Esme's head snaps up. “We should follow Anees. He’s probably headed straight for Dayn.”
When Esme stands, something's changed in her stance. My sister—who once almost gutted a man for stepping on her shadow—looks…worried.
I've never seen her like that over anyone except family.
My Salem blood tingles with warning. Whatever's between her and that dragon goes deeper than alliance… even if she’d die before admitting it.
35
ESME
We keep a safe distance from Anees as we track him across the city. The longer I wear this shadow cloak over us, the better I get at controlling it. There are fewer pauses along the way. My spiritual essence must be getting used to its new nature—faster, forced by the circumstances.
A quiet fire smolders within me, a longing I must snuff out. Finding Dayn is the only way.
“What is this place?” Brynn whispers.
The walls of the tunnel close in around us. Ahead, the flame flickers in Anees’s bare hand as he works his way through. Behind us, pitch black darkness threatens to swallow all three of us if we linger. So we move.
Cautiously. Slowly.
“There’s a network of secret tunnels under the city,” I tell my sister. “It’s supposed to be an escape system connecting to the outer edges of Draethys, in case the dragons ever need to evacuate safely.”
“Secret tunnels under a secret city,” Chad scoffs.
“When they first came down here, they were fewer in number. Many of them injured and weak. In need of a safe place to recover. They worried the humans might find them and that they’d have toworm their way deeper into the ground in order to survive,” I explain, recounting what I’ve learned from the Bellatorium’s history class. “They’re not easily accessible, though. And they’re practically forgotten by most because Draethys turned out to be safe.”
“And well concealed,” Brynn adds. “Wasn’t easy to figure out the Salt Flats entrance.”
“At great risk,” Chad mutters.
The passage opens into a wider junction. We hang back, watching the lantern-light sway beyond, then slip forward to follow Anees into a sprawling catacomb. The scent of black limestone mingles with the sharp tang of aged wine and whiskey.
“Oh,” I breathe as Anees slips left through a narrow arch.
“What is it?” Brynn asks.
“We’re under the royal palace,” I whisper. “This is the dungeon. Prison cells on the west side and barrels piled up on the east.”
Then I feel it. Heat floods my veins, a sudden fever that makes my skin prickle with awareness. My breath catches as the blood bond with Dayn surges through me like an electric current, stronger with each step downward. The palace had been too far above, but here in these tunnels, the connection between us pulses with undeniable life. My fingers tremble slightly as I press them against the cool stone wall to steady myself, fighting the urge to run toward him, to close this maddening distance between us.
“He's close,” I whisper.
We follow Anees's path through the left passage, our footsteps quiet against damp stone as we enter a hallway lit by guttering torches. Water beads on limestone overhead, dripping into shallow puddles we carefully skirt. I've ventured into parts of these tunnels before, but never this deep beneath the palace.
Chad's fingers catch my wrist.
Ahead, the passage forks again. Anees veers right.
I nod once and press forward. We find him at what appears to be a dead end, speaking through a steel door etched with glowing runes. From our position, I can just make out the shimmering barrier of warding magic surrounding the entrance.
“This is your last chance to reconsider,” Anees says.
Dayn's voice reverberates through the tunnel, deep and defiant. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Can't say I didn't try,” Anees replies with a sigh. “Farewell, brother. I offered you every opportunity, but your stubbornness blinds you to the inevitable. That's why history will leave you behind.”
His footsteps fade as he disappears through a side passage. The moment he's gone, liquid heat floods my body, a molten current racing from my chest to my fingertips. I hurry forward, pressing my palm against the cold steel door, my skin tingling where it meets the metal as if recognizing something that belongs to me.
