He cocked an amused eyebrow. “What did I do now?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
She thought of the blade lying at Vishka’s feet, of her horrified expression. “Then how do we beat him? Is there any way?”
Erebus drew a deep breath and sighed wearily. “That I don’t know. There must be something I’m missing, an ancient clause I’ve forgotten. It’s been a long time since anyone attempted to kill a god.”
He caught her playing with her teardrop. “Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places for help after all,” he murmured.
She stared at it thoughtfully. “Lord Winter seemed to think it was important.” She glanced at his face. “And I’m getting the impression you do as well.”
His lips curled into a wry smirk. “Ah. It’s about time the old geezer stepped up to play. Of course, the fact he’s appeared at all means things are much worse than I feared.”
Old geezer? Has he ever met Lord Winter? They look the same age, but I suppose appearances don’t mean much when you are immortal.
Erebus was watching her again with that strange aloofness he had earlier, and she didn’t even want to consider what she must look like. Her face felt sticky from the tears that had dried on her cheeks.
Then she gasped. “Vishka! Rowan! How could I forget about them? We have to go back and help them!”
“Wait,” said Erebus, holding up his hands as she started to stand. “They are safe. I’m… linked, if you will, to my brother because we share the same essence. He’s no longer in Delkor. Since Vishka’s bound to me, I can also feel where she is. I would have known instantly if she’d died.” He grimaced thinking about it. “I’m sure your male friend is safe as well.” His voice was sharp as he said “male friend,” and she wondered if it was because he knew Rowan was the son of a Dracor and maybe thought he was in league with Alastor somehow.
She sighed with relief. “Rowan’s a good man. He’d never side with Alastor,” she said, hoping to dissuade him. “I’m so glad they’re all right. Well, if Alastor’s gone, that means we can go to them without fear of being caught.” She stood all the way, careful to keep the nightgown pulled down.
Erebus shifted his gaze uncomfortably. “My Lady, er, Lian,” he said, “I told you why I brought you here. We can’t let the crystal fall into the wrong hands.”
“We could hide it here. Surely, it’d be safe here? We’ll leave it here and return to the surface to help them.”
Erebus shook his head. “It’s not that simple,” he said in a low voice. “Certainly, there are ways to keep Alastor out that have been set into place since the time of his exile, but I cannot send you back just yet.”
She stiffened. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated. “There is a gate that must be passed through to enter this place…” He paused and watched her warily, as if unsure of her reaction.
She swallowed. “Go on.”
“Only the dead may pass through the gate. For one of the living to come through it, well, it’s caused a bit of a problem.”
“What sort of problem?”
Erebus held her eyes. “It means the gate has been broken and must be repaired. Until then, you cannot leave.”
She stared at him.
Live here? Amongst the dead? No, this wasn’t right. She didn’t belong here, no more than a bird belonged in a cage. “How long will these repairs take?” she asked tentatively.
He was slow to respond. “It could take a few days to a few months. This has never happened before, so it’s difficult to say.”
“Months,” she repeated flatly. “I can’t wait that long. My friends need me. My kingdom needs me.” She thought of Vishka and Rowan, of how hopeless the battle above ground had seemed. Her heart ached at the memory of her sister clinging to that monster she was determined to marry. Lian loved the sunlight, the birds, the trees, the life, and now she was stuck in a place of death and darkness.
Life had a very cruel sense of humor.
She suddenly very much wanted to be alone. “Get out,” she said, her voice a rough whisper.
Erebus’ mouth opened and closed, at a complete loss for words. He hesitated, and she picked up the nearest vase and hurled it at his head. “Get out!”
It would have been a direct hit. There was a deep swooshing sound, like the air was being sucked out of the room, and the vase froze right in front of his face.
She couldn’t see his expression past the hovering vase, but the heaviness of his voice was all she needed to imagine what he must have looked like. “As you wish.”
He vanished into thin wisps of smoke, and the vase fell, shattering against the stone floor.
She watched the smoke clear, and she fell over onto the bed in tears. Each heavy sob raked her body, cleansing it of the anger, sorrow, and despair she felt.
CHAPTER 30Map
WHEN VISHKA REGAINED HER senses, Alastor was gone.
She cursed under her breath and winced as she tried to sit up. It felt like a small volcano was erupting inside her skull.
“Careful,” Rowan said, helping her to a sitting position.
She squeezed her eyes and gritted her teeth, wishing the pain would go away. “Where is she? Where’s the crystal? What happened?”
Rowan spoke low and even, sounding as exhausted as she felt. “After Alastor tried to grab the necklace, some man appeared out of smoke and took her with him.”
“Erebus.”
Brief worry flashed over his face. “He won’t harm her, will He?”
She shook her head. “No. She is far safer there then we are about to become up here.”
He gave a small nod, seeming satisfied with her answer.
“What of Alastor?” she asked.
“He was furious, and his aura flared so bright I thought he might explode. Then he started laughing. He looked at me and actually laughed, and all the fire around him dissipated. Can you believe it? That arrogant son of a –”
“What. Happened?”
