Page 31 of Under the Iron Sky

Ah, chained together—but had she really expected any less from the Demon after she’d almost shot him in the face?

Speaking of faces, there was something on hers. Something cold and smooth that smelled faintly of metal and ash.

She cracked open an eye. Endless gray stared back but it was darker than usual, like she was looking through stained black glass. A mask, perhaps? She’d never heard of the Dar’rak using something like that before, but there weren’t exactly a lot of people to ask. No one ever came back after being swallowed by this hell.

When they began their descent, Soraya closed her eyes again and remained very still, making sure her chest rose and fell in the somewhat gentle rhythm of sleep. She knew the moment they slipped between the cracks and into their kingdom, Belvador.

An awful wasteland of black rock, Soraya had been down here only a few times, but there was no mistaking the cold that was now seeping into her veins, and the bitter, almost acidic smell filling her nose.

They’d barely touched the ground before an iron-clad hand slid across her shoulder. She forced herself not to react, and kept her eyes closed in case her assumption was right and the Demon had slipped some sort of glass mask over her face and could see her every move.

A hand slid down her arms, and she tried not to shiver at the cold sparks of magic that danced over her uniform, seemingly searching for something. The magic skittered over her stomach, her hips, then double-checked the chains around her wrists were nice and secure.

The Demon paused when he reached her hands. Metal clinked right above her, then an icy hand closed over her wrist.

Breathe normally. He can’t know you’re awake.

Fingers trailed over her skin, swirling over the battered knuckle-duster on her right hand, then repeated the motion with her left.

A long pause followed, and just when Soraya thought she might throw up, the Demon scoffed.

He grasped her forearms, turning her so she’d presumably be easier to throw over his shoulder—

Soraya struck. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she slammed them forward as hard as she could, the deep grunt of pain when her boots connected with his helmet the sweetest music she’d ever heard. He staggered back a step, and she slipped off the dragon’s back to take off in the opposite direction—to where, she had no idea. She just needed to get as far away from him as possible so she could work out her next move and—

A large hand closed around her shoulder and yanked her backward. The Demon spun her around, her vision flashing to black armor and red-tipped horns before he jabbed a finger against her neck.

Like a door slamming shut, the inner walls of Soraya’s throat snapped closed.

She dropped to her knees, her vision blurring. She couldn’t breathe. What the hell had he done to her?

Wrists still bound, she frantically pawed at her throat as though she might somehow be able to claw her way to his magic and rip it away. She didn’t care if she had to tear her own skin off to do it.

With a wave of his hand, Soraya was knocked onto her back, and when he started to walk away, she was dragged behind him like a sack of grain.

Panic was a living, writhing thing in her chest, fighting to get out.

Her lungs were burning. Tears pricked her eyes as she was dragged across a rough floor. She barely registered the stones scraping across the backs of her legs, only the agony in her chest.

An eternity passed before the Demon snapped his fingers and her throat finally opened.

Soraya sucked in a sharp breath, chest aching as she took in that first lungful of beautiful unrestricted air. She took another breath. Another. Another. Not caring that her lungs stung or that this cold air felt like having shards of freezing glass shoved down her throat, just that she could breathe again.

Her head swimming, Soraya blinked. Her eyes frantically snapped from one direction to the other, desperately trying to get a better grasp of whatever hell this Demon had dragged her to.

A cracked dirty marble floor.

Rows of rusting metal pews that were slightly curved to accommodate the circular design of the room.

There were no walls, just three tall, crumbling stone pillars lined with broken glass roots that spread across the open ceiling like veins to—

Soraya’s frantic heart stopped midbeat, then cracked right down the middle.

Oh … burning suns …

She’d been in this room a hundred times before. A thousand. There’d been a time when she knew this place better than the lines of her own face.

Aleena’s throne room had been beautiful once. A fortress of Vordellian architecture. Looking at it now made Soraya want to claw her eyes out.