Page 32

Unwilling to venture into any of the closed doors that lined each corridor, for fear of walking right into Malakar’s stars-forsaken bedroom or some other horrendous outcome, Elyria could not see much outside the fortress. All the hallway windows were either razor-thin or too high on the walls—often both—which made it difficult to see anything more than vague silhouettes against the night sky, the barest glimpses of the outside world.

None of what she did see looked familiar enough to place. There were no distinctive spires, no banners rustling in the wind. She couldn’t tell if there was ocean to the east or mountains to the west. Malakar could have dragged her across the entirety of Arcanis and she’d be none the wiser.

Elyria hopped out of a dark stairwell onto what she assumed was finally the first floor of this massive place, dithering about what to do with the final minutes of her precarious freedom. There was still no sign of this “lower forge,” of the place where all this supposed digging was occurring. It had to be underground, she concluded, and she thought maybe she should try to uncover a door to the basement, to look for some indication of where to find the lower levels in this maze.

Or she could try to find the entrance to this place, get a glimpse of somewhere she might be able to slip out. Even if she wouldn’t go tonight. Not when Petra was still at risk, should Elyria’s escape be discovered.

Soft, soft, soft, soft, she chided herself. How had she actually come to care for this silly, brainwashed fool? Quartered hell, was Elyria seriously considering trying to convince the poor girl into running with her?

Away from Malakar’s duplicitous tongue and a family who clearly didn’t give two shits about her, perhaps Petra could start to unravel the years of conditioning she’d undergone. Elyria couldn’t help but imagine what a young, impressionable girl like that might be like, the heights she could achieve, under the tutelage of Kit or Tenny or, hells, even Tenebris Nox.

Regardless, Elyria was committed to heading back just as soon as she figured out her final task tonight. She was, in fact, still trying to decide on what to do when she turned yet another corner . . . and stopped dead in her tracks.

A sudden wrongness thrummed at the edges of her senses, making her teeth ache. Elyria’s shadows peeled back of their own volition, diving under her skin, the loss of control over them so abrupt that shock drove her backward, pushing her into the corner of the long entrance hall she found herself in.

One that she might have thought looked oddly familiar, had she been able to pay better attention.

Had her eyes not immediately gone instead to the two figures in the middle of the hall, standing before two enormous studded metal doors off to one side. Closed, of course. Sealed shut. Sealed tight.

The entrance.

The exit.

But Elyria couldn’t relish in the knowledge that she’d found it. She couldn’t do anything at all, in fact, other than stare, because it was as though there was once again a fist gripping the remaining scraps of shadow in her chest, keeping her still, holding tight. Squeezing.

“There you are, mi regina umbrae.” Malakar’s voice was smooth, with just the touch of amusement as he arched an eyebrow at Elyria, still plastered to the wall in the corner of the room.

Next to him, Petra let out a soft whimper, and it was only then that Elyria saw the dark, shadowy leash wrapped around her neck and the bloodred ribbons of sanguinagi magic binding her wrists.

“I was wondering when you would be joining us.”

10

DEATH-TOUCHED

CEDRIC

The Warden of Shadows was terrifying.

Onyx-colored eyes, nebulas forming and coalescing within them. Skin like the night sky, starlit and stitched with constellations, visible on his face and neck, the rest of it hidden beneath robes darker than the void. He loomed at least half a foot taller than even Nox, horns and all. And when he spoke, Cedric could hear the layered harmony of his voice reverberating in his very bones.

“What help would you seek from me, Sunbringer?” said Noctis, the barest hint of amusement lacing the words. He drifted closer, the luminous walls of the cavern shimmering, pulsing in time with each celestial step, the black pool from which he rose rippling.

Cedric cast a sideways look at Nox, who nodded their encouragement. “My—” He cleared his throat, instantly aware of how even that small sound echoed oddly in the cavern. “The dark sorcerer Malakar has returned, and he has taken the Revenant. I beg your assistance in getting her back.”

A flicker of something—recognition? Disdain?—passed across the celestial’s star-peppered face. “I am aware,” he said, lacing his fingers together and steepling them under his chin. “I felt it when his soul crossed back over and have sensed only the dark flares of his power since. Never hers.”

Cedric thought his heart might have stopped beating. “Then you know where she is? Where he took her? Is keeping her?”

Noctis tilted his head. “Why would I know such a thing?”

Cedric sucked in a breath, and it wasn’t until Nox reached over and laid a gentle hand on his forearm that he realized he had started to move closer to the star god.

“You mortals make such assumptions. I have kept an eye on the Revenant over the years, in some manner or another”—his eyes flicked to Nox, whose head was still bowed in reverence—“but I am not omniscient, nor omnipresent.”

“Aye, Aurelia said nearly the same during the Crucible.”

Noctis’s gaze snapped to Thraigg. “Ah, of course. I confess I do not know whether to be surprised by this or not. I imagine after these centuries trapped in the Sanctum, she may be rather desperate for conversation partners. Still, one would think she would have learned from past mistakes.”