As the Shadow Rises: Book Two of The Age of Darkness

by Katy Rose Pool

  HASSAN

  HASSAN STORMED INSIDE THE GREAT LIBRARY, HEART THUNDERING WITH rage.

  “Where is Arash?” he demanded.

  Khepri met his gaze from across the room and started toward him. “Hassan—”

  “Where is he?”

  Khepri lowered her eyes. “He’s . . . in the mess. With the others. Are you—”

  “I’m fine,” he said curtly. “But those people at the parade aren’t.”

  He stalked across the room, the other rebels openly staring at him, and marched down the hall. He could hear voices from the mess, and then the sound of soft laughter. His blood seared with anger as he quickened his step.

  He slammed open the door to the mess, scanning the rebels gathered. Arash stood just a few paces in front of him, glancing coolly at Hassan.

  “Prince Hassan,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  He didn’t sound glad at all.

  “What in the Six Cities was that out there?” Hassan demanded, not even trying to make his tone calm. “That wasn’t the plan.”

  “It was, actually,” Arash said mildly. “Little speeches are nice and all, but the Scarab’s Wing is more interested in action than talk.”

  “Innocent people got hurt,” Hassan said, blazing with anger. “That is unacceptable.”

  “They aren’t innocent,” Arash replied. “They were there celebrating the coronation of a usurper. A false queen. Your aunt.”

  “That doesn’t mean they deserve to be used like this!”

  “They should have been rioting,” Arash hissed. “They should be storming the gates of the palace and demanding the death of the Usurper but they’re not. And they never will—you know why? Because they don’t care about us. They don’t care about the Graced.”

  “And why should they, after that?” Hassan demanded. “You just showed them exactly how dangerous you are.”

  “Good,” Arash said. “I told you, we aren’t playing nice or fair. Some of us can’t afford civility.”

  “You’ll turn this whole city against us,” Hassan said. “You’re doing the Witnesses’ job for them.”

  “You’re naive. I am doing what needs to be done. What you refuse to do.”

  “This isn’t what I signed up for when we joined you,” Hassan bit out.

  “Then by all means, leave. The door is that way,” Arash said, lifting his chin imperiously.

  Hassan’s nails dug into his palm. “I’m not going to let you tear this city apart.”

  “The Witnesses tore apart this city, not us,” Arash replied. “If you can’t see that then I question whose side you’re really on.”

  Hassan felt like he’d been struck. “The Witnesses took everything from me. My father is dead because of them!”

  “And if he were here right now, I bet he’d be ashamed of his coward son—”

  Hassan didn’t think before he raised his fist and struck him. Arash stumbled back, hands flying to his face.

  Hassan swallowed, instantly regretting his actions. He reached for Arash, his lips formed around an apology. And then Arash’s gaze hardened and he lunged at Hassan. A blow to his stomach had Hassan crumpling to the ground unable to do anything to stop the fist headed toward his face.

  Before it struck, Khepri appeared in front of him, her arm up to block Arash’s fist.

  “Khepri,” Hassan breathed, relief coursing through him.

  She turned to face him. “Hassan,” she said. “I think . . . I think it might be a good idea for you to go.”

  “What?” Hassan asked, dumbstruck.

  “You clearly can’t work with Arash, and I don’t think that continuing to be here is—”

  “You’re siding with him?” Hassan asked. He couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth, couldn’t look at the pained expression on her face. “After what he did?”

  She looked away. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Did you know? Did you know what he was really planning to do?”

  She didn’t meet his gaze.

  “Did you know, Khepri?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice feeble.

  Hassan couldn’t speak. He’d thought that Khepri would always be at his side. That she would always choose him.

  He’d thought wrong.

  “Fine,” he said, straightening. “I’ll leave. I want no part of this rebellion. I’m done.”

  He spun on his heel and limped from the room, Khepri’s silence deafening in his ears. She didn’t follow him.

  When Hassan arrived back at their room, someone else was waiting for him. Zareen.

  “That was your work,” he said hollowly.

  She leaned beside his door, arms crossed over her chest. “Yes, it was.”