Rowan took a deep breath and released it as a growl deep in his throat. “His eyes locked on mine, and he said, ‘Fair chance you have of stopping me now!’ Then he swept Lady Ana-Elise up in his arms and vanished in a column of fire. Even the Dracor men disappeared.” He looked around the empty room, and it was empty. Not even any blood remained on the floor. “I have no idea where everyone else went.”
“Wonderful.” She wobbled to her feet, gripping her head as she fought her skewed vertigo.
Rowan stayed close to her side, reaching out to steady her when she swayed. Once she had taken a few steps, he fell back, giving her some space.
So things had progressively gone from bad to worse.
The story of my life.
She slowly walked around the room, picturing the bodies of the Dracor men she had slain. Spirits lingered in the corners of her eyes, little orbs of light flickering away into oblivion. Had she not been so accustomed to killing, she might have felt some remorse for their loss. Surely they had families they would never see again, loved ones they would never hold, and dreams and ambitions that had scattered to the wind like dust when their essence left the Living World.
She paused at the shards of her broken saber, which lay where they had settled after her failed attempt to end Alastor’s life. This was not what she had planned. Alastor was supposed to be dead, dead by her hand, or so she had been told. After a century, the details started to become a bit fuzzy. Where did she go wrong? What was she missing? She tried in vain to remember the night she almost died, the same night she sold her soul to Erebus. She had been so careful, had calculated every move. It should have worked.
Unless Erebus had withheld information.
No, that couldn’t be right. He wanted Alastor destroyed as much as she did.
She glanced sidelong at Rowan. “What do you suppose he meant?”
“Hmm?” He was staring off into the distance, completely bleary eyed.
She rolled her eyes. “Alastor. Wha
t he said to you. Use your brain, you fool!”
His head snapped up at her clipped tone. “How am I supposed to know?” he shot back. “You know more than me, seeing as how you’ve lived over a thousand years or so.”
What an arrogant child he is. She stared him down, fire and ice, until he finally looked away and stomped behind a pillar where she couldn’t see him. She grinned. She hated to admit it, but their little spats made her feel human in some small way. Anger was such a delicious emotion.
“Besides,” he said, voice muffled from the pillar. “I thought you knew what you were doing. Shouldn’t he be dead? What happened?”
“I don’t know!” She pressed her lips together in a tight line. No one had dared speak to her that way. Ever. Not as an empress, and especially not as an immortal death dealer.
“Well, someone must know,” he said. “Do you think that Lord Winter man would help us?”
“Tch. Doubtful.”
He stepped out from behind the pillar, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. “We have to find Alastor somehow.”
“Yes, somehow being the key word.”
He stared at her. “Really?”
She blinked, glaring at him. “Really what?”
“That’s it then? You’re just going to give up?”
“Now you’re being delusional,” she said, but straightened her shoulders all the same. “I’m merely suggesting we think this through.”
Rowan blew his breath out in a rush and placed his hands behind his head. He paced in front of her, mumbling, “Sure, take your sweet time while the world goes to hell.”
She stared at the floor, as if by doing so the answer would magically appear before her. She tried to remember what the necklace looked like. A delicate crystal chain encased a white crystal in a backdrop of lacy silverwork.
Opaque white crystal…
Her head snapped up, and she reached to her thigh and removed the blade she had taken from the thief boy she’d killed when she went after Gerard.
She held it up to the light. Something was etched in the stone, jagged lines of varying peaks.
Peaks.
“It’s a map,” she muttered.
Rowan stopped pacing. “What did you just say?”
“It’s a map.” She held the knife up to him. “The necklace has the same crystal that’s in this blade. I think it’s the key to figuring out how to defeat Alastor.”
“How hard did you hit your head?”
“Think! Where have you seen this crystal before?”
He closed his eyes, and his forehead creased. He mumbled to himself as he thought out loud, and she grew more irritable with each passing second. Then his eyes shot open. “The Crystal Mountains! Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“Where are these mountains? I’ve never heard of them.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “They are to the north, as far as one can go in Eresea before you reach the Ocean of Ice. They are called the Crystal Mountains because all through the year the mountains remain encased in thick ice, giving the appearance of crystal. My mother used to tell me fables of how a legendary race of beings known as the Inrah discovered a cavern filled with marvelous crystals that enabled them to tap into the Inner Light, an ancient form of magic that has been lost since the Age of Stars.”
Inner Light. That sounded familiar. “Go on.”
“There’s not much more to tell,” he said. “I can’t recall anything much beyond that. I was very young at the time.” His voice ended on a bitter note, but she ignored it and pushed on.
“So, you think the chain was made from these magical crystals?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I wish I could remember more of the legend. I do know they say the entrance to the mountains is guarded by King Aruna, ruler of the Zimarian lands that the mountain sits on. Perhaps he would know something about the crystals. Maybe we should start there.”
“What of the Inrah?”
He shrugged. “Extinct, as far as I know. No one knows exactly what became of them.”
They stood together in silence, each lost to their own thoughts.
“Well, at any rate, we should get out of here while we can. He could have more of those things lurking around.”
She smiled, and she cocked her head to the side. “‘Those things.’ Is your father a thing?”
