Moist soil slipped down the back of Avalon’s shirt. A trail ran over her forehead and into her eyes, blinding her.“Hurry!”she screamed, her voice nearly lost to the sound of soil rushing and rocks clacking together.
They barely made it. The tunnel sealed shut just as they tumbled out of the gaping exit—and dove down the side of a sheer, hundred-foot cliff. Gravity welcomed them with open arms as they spiraled head-first into the air. Hadrian grabbed hold of a sturdy tree root with one hand and Avalon’s wrist with the other, barely catching her before she fell farther than he could reach.
Tears stinging her eyes, her arm nearly torn out of socket, Avalon looked over her shoulder, at the glittering capital of the Realm of Fire.
Hilsian—her former home.
The River of Fire twisted through the trees in the distance, bleeding into the ocean behind the House where Avalon had grown up. Once a sanctuary, now enemy ground.
They made it. And there was only one thing left to do.
PART FOUR
THE TEMPLE OF FIRE
47
The tunnels were stifling. Killian could barely breathe, so it was no small miracle when the king announced it was time to stop for a rest. The network of tunnels ran directly below Hilsian. It had been two days since they’d entered a tunnel near the outskirts of the city, and Killian was pining for fresh air. What he wouldn’t give for even one glorious breath!
The king had instructed they take this route to the House of Fire to avoid the curious stares of the people preparing for the Summer Solstice Festival. It allowed them to transport Moiria’s Loom in secret, though Killian was disappointed that the journey to the House took much longer than it would have if they’d had to worry about being seen. Down here, they could take their time. Down here, laziness set in.
Or perhaps he was simply imagining the group’s leisurely pace. It was a challenge not to show his irritation.
Killian was munching on an apple a short distance from where the king was flipping a jewel between his fingers as he conversed with the Leviathan—the monster that towered nearly seven feet high and had crushed the skulls of many men with his bare hands. For years, Killian had thought nothing of that jewel the king always fiddled with. After all, what sort of king didn’t own dozens of fancy baubles? This one, Killian now noticed, was different. The jewel was so dark it was nearly black, but when it caught the torchlight it shone blood-red. Even an idiot could figure out this was one of the Tears of Hilsian, the very jewel the Witch Lord Gandraian had worn on his breastplate.
The king kept the Tear on him all hours of the day. And in the rare times when he wasn’t fiddling with it, he would tuck it safely into the pocket of his cloak. Even in the stifling heat of Hilsian, the king rarely removed his many layers of clothing. Killian suspected it was because his weight fluctuated like nothing else, and lately he had become so gaunt he could be mistaken for a skeleton. A husk of what he once was.
If Killian was going to steal the third Tear for Avalon and Hadrian, he would need to think of something very creative—and potentially dangerous.
Several minutes passed before he saw his chance and didn’t hesitate to take it, though his stomach twisted into a knot of nerves and guilt. Guilt for a crime he hadn’t yet committed.
A page was walking down the tunnel, his gait clumsy as he approached the king. Once upon a time, the boy had wings; they had been hacked off a year ago. A mop of dark hair hung in his eyes, his childlike features reminding Killian of himself when he was younger.
This would not be easy.
Killian shrugged off the wall and made his way toward the boy. As he was passing the page, who in normal circumstances would’ve avoided him at all costs, Killian stuck his foot out to the left.
The tunnels were cramped. Neither of them had much room to begin with, and with dozens of guards crowding either side of the tunnel, tearing at strips of dried beef and guzzling ale, tripping the boy was a cinch.
The page tumbled into the Leviathan, knocking the man’s flask right out of his hand. Half of the contents splashed onto the king’s cloak and ran down his shirt.
The king was on his feet in an instant, spewing insults at the boy who was now cowering in fear and stammering useless apologies.
“Clumsy boy,” Killian offered as he sidestepped out of the way.
The king shed his cloak and tossed it aside as he instructed several of his men to seize the graceless idiot who’d soiled his best clothes.
“P-please,” the boy was blubbering.“Please!”
“Shut up,” the king growled. “Cut off his head.”
The boy began to thrash like a fish washed up on land as two guards took hold of his bony arms. A third drew a blade.
“Wait.” The king held up a gloved hand. The men fell silent, though their anticipation made Killian want to gag. They were animals, all of them. “Cut off his two left feet,” the king said. “Then kill him. Perhaps if he screams loudly enough, I’ll show him mercy.”
The boy didn’t even have to try; the screams came easily now, loud enough to bring pain to Killian’s eardrums.
Tonight’s performance would be the bloody removal of limbs, and the king’s men were the audience. It was enough of a distraction for Killian to easily slip the Tear, discarded on the king’s soiled cloak, into his pocket. For Sable, he would do anything. She was the only person left in this whole gods-damned world he would gladly give his life for.