  “Did you know what they were going to do?” he asked.

  She gave him a look, as if to say that neither of them were stupid enough to believe otherwise.

  Hassan unlocked the door and went inside. Zareen followed him.

  “For the record,” she said, “the riot wasn’t supposed to start until after you spoke.”

  “You’re fine with that?” he asked. “You’re fine with the way Arash does things?”

  “More than fine with it,” Zareen replied, her eyes blazing. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s not just about the Witnesses. This whole city has stood aside while they impose their ridiculous beliefs on us. Our so-called countrymen did nothing. The girl I—” She took a breath.

  “The girl I loved was caught by the Witnesses, just after the coup. They tied her up in the middle of a square and beat her. They said it was punishment for her use of Grace, that she deserved it for . . . for doing nothing but healing people. And the people in that square, they just watched it happen. The people she had risked her life to heal, the people who would have been dead without her, they just . . . watched.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hassan said, feeling sick. “I didn’t know.”

  Tears had formed in Zareen’s eyes. She wiped them furiously. “So, yeah. I don’t care about the people at that parade. I don’t care if they got hurt because of me. I want them to hurt. I want to burn this whole city down.”

  Hassan didn’t know what to say, so he focused on packing his things. When he was finished, he went to the door where Zareen stood watching him, and paused.

  “What happened to her?” he asked. “The girl you loved?”

  Zareen looked away. “After they beat her, the Witnesses took her. They experimented on her. She came back to me covered in white scars, like her skin had shattered and been put back together. She wasn’t the same. Her Grace was gone and so was her will to live. She just . . . wasted away. I couldn’t do anything. One day I came home and found her lying on her bed. Not breathing. Her lips were stained silver. She’d gone into my workshop and drunk a bottle of mercury.”

  Hassan closed his eyes, gripping the doorframe so tight he thought it would splinter. “I can’t imagine what that was like. And I understand why you can’t forgive the people who stood by and let it happen. I can’t, either. But hurting them won’t bring her back. This is my city, and every single person in it is my responsibility. Including them. Including you. I want to bring them to justice, but I can’t do it like this.”

  “Justice?” Zareen asked. “Does such a thing exist? I’ve never seen it.”

  “I don’t know,” Hassan said. “But if we’re not trying for that, then what’s the point of all this? What comes after rage, Zareen?”

  She looked up at him, her lips twisting. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll let you know when I find out.”

  He nodded at her and then left the room, following the corridor to the passage that led out of the Library. Half of him wanted to find Khepri waiting there for him, to take back her words and beg him to stay. But the other part of him knew she was right—he couldn’t be part of this anymore.

  It gutted him that Khepri would stay, with or without him. It tore him up that she had
trusted Arash, lied to Hassan, and been part of something so unforgivable. But then, she’d never shied away from lying, from doing the unconscionable in order to achieve her goals. Maybe he was a fool for being so surprised.

  He arrived at the passage and turned to take one last look at everything—the gleaming armillary spheres, people going about their business oblivious to his departure—and then climbed into the dark passage alone.

  29

  EPHYRA

  EPHYRA AND ILLYA JOURNEYED DEEPER INTO THE TOMB. THE DARKNESS WAS so complete, Ephyra felt like she was floating in a void. A whisper hissed past her ear and she whirled around to find its source. But there was only Illya beside her.

  Another whisper curled like smoke around her. She shivered. Neither of them had spoken in what felt like hours—she didn’t even know how long they’d been in this tomb. Maybe it was already morning outside. Maybe they’d been trapped down here for eternity.

  The whispers grew louder, resolving into words.

  “Pale Hand,” they whispered. “Ephyra. Murderer.”

  Ephyra tightened her jaw as they forged onward. The whispers followed them, wending their way through Ephyra’s ears, beckoning her.

  “I’m sorry,” someone murmured, but it was not the same whispers coming from the tomb. It was Illya. Startled and somewhat disturbed, Ephyra stumbled into him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m like this. There’s something . . . something wrong with me. There always has been. I can’t . . . It never goes away. I’m sorry—” His voice broke off, high and frightened.

