Page 87 of Bride of Ash & Dust

I spit blood onto the stones, then stumble up to my feet. I’m still wearing pants, thank the gods, but my feet and chest are bare. I don’t dare feel for the dagger strapped to my thigh, but I do bring my left hand to the hollow of my neck.

It’s gone. The metal vial I’ve carried for so many years no longer hangs from my neck.

The realization that I am about to die slides through my rib cage like a blade, silent and dark. After all these years, I never thought it would be Syvan. I didn’t think he had the balls to kill me.

The king’s second son turns his horse toward me and smiles.

“The snake of Vsenrog,” he says, tilting his crowned head like he’s introducing me to someone. “My father’s favorite little pet.”

I smile back at him. My busted lip cracks open. Blood seeps down my chin.

“Fuck you,” I reply.

Syvan laughs. The man who pulled me off the horse grabs my arm and yanks me back, as if a half-naked, mostly unarmed man poses any sort of threat to a prince on horseback.

“You know, I’ve never liked you,” Syvan says.

“The feeling is mutual,” I reply.

“To think, my father was actually sad about this,” Syvan continues, shaking his head. “He’s always had a weakness for mongrels. It’s a flaw I’ll have to correct when I’m king.”

A shiver runs up my back, and I wince. It’s not exactly news that Syvan wants to become the king of Vsenrog, but all the same, it leaves me feeling hollow inside. I think of Rose in her brothel, of Alia in the stables. They don’t deserve Syvan as their king.

“Bring him,” Syvan calls.

With that, he turns his horse toward a steep, narrow path. The man holding my shoulder shoves me forward. I pick my way slowly up the mountainside, passing a rough collection of half-assembled wooden shacks. Is this some kind of prison camp hidden on the Marion border? And if so, why haven’t I heard of it?

Syvan’s horse clomps over the final hill, and suddenly I realize exactly where we are.

The Dragon Mine.

A great black hole in the mountainside yawns open before me. I flinch, and the man behind me shoves me so violently I stagger down the slope toward the mouth of the mine. A dozen or so men are standing in front of the hole. None of them look like miners; in fact, I swear I recognize a few faces from Syvan’s military outpost in the Devil’s Arse.

I’m shivering as two of the men approach me with their hands on the swords strapped to their waists. Behind them, Syvan dismounts. His white stallion seems uneasy this close to the mouth of the mine. I don’t blame the creature. All mines are terrifying holes in the ground where people bury their youth and bodies for gold, but this one seems especially ominous.

As the soldiers march me toward the gaping maw of the mine, I remember all the wild stories I’ve heard about this place. A dragon revealed this mine, right? Showed up at dawn and told someone this was the spot? Some dragons are friendly, I’ve heard, but after seeing this mine, I doubt that particular dragon showed it to humanity out of benevolence.

I swallow, and it tastes like blood. Syvan tosses his cloak back over his shoulder as the soldiers light lamps hanging in the mouth of the cave.

“He’s still down there?” Syvan asks. “That asshole in white?”

His voice is strong and arrogant, but the echo of it wavers. One of the soldiers nods in response.

“Good,” Syvan replies. “I’d hate to think we went to all this effort for nothing.”

He laughs, and a few of the men chuckle. It’s a tight sort of laugh, something you might hear as men prepare for the battlefield. I glance up at the setting sun burning in her brilliant blue sky, the same sun I saw through the door of our family’s cabin, with Petrys and Gerrart, waiting for Father to return.

Someone shoves me between the shoulder blades. I grunt as my ribs protest, and then I shuffle forward like an old man.

The darkness of the mine swallows me. The air in here smells stale and damp, like it’s been holding secrets. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim flicker of Syvan’s lamp. Even with the lamp, the darkness inside the mine feels like it’s pressing down around us, hungry for the light.

The men behind me carry torches as well, casting little pools of light over the cold stone beneath my feet. Syvan leads us down the narrow passageway chipped from the granite heart of the mountain. I’m expecting the path to branch and twist, searching for gold ore, but I see no side passages. It’s just a straight tunnel leading straight down.

The ground grows wet and slippery, and the air gets thick. The scent of smoke rises from the lanterns, mixing with the unwashed bodies of the men around me. No one speaks. Water drips off stone in the distance.

Suddenly, the tunnel widens. The men behind me fan out, and darkness pools between the light of their torches. From the echoes of their footsteps, I guess we’re in the middle of a vast cavern.

A weak light flickers in the distance. There’s a sound, like a voice, and then the proper clip-clip-clip of boots on stone.