to go out for ice cream. If the Skylords did indeed attack, then what happened to her? Jonathan had promised to get her safely out of town, but who knows if he ever made it to her after being injured?
I wipe the tears away, telling myself I need to focus on the task at hand. As we pass from the pomegranate orchards into what I assume, from studying Garrick’s map, are the lands that separate the edge of the royal grounds from the desolate wastelands beyond, I test my vocal powers once more. I try to hum a few notes, but no sound comes out. I’ve been testing my powers every few yards as we travel farther from the palace, but so far I’ve had no luck.
I had entered the royal grounds through a different way last time, through the Adamantine Gate that separated the grounds from Elysium. And now that I think about it, I hadn’t tried to use my powers after passing through the gate until I was in the throne room. I had hoped it was just the palace that was warded against my powers, but my experiments were proving that it was the entire royal grounds. I can only hope that, once we cross into the Wastelands, they will return.
I can see the Wastelands on the horizon now, where the beautiful greenery of the orchards and the royal grounds fades away into a desolate landscape fitting of its name. Before me are rock formations, plateaus, and rocky cliffs made of pale gray earth. It reminds me of my home in southern Utah, but without the beautiful red earth and rocks. Without color the land looks ghostly and foreign, like the terrain of some inhospitable planet.
I search the surface of the cliffs in the distance, hoping to spot an entrance to the caves the boy had told me about. I start to think perhaps he was just toying with me, until I catch a glimpse of a dark hole tucked behind a high, rocky outcropping. I try humming again and gasp when a small, weak, vibration sounds in my throat.
“Are you all right?” Garrick asks.
I nod and give him a sheepish grin. “Just nervous about the Shades, you know. They’re kinda freaky.”
Although “kinda freaky” feels like an understatement. Other than the Keres in its solid form, I’ve never seen anything quite as terrifying as the Shades—the souls of the dead who terrorize the Wastelands of the Underrealm, constantly searching for their next meal. They are humanoid in shape but devoid of any defining characteristics. No hair, no eyes, no ears, no noses, their only facial feature being a large gaping mouth, and no way to tell if they’re male or female. Their skin is gray, almost the same color as the Wastelands, and leathery, with elongated limbs and fingers, as if they’ve been pulled and stretched somehow.
“Don’t worry,” Garrick says, straightening the crown on his head. “We’ll be taking a boat once we get to the river. We’ll be unreachable then.”
The river
. I should have realized we would take a boat to avoid the Shades. I bite my lip, knowing that escaping will be nearly impossible once we are on the river, and the odds of surviving on my own will dwindle the deeper we go into the Wastelands. What was it that Garrick had said last time we were here?
On foot . . . you’d never make it. You’d get torn to pieces by the Shades and eaten for breakfast.
I peer into the cliffs, noting the location of the cave entrance, trying to burn it into my mind. I need to escape before we reach the river, and then double back this way. That cave might be my only chance to stay hidden.
A faint noise in the distance catches my attention. I listen closely and realize it’s the whisper of dewdrops on the small grasses that speckle the dusty earth of the borderlands. I can hear them singing. I hadn’t been able to hear anything like that since entering the palace grounds. The sound is so welcome I almost start to cry again. The silence of the last few days has been one of the most unbearable things about my captivity. Now that I can hear the dew singing, I know my powers are returning.
I listen to the faint little song of the dewdrops and concentrate on humming it back to them. Come to me, I think, calling to some droplets that speckle a ghostly grayish flower growing on the edge of the path just ahead. Nothing happens. I hum a little louder, stretching my fingers toward the flower as we pass it. I watch the dewdrops quiver, but they don’t follow my command. I’m not strong enough yet—my powers must be like a dead cell phone that needs to recharge before it is useful.
“What are you doing?” Garrick asks.
I drop my hand, and clutch the edge of the chariot as if I need to steady myself. “Sorry, I hum when I’m nervous.”
“Well, stop,” he growls with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes. “It’s irritating.”
I turn my head to the side so I can roll my eyes without him seeing. Without the Keres for distraction, I am going to need to improvise my escape plan, and once I am strong enough, I imagine I am going to become far more than irritating.
