Chapter 37
They’re on us in seconds.
They come from the trees, from the bushes and branches—long, pale figures cloaked in dark robes, spears held at the ready.
They look exactly as I remember them. Exactly like the elves who murdered my father.
In an instant, fury funnels into my body, starting with my chest and spilling outward, filling every limb.
The edges of my vision go red as I watch them close in on us.
Moonlight reflects off their grey-green skin.
I want to steady my bow and start firing, take them down one by one until no Shadow Elves are left before us.
But that isn’t why we’re here. We have a plan, and I promised I’d stick to it.
So we keep perfectly still as the guards approach us. Daerios and Berendir do their best to look harmless, but I can see the muscles tensing in their arms and legs, defensive instincts kicking in to protect us should anything go wrong.
“What business?” calls a guard in Lukkarin. He’s perched in a tree several yards away.
“We came to see the Shadow King,” Daerios calls back. “We have something that he wants.”
“Oh?” The guard who spoke leaps from the branches, landing lightly upon the black grass and starting toward us. “And what might that be?”
Daerios places a hand on my shoulder. My muscles clench, because I know what comes next. I’ve been waiting for it since the moment we left L?th’s apartment in New York. But that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, then pushes me toward the guards. As he does, he says, loud enough for every guard to hear, “We found the true Lightbearer.”
On the inside, árrion is so dark I can hardly see my own feet. There are no windows and hardly any walls, but only so much moonlight can seep in through the trees that grow in abundance around the open-air corridors.
Every dozen feet, there’s a lamp lit by blue fire, and I say a small prayer of thanks each time we walk past them.
It gives me enough time to glance over my shoulder at Cara, or Berendir, or Daerios, and receive a small smile or a wink of encouragement.
Those gestures are all that keeps my feet moving forward, my shoulders from shaking, my body from crumpling into a pile of terror.
That, and the idea of seeing Michael again.
Because I’m so close, now. This is where they’re keeping him. It must be. If they thought he was the Lightbearer, they would keep him in the most secure location in Elaerion—and, according to the boys, that is and always will be árrion.
Unless, of course, they’ve already killed him.
But I can’t let that possibility grab hold. I need a clear mind right now. Sharp eyes and a sharper heart. Michael will be here. He will. And we’re going to get him back.
The guards lead us through the corridor, which curves in one long, seemingly endless left turn.
árrion is carved into the rocky hillside, a maze of rooms and corridors and stairwells without roofs.
I can imagine how stunning it looks when the sun shines upon the valley in full force, but right now?
It feels like the inside of Dracula’s castle.
At the end of the corridor is a tall arch filled with wooden double doors.
The guards come to a halt before the doors, spreading out to flank either side.
I do my best not to flinch as I walk through the alley of tall, pasty bodies, straight toward the double doors.
Just before I reach them, the guard from the treetops—their leader, I’m assuming—sticks out a pale green arm to stop me.
“Halt,” he commands in Lukkarin. “We will await the signal to enter.”
I wish I could reach back for Daerios’s hand. I wish I could back up into his arms, feel the weight of his muscles holding me close. Squeeze my eyes shut and pretend I was anywhere else.
Instead, I nod at the leader and say, in Lukkarin, “Understood.”
He raises his eyebrows, as if impressed that a human has mastered one of the elvish tongues. If only he knew. I probably speak more dialects of elvish than he does.
Three short raps sound on the other side of the door. The head guard steps in front of me and pushes open both doors at once.
We step inside to find a round, high-ceilinged chamber with stone arches running up one half of the space.
The other half is open to the night, looking out over the valley below.
A wide hole is cut into the top of the ceiling, through which moonlight filters inside and pools at the center of the floor.
Pale light illuminates a pattern of tiles on the floor, all of which contain various painted versions of the sun.
Of course. This was once the chamber of Varith Ariar, leader of the Sun Elves.
I’m surprised the Shadow Elves haven’t pried the tiles up from the floor yet; they’ve only had a century to do so.
At the far end of the room, seated on an intricate stone throne draped with black vines, is the Shadow King.
He lounges in the throne with one leg crossed over the other, a goblet dangling from one hand.
