Page 35 of Under the Iron Sky

When they reached the end of the deck, Ikarus peered over the crumbled side, apparently not at all bothered when the abused steel groaned as though it might give way at any moment, and whistled.

Curious, Soraya peered over the side with what little movement he allowed her. A sheer drop, then a wall of that thick red steam that covered this place like a crimson veil, and at the bottom, a field of very tall, very sharp black stalagmites.

A yank, and that sea of glittering spikes disappeared. “Don’t even think about it,” Ikarus hissed, pressing her against his armored chest with enough force to bruise.

“I wasn’t going to jump.”

“Then what were you going to do?”

“Push you off.”

“That would kill you too, or were you not paying attention in there?”

Soraya started to raise a hand to show him what finger she was holding up when a deep growl from below froze her in place. The floor vibrated violently beneath her feet, as though this very deck that’d survived war, the invasion, and then falling into this hellhole had finally given up, right before Black Shadow’s head emerged from below.

Ikarus said something to it in their language, the words quick and sharp at first, then slow and deep.

The dragon growled in response. It lowered its head, those enormous fangs suddenly in perfect line with Soraya’s body, as though it wanted nothing more than to rip her apart.

Ikarus said something else and the dragon huffed, blowing a wave of air toward them that was so hot Soraya wasn’t sure how every hair on her head wasn’t singed off when it passed over her. It bared its fangs once more, its gray eye lingering on Soraya as if to remind her exactly what future awaited her should she so much as lay a hand on its precious rider, before it let go of the palace wall. It fell for one second, two, three, four, then opened its wings with a loud crack.

While Ikarus watched it fly away, Soraya used the distraction to try to get a better grasp of her surroundings.

She’d never seen Belvador this close. Whenever she’d been down here for missions, she’d always been so focused on getting back to the surface in one piece that she’d never really taken in the world below—well, cave, really. There was no wind or sky, just endless black rock above and all around, sealing her in like a tomb.

The buildings carved into the side of the cave varied in size and shape. She could see what looked like courtyards and a market square, stables where dark-robed figures were ushering snapping stalkers inside, and communal areas with roaring firepits as big as houses, presumably to try and ward off the ever-present chill here.

All around her, shards of spiked crimson crystals the same color as Ramapheal’s headpiece were sprouting out of the rocks like weeds, some as tall as a person, others no bigger than her pinkie finger, all pulsing with red light that aided the countless sconces and fires in lighting what should have been a place swallowed in total darkness.

While most of the buildings were carved directly into the underground mountains, some were suspended on large, flat pieces of rock that were held up like platforms by either enormous chains or statues of dragons or spiders or armored warriors locked in vicious battles, and were connected by either staircases carved into the cave side or rock walkways that weaved and overlapped one another above and below like living spiderwebs. Most of the walkways were covered in stalactites just like the ones hanging from the cave ceiling, as though even walking through this city carved in stone was a dance with death.

How anyone could stand to live down here, Soraya didn’t know. She’d barely been here an hour and she’d already had enough of the cold that seemed to radiate from every stone. Not enough to freeze, but a bitter, deep-seated cold that felt like standing outside in the depths of winter without a coat.

And then there was the perpetual red mist that was everywhere she looked, thick as fog in some places, barely visible in others. It seemed to get under her skin like a burrowing beetle. Soraya swore she could feel it scratching down her throat each time she took a breath.

They had to be a good few miles underground. Looking up now, Soraya could see no trace of the crater the palace had sunk through shortly after Aleena’s death. The Vordellians had never figured out how Ramapheal was able to do that—make cracks appear in one place then seal them in others, as though the very crust of this entire planet was completely under his control.

When the dragon finally disappeared, Ikarus’s fingers tightened against her arm and they just … vanished.

An intense cold swept through her, then her bones and organs shrank like they were trying to squeeze through a tiny keyhole in the world. The ground shook and stretched. Broke apart and was rebuilt as the floor beneath Soraya’s boots vanished.

The moment the ground reappeared, Soraya hunched over, and vomited onto black grass that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Darkness below, your species really are pathetic.”

Soraya tried to answer, but her stomach roiled before she could get a word out. She did manage to get some vomit on Ikarus’s boots, though. Ha. She hoped it stained the fuckers. Small victories and all that.

The nausea quickly subsided, only to be replaced by an excruciating ache that made it feel like someone was hammering rusty nails into the side of her head.

“Holy suns,” Soraya sneered through clenched teeth. Why couldn’t she stand up straight? And would the ground just stop spinning for two damned seconds so she could at least try and get her bearings?!

“Not a fan of phasing, I take it?”

Her skull might’ve felt like it was being cracked open like an egg, but she gathered enough strength to spit, “You’re … a Dar’rak … You shouldn’t be … able to phase.” Only the Ethereals were supposed to possess that ability. An incredibly rare creature even by Ramapheal’s standards, they were supposedly made of smoke older than the stars and could possess a whole arsenal of nightmare-inducing gifts: astral projection, foresight, the ability to turn their bodies into smoke that could pass through walls or people, and phasing—the act of disappearing from one spit of land and reappearing in another miles away as easily as walking through a door—were just a few. It was a good thing there weren’t many at Ramapheal’s disposal, otherwise this war would’ve likely been over a long time ago.

With his helmet still on, she couldn’t see if there was any gold in his eyes—the telltale sign of any Ethereal—but only Dar’rak had the power to move objects like he had during their fight in the sky. Was he some sort of crossbreed then?

Ikarus’s scoff was the crack of a whip.