Page 131 of Under the Iron Sky

Where was Ikarus?

She blinked, and a dark staircase slowly came into focus around her, not one of brick or stone, but—

Soraya’s spine instantly straightened at the gold lining the walls. She knew this staircase. Recognized that trail of blood on the steps and those terrible screams ringing from the other side of the stained-glass window to her right from far, far below.

This was Invasion Day.

Hurried footsteps broke through the screams, and Soraya pressed her back against the wall just as a little boy wearing black armor shot past her, hurrying up the stairs.

Soraya stared after the child, her heart a wild, crazed thing in her chest. No. It couldn’t be …

She chased after him, following him up, up, up and around, until they came to a heavy steel door.

The boy pushed it open, then froze suddenly, the toes of his boots touching the very edge of the shadows. Soraya heard him take a deep breath, then he was sprinting into the blaring sunlight for the very first time, charging across the ruined throne room like someone was cracking a whip at his back.

He came to a skidding halt at the observation deck, where seven people were waiting to be evacuated.

Soraya stared at the little boy who’d led her here, her heart suddenly pounding against her throat. Ikarus. All those years ago, it’d been him.

She crept around him, seeing herself from this angle for the first time. Long white gown flowing in the breeze, hair braided tight across her skull while that gold spiked crown sat atop her head.

She’d been so scared, but not a lick of it showed on her face. With that gun in her hands and sunlight shining through the opals on her crown, she looked deadly. Fierce. Aleena, crowned anew.

She hadn’t been able to hear his frantic breaths last time. Or how the heavy plates of his armor had rattled against one another when he raised his hand at her, trembling all over.

Soraya watched her younger self stare back. Then lower her gun.

Young Ikarus inhaled sharply. “What are you doing? You’re …”

Loud, booming footsteps, then a large man shoved young Ikarus aside.

Soraya wasn’t made to watch what happened next. Metal gave way to black brick, warm sunlight and screams she’d do anything to forget melting into a bitter cold she’d grown accustomed to and a silence so complete it made her feel as though she’d fallen through a hole in the world.

She was in a parlor now. An ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, made from sharply cut pieces of black metal that curved downward into a shape that vaguely reminded Soraya of a spider, the tip of each leg decorated with a single tear-shaped ruby. There were only two sofas in the room, each one large enough to sit at least three people, positioned so that they were facing each other in front of a mantel that swallowed up most of the back wall.

Two long-necked dragons roaring at one another were carved into the hearth, their mouths expertly positioned to look like they were breathing life into the very flames that roared in the fireplace.

She’d materialized beside Ikarus. He was trembling from head to toe, staring into the flames in the fireplace as though he wanted nothing more than to leap onto them. He was young. No older than thirteen, the same height and build he’d been just a heartbeat ago on the observation deck. He was wearing the same armor too. It looked ridiculous on him without the iron helmet. The large, spiked shoulder plates were at least two sizes too big, and that damn chest plate looked like it was seconds away from dragging him to the floor.

Ramapheal was pacing between the sofas, three guards watching silently by the double doors behind him: Morana, Mortis, and a Dar’rak man she didn’t recognize with long dark green hair that was braided down his back and a nasty burn scar that ran almost all the way down the right side of his face.

And standing gracefully in the middle of the room, the only thing between her son and a creature supposedly older and more powerful than the stars themselves, was Ikarus’s mother.

She stood completely motionless in a long-sleeved black gown, ringed fingers elegantly clasped in front of her, gold eyes tracking Ramapheal’s every step.

Seething, the Ancient One pointed a taloned finger at her. “You failed me today. You said the Arch piece would be in Aleena’s wheeled chair!”

Ikarus’s mother bowed her head, long hair slipping over her shoulder like liquid silver. “I apologize, Ancient One. I saw the queen order her guard to place it there.”

“Then why wasn’t it there!” That voice … it was here and not. In the room and inside Soraya’s head at the same time. Real or not, she couldn’t help but cringe back from it. “The attack today was built on your visions. You said that your son would be the one to bring the end of this war!”

“He will.” Despite the venom in Ramapheal’s voice, Ikarus’s mother’s expression was cool as freshly cut glass. “I have seen the war end at his hand.”

Ramapheal’s talons curled into fists. “Just as you saw him bring me a piece of the Arch today?”

“The future is not set in stone, Ancient One,” his mother argued. “It is balanced on the edge of a blade, temperamental, fickle. One slight change in the breeze could send it skittering in either direction but this—I know. I have seen the suns set and rise anew again and again—with him. My son is the one who will end all of this.”

Ramapheal turned, swiping a clawed hand down the side of her face. “Your riddles have no place here, witch! You said I would have my victory today—and that it would be your boy who brought it to me!”