Chapter Nineteen
I shall not die but thrive and share the wisdom of Soal.
Silence pressed down on me as the survivors stumbled from the chamber, leaving behind walls soaked in blood, gore, and death.
Cold air wrapped around me, biting into my bare skin.
Dazed and numb, I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
Whether the shadows I’d glimpsed remained in the others or not, I didn’t know.
Now, I didn’t care. All I could think about was scrubbing every inch of my body with scalding water, then curling up in bed, safe in Cyrus’s arms.
Two guards stood at attention. One stepped forward to announce, “I’ll escort you to your rooms.”
He led us away. Everyone but me.
The second guard barred my path. “You have a meeting, Lady Roosa.”
Because of course I did. “With whom?” I asked, voice raw. I wrapped my arms around my middle.
Silent, he marched in the opposite direction. Though unsteady, I followed with a single goal in mind. Maintain my bearings a little while longer. A feat I wasn’t sure I could manage.
He escorted me to a frowning Mr. Vyle, who waited in front of a closed door. “Today’s performance leaves much to be desired, Lady Roosa.”
“I’ll accept a failing grade with pride, Mr. Vyle,” I replied, my tone flat.
He made no further comment as we traversed the hallway. To my surprise, he removed his jacket and settled the material over my shoulders. His warmth and scent replaced the metallic-tinged cold, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t remove the jacket either. I’d done enough fighting for the day.
Miller and five others were dead. Winslet might die too. I’d glimpsed some of the torment and torture Mykal and Victors had endured in captivity. The reminder knotted every muscle I possessed.
“Did the group pass your test?” I demanded. “Did we kill the right soldiers?”
“That is to be determined.”
Whatever. I would learn the truth through Cyrus or Domino. “Tell me why, at least.” An all-encompassing demand meant to cover everything I’d just witnessed and endured.
He didn’t pretend not to understand. “There are many reasons. Let’s start with the footage of your friend and the former leader of the Tome Society.
It was important that you see them. There are indications you’ll be with Cyrus long term.
Therefore, you must comprehend what occurs to those who betray us. ”
Us. Meaning CURED. “Last I’d heard, Mykal and the Soalian escaped.” Wasn’t like no one suspected Cyrus shared behind-the-scenes details with me. “You showed me old feed.”
“That doesn’t make it any less haunting.” A chiding note colored his voice. “She’s infected with Madness. Recapturing her would be a mercy for everyone who loves her.”
When a meta turned a corner, heading our way, it moved from the path, deferring to Mr. Vyle. A shock I would have explored further any other day. Here, now, I had only the strength to think, Later.
We rounded corners and climbed a flight of stairs, and I picked up our conversation where we’d left off.
“Cyrus is the one who captured John Victors. In fact, he’s the only royal to ever do so.
Crown him king and let him do it again.” He could dismantle CURED before Astan’s horns ever sounded. No “human hosts a god” necessary.
The executioner performed a double take, as if staggered by my words. “Your loyalty to Cyrus is unmistakable, and commendable, but he doesn’t need to be king to succeed in such an endeavor.”
I wondered . . . Did Mr. Vyle wish to be king himself? I hadn’t forgotten what I’d seen when I’d spirit-walked with Domino. Vyle, prostrate, begging Astan for power.
“You asked about my reasons for pitting trainees against each other,” he said.
“If you are chosen for this . . . special assignment, you’ll be expected to do objectionable things without argument.
At times, you’ll need to invade Soalian strongholds, and when you do, you’ll discover that people you trusted are your enemies.
What will you do then?” Asked with a leading edge.
“I’ll always do what I believe is right,” I vowed.
He misunderstood and nodded, as if pleased. “Best to remember a moment of misery is a small price to pay for a lifetime of privilege.”
“And what misery do you suffer, Mr. Vyle?” The question left me before I could run it through a filter.
He stopped, forcing me to do the same. Peering at me, almost agonized, he admitted, “The kind you cannot even comprehend, Lady Roosa. I’m not ashamed to admit you are a mystery to me.
I know Soal courted—or courts—you, but as I said, your loyalty to Cyrus is unmistakable.
And his to you. I have witnessed your resourcefulness firsthand.
You are a novice, yet you are skilled enough to shed a trained tail, help a high prince defeat an army of feeders, and beguile multiple men at once.
In the beginning, I underestimated you. But no longer.