He looks perfectly comfortable in his position of power.
He surveys us silently, lifting the goblet to take a sip.
His lips pull back slightly as he swallows, revealing bright white pointed teeth.
I can only imagine what kind of foul liquor Shadow Elves must drink.
“Well,” the Shadow King says, surprising me by speaking in English. “Here she is.” He stands from the throne, placing his goblet on the armrest. “The true Lightbearer, come at last.”
I look him squarely in the eye and say, “Where is my brother?”
The Shadow King’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “No formal greeting?”
“Why would I greet the man who plans to imprison me?”
The Shadow King clucks his pointed tongue.
“Fair enough.” He steps down from the throne, pacing toward me.
The others stand apart, as was part of our plan, leaving me alone, vulnerable, at the center of the room.
Moonlight shines through the hole in the ceiling, forming a halo around me.
“So, the useless worm that has been eating our food and wasting our oxygen for the last seven years is your brother, eh?”
At those words, seven years’ worth of weight slides from my shoulders. All of my muscles go loose at once. He is alive. He is alive. The words sprint through my mind, a flurry of footsteps tripping over each other. Heisaliveheisaliveheisaliveheisalive.
The Shadow King must see the relief on my face, because his lips peel open in a nasty approximation of a smile.
“You thought we killed him, did you? We considered it, of course. He failed the test; all would most likely have been well. Ultimately, though, I deemed it too risky.” He strolls in a circle around me, pale, long-fingered hands wound together behind his back.
“The sacrifice of the Lightbearer will chase the darkness back to Shadowfell. We suspect that the only way for that to happen is with a sword through the heart, but we couldn’t take any chances. ”
I cannot hold my demand in any longer. “Bring him to me.”
“You demand much for a girl who is about to become our prisoner.”
I fold my arms. “With what little time I have left, I would like to see my brother.” I pause, then add, “Please.”
Instead of answering my request, the Shadow King looks over my shoulder.
His eyes settle on someone standing just behind me.
“Ah. Varith Ariar’s least favorite son. I should say that I’m surprised to find you here, but I’m not.
” He steps aside, brushing past me to hover near Daerios.
“Is that what this is? An act of defiance against your father? If so, it’s the most foolish decision you’ll ever make.
If your father didn’t hate you before, he certainly will now. ”
I don’t need to turn around to see Daerios’s expression.
His eyes will be steely ice. His lips a thin line.
Jaw clenched tight as stone, fists balled at his sides, itching to swing at the Shadow King.
But that isn’t part of the plan. So, instead of doing what he wants to do, Daerios says, his voice smooth and even, “Actually, I’m here on my father’s behalf. ”
I cannot help but glance over at the Shadow King to see his reaction. His face has lit up with surprise. “Is that so? I’m to believe that your father wants me to possess the one human capable of driving back the shadows that cloak his home planet?”
“You are.” Daerios keeps his tone light.
“My father has grown quite comfortable on Earth. The humans are terrified of us, which essentially allows us to have our run of the place. They still have their petty governments in place, but everyone knows who the real rulers are.” I keep my back to Daerios, but I imagine his lips pulling up into a cruel smile at this point. “Elaerion is yours, Shadow King.”
I glance at the Shadow King again. His eyes gleam.
He wants to believe Daerios’s story, I can tell.
But he knows that victory does not come this easy.
“If he’s ready to admit defeat, why didn’t he come here himself?
Why send his failure of a son and two irrelevant lackeys?
One of which,” the Shadow King frowns, “is a human? What is that creature doing here?”
“I’m Quinn’s best friend,” Cara pipes up before anyone can tell her not to. “I came along for moral support.”
“Walking your best friend to her death? How…” The king tilts his head. “considerate?”
“And this man is no irrelevant lackey,” Daerios says. “This is Berendir Melde, son of Adan Melde.”
“Ahhhh.” Recognition lights in the Shadow King’s eyes. “I see. Degenerate sons of the king and his general. Borderline useless on the battlefield, even less so when it comes to strategy. I understand, now.” He smiles. “You’re the most expendable members of the royal entourage.”