His face turned to stone, and a hard glint shone like daggers in his eyes. “He’s the enemy. Nothing more.”
“Good. It will make the task ahead that much easier.”
Rowan sighed. “Getting to Zimaria will be no small feat. We’ll need horses, not to mention provisions, and a lot of it. It’s at least a month long journey.”
She frowned. “We don’t have that much time.”
“I suppose you have a better idea?”
She smiled. “We are at the largest trading port this side of the continent. Why not barter passage onto a merchant ship? It will cut our journey in half.”
“I don’t know if any routes will take us that far north. The Zimarians are sort of reclusive. I don’t even know if they still trade with anyone anymore. Besides, do you have any idea what that’s going to cost?”
She flicked the bag dangling from her belt. “We do have a satchel of saffurite, courtesy of the murdels.”
He eyed it. “Fine.” Then he picked up his sword and stormed down the stairs, not waiting to see if she followed.
She started after him when a white flash caught her eye. The ivory bow laid next the wall across from her. She walked over and tenderly picked it up, hanging it and the quiver over her shoulder. Keep her safe, Erebus.
“Are you coming or not?”
Rowan stood by the main entrance, tapping his foot.
She looked at his posture and couldn’t help but smile.
Draxonus would have acted exactly the same way.
Then she shook her head and bounded down the stairwell, following Rowan out the door as the sun’s first light striped the sky gold and white.
END OF BOOK ONE
The battle for Eresea continues in Darkest Destiny, Book 2 of The Soul Cycle.
Coming Soon
***
Liked Veiled Innocence? Turn the page to read the first chapter of
A White So Red: A Gothic Fairy Tale Retelling
Take back what is yours.Seventeen-year-old Snow’s life changed forever the night her stepmother, the Queen, sent her huntsman to cut out her heart. Fleeing for her life, Snow runs to the Silver Forest, a place as dangerous as it is enchanting, and begins an adventure she could never have dreamed.
With no one at her side but a rowdy band of carnivorous dwarves and an arrogant, rogue prince who is too handsome for his own good, Snow must confront the challenge that’s been laid before her: Kill the Queen and take back the kingdom that should have been hers.
But if she is to succeed, Snow will have to tap into a powerful, ancient magic, one that may have been sleeping inside her all along.
***
Chapter One
Tears of Blood
COLD, ROUGH STONES SCRAPED Natalia’s bare feet as the guards all but dragged her down the empty corridor. Their pace was quick, and the guards’ obsidian chain mail clanked much too loudly for her ears, fueling the headache erupting within her skull. Shapeless thoughts and memories of yesterday’s grueling chore agenda occupied her mind, which was still foggy with sleep. The morning air chapped her throat, hastening her awake while whispering that winter was not far off.
They sharply turned a corner toward a set of massive black doors carved with filigree and a swirling flock of ravens.
Her heart pitched to the bottom of her stomach, and her eyes widened. She felt her cheeks cool as the blood left her face, and a small tremble settled into her limbs.
The guards barreled toward the doors, which opened for them as they dragged her through and marched up the crimson rug that bled through the center of the large, circular room. She knew from memory that the stone walls we
re lined with windows, but the light had been choked out long ago by a waterfall of black curtains. Iron sconces and candelabras with slender white candles dotted the room, doing more to enhance the shadows than provide much light.
She kept her gaze at her feet, not wanting to look at the approaching dais before her, or at the great black throne that crowned the room.
The guards stopped and pitched her forward so fast that she stumbled and fell. She managed to splay out her hands and catch herself before her face could smack into the floor. Pulse after heavy, quick pulse throbbed in her ears. Her heartbeat vibrated throughout her body as she squeezed her lips shut, struggling to control her suddenly labored breathing. She tensed and waited for the dark, smooth voice to address her, but a tiny voice fragile as glass spoke instead.
“Tali?”
Natalia’s head snapped up, and her heart ceased to beat for a second or two before picking up with increased speed.
Two figures – a woman and a young girl no older than eleven – looked down at her from the dais.
The woman was Octavia, High Queen of all Thesperia, and she was beautiful enough to make the most stone-hearted of men weep. Time could not touch her cold beauty; not a wrinkle was seen in her perfect, pearly skin or a gray strand in her long black hair. A cloak of shimmering gauze wrapped around her shoulders, streaming down her slim body and pooling like ink at her feet. On her head sat a tall black crown, its gothic tiers shaped like thorns and embedded with shards of red crystals that seemed to glow in the dim light.
The Queen caught Natalia’s gaze with her violet eyes, and a slow smile spread across her mulberry lips. “Morning, dove. We’ve been waiting for you, haven’t we, precious?”
Octavia trailed a long red nail down the collarbone of the young girl standing beside her, who trembled under her touch. A tattered red dress hung on the girl’s deteriorated figure, secured in the front by two vibrant red ribbons. The Queen shifted her weight, and the girl moved with her, looking like a marionette caught in a puppeteer’s snare. A whimper bubbled out from the girl’s lips. “Shhh,” the Queen murmured, stroking the child’s wild red curls with her free hand. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, my pet.”
Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle) Page 29
