Chapter 35 #2
“Stealing into the dungeon? This is a fucking terrible idea.” Veros roughed a hand over his face and shot Atlas with a pointed look. “I can’t believe she talked you into this.”
“Veros,” Everinne sighed, exasperation dripping from her tone as they walked down the slick stone pathway that led to the dungeon, each step taking them deeper underground.
Glowing black flames of faerie fire sputtered from warped sconces that looked like they would fall off the walls at any moment. The air was frigid, an unnatural kind of chill that settled deep into one’s bones, and Everinne sidled closer to Atlas’s side, grasping his hand in her own.
He linked their fingers together and squeezed in silent reassurance.
Veros craned his neck, glancing back at them, suspicion hiding in the depths of his eyes that were so much like his sister’s. “What exactly am I needed for again?”
Atlas smacked him on the back with his free hand, offering a carefree smile. “It’s a secret.”
Veros frowned, the time lord hated secrets and loathed surprises even more.
He was going to be pissed when he discovered why they were bringing him along on their dungeon escapade.
“Besides,” Atlas added as an afterthought, “you didn’t have to agree.”
“That’s right.” A smug kind of satisfaction pulled at the corners of Everinne’s mouth. “You could have told me no.”
Now it was Veros’s turn to roll his eyes. His scowl deepened as he muttered, “As if I would.”
But then he drew up short and Everinne’s smile faded.
The mouth of the dungeon opened before them.
Damp and dimly lit, the narrow passage they stood within emptied into a cramped hall with darkened cells on all sides.
Bronze bars were jammed between the floor and ceiling, locking the inhabitants into a cage filled with beds made from straw, rough-hewn blankets, and tin plates with meager servings of days-old food.
Other than a few groans of agony and the incoherent mutterings coming from the shadows, the dungeon was eerily silent.
Veros took a cautious step forward. “Why are there no guards down here?”
“There’s no need for them.” Atlas followed, drawing Everinne in close. “Not when the glamour keeps most away.”
“Yeah,” Veros grunted, raking a hand through his dark hair. “That was one hell of a party trick.”
The glamoured wall disguising the entrance to the dungeon had been put in place by Atlas’s father.
The kralv wanted it as terrifying as possible, to deter the need for guards as he deemed them better suited elsewhere—like protecting the border of Starysa from the Deszvila Forest. Kralv Oldrich had paid in gold for the tainted magic from the Marzena, monetary notes hadn’t made a difference when it came to obtaining a demonic glamour.
The wall served its purpose well enough, though.
There were stories about some who’d tried to enter the dungeon, whether on purpose or by accident, and had died from fear.
Atlas expected nothing less from his father.
So long as one was not afraid, the glamour would ease, allowing them entry into the dungeon.
He let Everinne tug him along, hating how she was already familiar with the dungeon’s layout. It made his skin crawl and his stomach twist knowing she’d been down here, knowing she’d been subjected to his father’s harsh behavior.
She stumbled to a stop, and he nearly plowed into her, hooking an arm swiftly around her waist to keep her from toppling forward.
“There.” Everinne disentangled himself from his arms and rushed toward a cell. She grabbed the bars and peered inside, tossing a fleeting, desperate look over her shoulder. “She’s in here.”
If it was at all possible, Veros’s glower deepened. He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked a brow, his lack of compassion palpable. “She?”
“My friend.” The look Everinne sent her brother was nothing short of desperation. “Aisling.”
Atlas might have considered scolding Veros for being so heartless about the matter, but he couldn’t manage to tear his gaze away from the body curled on the grimy stone floor.
Aisling, the fae in question, hadn’t moved.
In fact, if it weren’t for the faint rise and fall of her chest, Atlas would’ve thought she was dead.
She looked like a snowflake, covered in shiny white pearls and lace, but the hem of her skirt was now soiled.
Her shoes were missing, and though she was wearing sparkly stockings, the sheer fabric wasn’t nearly enough to keep her warm.
The flesh of her lips was a pale shade of blue, and waves of hot pink hair fell around her, shielding most of her face from view.
Every so often she blinked, yet the vivid blue of her eyes was cold and empty. Lifeless.