I’m confident you can be a major asset to us.
Or a terrible enemy. If that’s the case, I will wreck you without hesitation, Lady Roosa. Be assured of that.”
He moved on, leaving me floored, and I had to hurry to catch up, his threat clanging between my ears.
We turned another corner, and a familiar tug ignited as if . . . no, no, surely not. But what if?
The tug flourished, as if the Rock loomed nearby. I fought to control my reactions, not wanting to give anything away. Confusion set in. I’d been assured a doorway to Soal’s library hadn’t yet grown here.
The tugging faded when we snaked around the next corner, but I glanced over my shoulder, mentally photographing the hallway. Multiple entrances, all closed and flanked by armed guards.
We reached another guarded door, this one made of solid gold. Mr. Vyle motioned to the watchmen on duty. They pressed a series of buttons on a wall pad, and the metal opened automatically, unveiling a chamber with high ceilings, massive marble columns, and white floors veined in scarlet.
“Astan will help you, if you’ll let him. His methods might be unexpected, but his results are unparalleled.” Having said his piece, Vyle strode off.
Unexpected? Unparalleled? Try disastrous.
With no idea what awaited me, I stepped into the space alone.
A temple. Silence reigned, not a single sound penetrating the air.
Cyrus and the other royals perched upon silver thrones, arranged along the side walls, each chair flanked by towering statues.
Those sculptures represented a different god, their forms a medley of ancient power.
Among them were Briar Rose and Bala, the pet dragon-thing, as enigmatic as ever.
My gaze lingered on the exquisite Briar Rose, drawn to her by a magnetic force.
She wore a gown studded with gemstones and flowers.
Unlike the others, she projected otherworldly grace and dignity.
I might have stared at her for hours, if shadows hadn’t caught my notice.
They nestled against the deities as well as royals.
Recalling what those shadows had done to me and my fellow trainees, I reared back, repulsed.
Every royal’s eyes were closed, including the emperor’s.
He sat atop the only gold throne. It occupied the space in the center of the back wall, at the feet of Astan’s likeness.
There were no noticeable cracks in the statue.
But his horns . . . I pressed my hands to my protesting stomach. They’d risen another notch.
A pregnant woman in a white gown stood at his side, with ten guards stretched out behind her. Even their eyes were closed. The woman’s only piece of jewelry was a thick silver chain with a fancy wrought-iron key hanging between her ample cleavage.
A key. My breath caught. The key?
Only the wealth of shadows kept their eyes open. Those that cloaked the emperor, especially. They coiled around him as if they were pieces of jewelry.
Altogether, it was the creepiest thing I’d ever witnessed. Were the royals entranced? Meditating? Pondering the answer to a riddle? What?
I stood immobile, unsure what to do but knowing I needed my boyfriend as the horrors of the day came crashing into my awareness. “Cyrus?” I rasped.
The shadows fell away from him, as if shoved by an invisible force.
Suddenly his lids popped open, and his attention swung to me.
He frowned, appearing perplexed, and unfolded to his feet, every movement labored as if he was wading through an ocean of water.
The struggle lessened the farther he got from the throne until finally he strode with ease. Concern replaced his bewilderment.
He cupped my cheeks in his warm, calloused hands and looked me over. “What’s wrong?”
I bucked up, jutting my chin and pretending I wasn’t ripped apart at the seams by everything that had happened. “I’ll be okay.” I whispered the assurance, yet my voice echoed from the walls. But would he? “Get me out of here.”
“Come.” Cyrus snaked an arm around my waist and ushered me from the room. He walked so swiftly, I almost couldn’t keep up.
I cast a glance over my shoulder, to the pregnant woman and her key.
Cyrus and I didn’t speak again until we were sealed inside our private bathroom.
“What was that place?” I demanded. “Why were you frozen like that?”
“I don’t know.” His guttural timbre boiled with frustration, anger, and even a hint of fear. “Let’s get the blood off you.”
The blood of my teammates. Whatever remained of my shock dissolved, ensuring I experienced in unison reactions I’d previously staved off. Tremors started in the center of my torso and worked their way to the tips of my fingers and toes. New tears welled. A cry lodged in my throat.
“I think we should focus on what happened to you in that temple,” I croaked.
“We will. Just not now.” Cyrus turned on the water. Soon, hot steam thickened the air.