Page 175 of Blade of the Nightking

If the bond remained, then I would never save him.

Panic exploded through me. I fought him with everything I had, twisting, shoving, kicking at his shins, doing anything I could think of to make him let go. It accomplished nothing beyond irritating him.

He hauled me suddenly against his chest, my back pressed to him, his forearm braced across my collarbones. I knew this hold.

Step. Back. Twist. Push.

My body moved before I could think. The movements he'd drilled into me took over. I slipped from his grasp like an eel.

For the briefest moment, he looked almost stunned. Then he lunged for me.

I darted out of his reach, turned—and the toe of my boot caught on a pile of rubble. I pitched forward, my knees slamming into the floor. Pain shot up my legs as I caught myself on my hands, my palms scraping across the stone.

Stone that wasn't quite the same color as the rest.

“I told you before, Eidra,” Rìan snarled above me. “When I tell you to do something, you listen. If I have to, I'll tie you up and drag you out of here myself.”

His voice faded into background noise. My gaze had locked onto the floor.

I brushed away a layer of dust. Yes—the mosaic was darker here. A different color. I followed the line of tiles as they stretched across the chamber in a long, narrow triangle, its point aimed directly at the outer wall of the temple.

“Get up.”

I followed the shape back the other way. Back toward the well. Something nagged at the edges of my memory. Slowly I pushed myself up to standing, my attention fixed on the floor as I turned in a slow circle.

The triangle wasn't alone. More shapes emerged from the mosaic as I looked. Another. Then another. Their points reached in different directions, their broad bases joined around the circular wall of the well itself.

“What are you doing?”

I took another step. And another.

“Eidra.”

I was counting.

One point.

Two.

Three.

Four…

I stopped dead. The pieces clicked together so suddenly it stole the breath from my lungs. I slowly raised my eyes to Rìan's.

“We're standing on an eight-pointed star.”

He paused—then his eyes dropped to the floor. I watched his gaze follow the lines cutting through the mosaic, mapping the shape they formed around the well.

The same symbol carved into the hilt of my bone knife.

The same symbol from the book.

Another eight-pointed star.

My pulse was galloping. I bent for the discarded prophecy and smoothed it against my leg, the movement pulling at the fresh slice across my palm. I barely noticed the smear of blood left behind as my eyes raced across the familiar words.

The answer was close enough to taste. I could feel it lurking at the edge of my thoughts, waiting for me to make the final connection.