  Ephyra grabbed his elbow and spun him toward her. “Illya, it’s not real. Whatever you’re hearing, it isn’t real.”

  “Please,” he said. He was shaking. “Please, I didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t know why I did. I don’t—”

  “Murderer,” someone wailed behind her. Ephyra spun, her hand on her dagger. In the blanket of darkness, she could see a face right in front of her. It was familiar, like someone she’d known as a child.

  “You killed us,” another whisper said. Ephyra turned and there was a different face staring at her accusingly.

  The whispers grew louder, and then a trembling scream cut through the darkness.

  Ephyra knew that scream. It was Beru. She stumbled forward in the dark.

  “Beru!” she cried.

  “Ephyra!” Beru’s frightened voice called back.

  “Beru, I’m coming!” Ephyra yelled, charging forward into the abyss. Her foot caught on something and she was thrown to her knees, and in the darkness she almost thought she would keep falling, until her hands hit the ground. “Beru!”

  “This is your fault, Ephyra,” Beru’s voice said. “This is all your fault.”

  “No, Beru—”

  “Why did you do it?” Beru asked. “Why did you kill them? You killed them all, Ephyra. You’re a monster.”

  “Beru, please,” Ephyra said. “I’m sorry. Please.”

  “You’re not sorry, Ephyra,” Beru said in disgust. “You don’t know how to be sorry.”

  Ephyra choked on a sob, head hanging down between her shoulders. Beru was right. She felt no remorse. She was a monster.

  “You killed me,” another voice said. And Ephyra looked up to see Hector standing above her. “You murdered my family and then you murdered me and you still. Don’t. Care.”

  Ephyra squeezed her eyes shut and stumbled to her feet. She reached out, searching for anything to anchor her. Her fingers brushed against rock.

  “You’re a monster,” Hector said. And Beru’s voice joined him. “Who could love a monster?”

  Ephyra gasped and lunged toward Hector. He disappeared like smoke and suddenly Ephyra was falling, and this time, there was nothing to catch her. A scream tore from her throat as she plummeted into blackness.

  When Ephyra woke, she wasn’t alone.

  She stared up at a gilded ceiling. Rich amber light suffused the room, and the scent of incense curled around her nose. A face swam above her, wrinkled and wizened.

  Ephyra shot up, scrambling back. Hands caught her shoulders and she tried to jerk away. A dozen figures stood around Ephyra like mourners at a pyre. But mourners would not be armed with scythes.

  “Who are you?” Ephyra demanded, her voice echoing in the chamber.

  “We are the Daughters of Mercy,” the woman in front of her said. “And we know who you are, Ephyra of Medea. We know what you seek.”

  Ephyra sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”

  “Your father came to us,” she said. “Many years ago. He, too, sought the Chalice. But we made sure he never found it.”

  It was them. They were the reason that no one survived the search for the Chalice. They had killed Badis.

  “Where is it?” Ephyra asked.

  “It is here,” another Daughter said. Ephyra turned. In the woman’s hand was a silver chalice, studded with jewels. “You will not have it. We will not let you.”

  The other Daughters moved in front of her, holding their scythes aloft.

  Ephyra drew herself up. “I need it to save my sister.”

  “Your sister,” the Daughter with the Chalice repeated. “Beru of Medea. She came to us.”

  “Beru?” Ephyra asked, her stomach dropping.

  “She asked for our help.”

  Ephyra’s heart hammered, her chest tightening. “What did you do to her?”

  “We did what you should have done,” she replied. “We gave her back to the earth.”

  Terror gripped Ephyra’s heart. It couldn’t be true. This was another trick, like hearing her sister’s voice call out to her in the dark.

  “You turned her into something vile. Something profane. She came to us, and we put right the evil that you let inside her. We allowed your sister to complete her journey through this world.”

  “No.”

  “We took her into the desert and left her there,” the Daughter said. “Her esha belongs to the sands now.”

  “No!”