“What happened to her?” Atlas asked, stepping closer to the cell.
Everinne’s throat worked as she swallowed. “Something…awful. Which is why we have to get her out of here. She can’t stay in the dungeon, and she can’t go back to the Mystic Obscura.”
Veros tucked his hands into his pockets as he sauntered forward, his eyes never leaving the female who was curled into herself like a fae child on the ground. His jaw popped. “Do you have the key?”
“No. I’ve got something better.” Everinne reached down and plucked a slender, silver pin studded with crystals from her boot. Then she set to work on picking the lock.
“Why am I not surprised…” Veros grumbled, but worry clouded his eyes, and he gnawed his lip as he rocked back onto his heels.
The lock snapped and Everinne pushed the gate wide so the bars creaked angrily. She heaved it open and gestured toward her brother. “Veros?”
He balked. “You expect me to take her? Was this your plan all along?”
“You’re the only one who can hide her.” She rushed to her friend’s side, kneeling next to her. Everinne smoothed Aisling’s brilliant pink hair back from her face, pressing the back of her palm to her pallid cheek. Her brows knit in concern. “The Astralplane is untouchable to anyone but you.”
“Let me get this straight.” Veros stepped into the cell, heaving a breath of displeasure. “Not only do you want me to steal your friend from the dungeon, but you also want me to break her blood contract with the Mystic Obscura and bring her to the Astralplane?”
“Veros, please,” Everinne pleaded, and Atlas stepped in.
“Remember what we discussed.” He shot a pointed look at his friend. Not so long ago, Veros was troubled by the fact that he wasn’t there for Everinne, that he didn’t offer her the love and support she so desperately needed. “She needs your help, Veros. They both do.”
He hesitated for only a moment before pulling his timepiece out of his pocket. The runes whirred and spun in a kaleidoscope of swirling colors before he clicked it closed, shoving the timepiece back into his pocket.
“Fine,” he conceded. His face was a mask of stoic calm, once more the unemotional Lord of Time. “But you must understand, Everinne, by taking her to the Astralplane, I am directly changing her fate.”
Whether or not Veros’s decision to help them would have a favorable or adverse effect on him and the use of his magic remained to be seen.
“Maybe you were meant to be here with us, in this moment.” A wistful smile played at the corner of Everinne’s lips. “Maybe you’re part of her fate.”
“Time grants no favors, Ever.” Veros’s calm facade did not change. He bent down low and easily scooped the nearly unconscious female into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her arms hung limp in his hold. “Not without asking for something in return.”
Everinne nodded and stood, closing the cell door behind them. “I understand.”
“I hope so.” Veros shifted Aisling’s weight and her eyes fluttered closed. “What did you say her name was again?”
“Aisling.”
He grunted. “Of course it is.”
Then Veros stepped back, carrying a sleeping Aisling in his arms. Atlas reached out and pulled Everinne to his side as the ticking of timepieces and the whispering rush of a thousand voices filled the dungeon.
Veros’s magic amplified, blurred swirls of colors swept around him in a sphere, streaks of suns, moons, and stars not of their realm revolved in a dozen different directions.
Power rippled and flowed as distorted images of mountains, trees, oceans, and other worlds billowed in and out of focus.
Veros stood in the center, and both he and Aisling seemed illuminated from within, as though they glowed with the magic of time.
In one final burst of energy, Veros and Aisling disappeared, and all that was left in their wake was the scent of worn leather, fresh earth, and spilled ink on aged parchment.
Everinne let out a breath and leaned into Atlas. He draped an arm around her shoulder, and she grabbed ahold of his hand, holding tight.
“Come on.” He guided her toward the steep path that would lead them out of the dungeon. “If we hurry, we can get to the bonfire and my father will be none the wiser.”
And neither of them would have to suffer his unnecessary wrath.
“Thank you, Atlas.” She spun into him, tangled her fingers in his loose, messy waves, and kissed him with such tenderness, she nearly shattered his heart.
“Mm.” Atlas brushed his lips across hers. Once. Twice. “I could get used to your gratitude.”
Everinne smiled, drowning him in those eyes of hers. Endless turquoise depths fanned with ribbons of gold. “And I could get used to your mouth.”