Kara’s whole body went cold with dread. “I don’t like this. It’s too easy.”
He drew his sword in one smooth, silent motion. His magic hissed along the steel, a crimson warning flare in the dark. His voice was grim. “We don’t have a better option.”
Together, they pushed open the towering doors to reveal a long, pitch-black corridor. Moonslight gleamed off the white marble floor and stone columns that lined the walls. As they stepped in, Sebastian’s magic threw crimson shadows across the dark.
“Sebastian... Ireallydon’t like this.”
He flexed his fingers around his sword hilt. “Stay close to me.”
They had barely stepped past the first row of columns when a voice drifted from the dark, calm, cold, and certain.
“You are late.”
Sebastian threw Kara behind him in an instant, his stance pure Thorne soldier – weight balanced, blade angled, ready to strike. A soft laugh answered him as a woman stepped out from the darkness. She was dressed in robes of deep amethyst, which floated behind her as she walked. Her long, sleek dark hair was streaked with silver, which glowed in Sebastian’s crimson light.
“Oh, Warrior,” she said lightly, as though greeting an old acquaintance. “You are safe here. You may lower your blade.”
Sebastian’s sword did not waver. “Name yourself.”
The woman smiled serenely, completely unbothered by the blade aimed at her heart. “I was beginning to fear you had lost your way. It iswonderful to meet you both at last. The Warrior and the Healer. It was Written.”
The Warrior and the Healer?
Sebastian said nothing. Just waited for an answer.
“Veyra Fatàn,” the woman said, inclining her head. “Head of this House and Keeper of the Written Future.”
Sebastian backed towards the door, one arm out, drawing Kara with him. He tilted his head towards the ledges above. “Written or not,” he said coldly, “I don’t trust words whispered from the dark.”
“Ah, Warrior, you think in blades and traps and betrayal. You cannot help it. But you are not in Thorne anymore. You stand in Fatàn. I assure you, no one here will harm you.”
Sebastian scoffed. “Then why seal the borders the same day we crossed?”
“Sebastian Thorne. Karalynna Hale,” she said, each name deliberate, echoing against the high ceilings. “You are free to leave. You are not, nor will you ever be, prisoners of Fatàn. The shield is for your protection, should you wish it.”
Our protection?
Kara glanced at Sebastian.
He didn’t lower his sword. “Forgive me if I don’t take that on faith.”
Veyra smiled faintly. “I understand. Your protection would not be the will of the rest of Vallenna.”
Kara’s stomach somersaulted unpleasantly. A grim reminder that the whole realm wanted them dead.
“But,” Veyra went on, “I believe you have a question about the Arcanth.”
Sebastian’s hand tightened on the handle of his sword. “And if we do?”
Veyra spread her hands. “Then ask. That is, after all, why you are here.”
“We should,” Kara murmured. “You don’t have to put your sword down.”
He didn’t take his eyes off Veyra but gave a low, reluctant growl. “Fine. Ask.”
“We have all the Shards,” Kara said.
“I know,” Veyra replied simply, as if Kara had told her the weather.