  Blind with rage, Ephyra charged at the Daughter and grabbed for the Chalice. But another one lunged toward her, swinging the scythe to meet her throat. Ephyra ducked beneath it, skidding to the ground. A hand reached out and grabbed her arm. Ephyra was face-to-face with the wrinkled Daughter, struggling against her hold.

  “We do not wish to kill,” the Daughter said. “That is not our way. But we will do what we must to protect the boundaries of life and death, which you have trespassed.”

  The other Daughters advanced, their scythes gleaming in the low light. Ephyra closed her eyes and focused on the esha of her captor. She sucked in a breath and pulled. A gasp echoed through the chamber and the grip on her arm slackened. The Daughter hit the ground.

  Ephyra rose to her feet, the Daughters’ cries of anger and anguish drowned out by the blood pumping in her ears and the thrum of the Chalice’s power around her.

  “You have perverted the sacred power of the Grace of Blood, the power bestowed on us by the Sacrificed Queen!” one of the Daughters snarled.

  “You killed her,” Ephyra growled. “You took her from me!”

  She lunged at the Daughter holding the Chalice. The others surrounded her, tearing at her clothes and hair, but Ephyra ignored them like white noise and grasped the Daughter’s ankle with both hands. She pulled her esha from her, like stripping the skin off an orange. The Daughter collapsed and the Chalice clattered to the ground. Ephyra dove for it. The Daughters pounced a heartbeat later.

  Her fingers locked around the stem of the Chalice, knuckles burning white with the intensity of her grip as the Daughters tried to push her away.

  Ephyra closed her eyes and clutched the Chalice. They had taken Beru from her. They had taken every glimmer of hope. And Ephyra wanted them to pay.

  She heard the first hollow gasp behind her. Her eyes flew open.

  The Daughters of Mercy were on their knees.

  The Chalice was warm in her hands. Ephyra realized what was happening, what she was doing.


  She was taking the Daughters’ esha. The power of the Chalice let her do it without touching them. Let her take from them, all of them, at the same time.

  The Daughters of Mercy had taken Beru’s life. And now Ephyra would take theirs.

  Their esha flowed into her, like a river surging against a broken dam. Ephyra closed her eyes and let it in. The esha swallowed her, cocooning her in bright white light. She felt it fill her, screaming through her body until it hurt. Gasping, she let her grip on the esha slacken and dissipate.

  The light vanished and Ephyra was left inside the darkened tomb, the bodies of the Daughters of Mercy spread out around her.

  The Chalice glowed softly, its power almost palpable in Ephyra’s hands. It was hers now.

  But it had come too late. Beru had returned to the earth.

  Ephyra fell to her knees and let out a terrible cry.

  30

  JUDE

  THE LIFEBOAT PULLED SMOOTHLY INTO A CAVERNOUS CHAMBER. THEY WERE outside the city now, having navigated the canals and turned down an estuary of the Endarrion River. Columns bordered the chamber and moonlight shafted through the ceiling, casting shadows across the water. It seemed like some sort of indoor harbor, though Jude had never heard of such a thing in Endarrion.

  “What is this place?” Jude asked as they pulled up to a dock.

  There were steps on either side of the bank, leading to long colonnaded walkways.

  “A hideout, of sorts,” Lady Bellrose replied, sliding out of the boat. “This is where I reside, when I’m in Endarrion. Being on the water allows me to move through the city sight unseen. And allows others to come to me.”

  Jude climbed out of the boat after her and held his hands out to Anton for support.

  “Others like who?” Anton asked, hands curling around Jude’s arms.

  “Other members of the Lost Rose. We typically try to communicate through coded correspondence, but some matters require a visit.”

  Jude pinched his mouth in distaste. He still thought this woman was lying about the Lost Rose. He knew she wasn’t telling the truth about the Prophets. Part of him wanted to grab Anton and the boat and row them back to Evander’s place, or the Temple of Endarra, but that would bring danger to them. That wasn’t tolerable. And it seemed that even though Anton didn’t trust the woman, he trusted that she wouldn’t hurt them, or allow anyone else to.