So when Sira turns from the lookout point and opens the secret door, I don’t think. I slip behind her, as quiet as one of her pet shadows, and follow her into the heart of the mountain.
The passageway is pitch-dark, except for a few flickering torches here and there. I have to squint to keep sight of her silky black hair ahead of me. Away from the din of Cryptgarden, the whistle of my breath through my nose seems like a damned air horn. At least in such darkness, this cloak makes me all but invisible.
My foot kicks something hard. It rolls across the ground, making atingtingtingtingsound. I stop, every muscle going taut. But Sira doesn’t turn around. Her pace has quickened now. The passageway opens to a large chamber lit by a soft green light?—
That emanates from a pool in the middle.
An icy chill ripples up my spine. I’ve grown accustomed to the feel of magic in the air—a sparkly crackle—but this is different. Power pulses off the water in slow waves. Whereas Vale magic twinkles, then disperses, whatever this is seems to settle over the ground. A predator in wait.
With the added light, I look down to see what I kicked. Crystalline shards litter the floor, colorless and dull. Now that I’m looking, I notice them everywhere—spiking from the walls,cracked open like broken wineglasses, prismatic husks barely clinging to the ceiling. There’s a graveyard of crushed glass lining the pool.
A smile graces my lips.How did the great god enjoy Nori’s little mushrooms?
Sira’s moving at a near run now, casting her cloak upon the ground. I meld against the remains of a large crystal, becoming another broken piece.
Sira doesn’t stop walking when she approaches the pool. Instead, she falls in it, a giddy tone to her voice. “Darling, have I a feast for you today! Anchors upon anchors to fuel your spirit.”
Then she takes a deep breath and dives down.
I wait, watching the ripples slow. Surely, she has to come up for air. As powerful as Sira is, even the Queen of the Below needs to breathe.
But she doesn’t emerge. A minute passes, then what must be ten. I’m struck still, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Caspian had told me of communing with the Baron, but it was always at the edge of the pool. Could there be something else?
Something…below the Below?
A chill rips through me, and I involuntarily shiver, clutching Kel’s cloak close. I didn’t think a breeze could find its way in, but a cold’s crept through my bones. It’s different from the icy wind in Winter. This feels dark and murky.
Nervously, I wring my hands together. My fingers trace a ring on my left hand. I look down at it. Oh, it’s beautiful, the diamonds forming a snowflake so clear they appear carved of ice. I rack my brain, trying to remember where I got it. Perhaps Kel slipped it in my bag, and I started wearing it during my thralldom.
I’m still trying to recall its origin when little waves ripple in the pool. Sira takes a gasp of air, then glides out of the water. Droplets fall from her as if she were coated in liquid emerald.She snags her cloak from the ground and wraps it around herself, turning to face the water once more.
The pool continues to swell. Another figure appears, not rising out of the water like her butformingfrom it. With each poised and certain step toward the edge of the pool, his body gains corporeality. A man approaches, thoughmanseems an inadequate word. My chest tightens, because so doesfae.
He is something else entirely. Tall and broad of stature, the figure wears slim-fitting black armor with jagged edges. Its finish is so sleek and oily, it reflects the green shimmer from the pool. His hair is the same bone-white as his skin, a color reserved for skeletons and spiderwebs. With a sharp jaw, cut-glass cheekbones, and long, pointed ears, everything about him seems ready to shred. Yet there’s an undeniable beauty to him. A sickening beauty. The firework spray of lava from a volcano, a tsunami on the edge of the horizon, a flash of lightning on a rooftop.
Malekai Furiondemius, Baron of the Green Flame.
“That was good magic, my little thief,” he rumbles. In a gesture that seems too gentle for his body, he runs a finger along Sira’s cheek. “You have fed me well. The tether is strong.”
“And strong I will keep it,” she purrs. “The time nears. All my subjects are nearly gathered.”
“And when they are, you shall bleed the sweet butterfly you keep in a cage for every drop of magic she possesses.”
Icy terror grips my heart. My mother…
Sira darts her gaze away from him. “Are you sure? It is a great risk. If we rush the process, she could die, then?—”
“Then you secure her child. Is she not with our son now? As lovely a consort as she would make him, if her magic is needed to open the door, so be it.”
Sira’s voice adopts a tremor. “Caspian won’t be pleased if this is the path?—”
“Caspian will do as he’s told,” the Baron thunders.
“He has been testing the limits of his power, testing my orders,” Sira says. “You need to keep him in line.”
“All children rebel against their parents at some point,” the Baron says. “You only need remind him of the power you possess.”
“Very well.” She lowers her gaze. “I’ll see to it that Aurelia survives long enough for the complete siphoning of her magic.”
