Chapter 19
nineteen
. . .
I drop into the pilot seat before Anders can and grin. “I’m flying, you can be my co-pilot.” He playfully scoffs but drops down into the seat beside me anyway. Internally, I do a little dance that I got my way. I thought for sure he’d attempt to pull rank on me.
“I trust you,” he says, sliding on his headset. “But if you need help or have questions, please just ask.” I nod and radio in for takeoff. When we get the all-clear, I launch us into space, my stomach fluttering with excitement.
We escape Baedyn’s atmosphere only to be greeted with an unending blanket of black. Anders charts a path to Ista, noting it will only be an hour and a half using hyperjump. I engage the reactors and let the autopilot take over.
“So, Prince.” I swing my chair to face him. “What are you looking forward to most after graduation? Becoming king? Bonding?” I attempt to keep a straight face. His chair swivels to match mine.
“I’m looking forward to being home and spending time with my sister. Clara is one of my best friends, and I miss her.” I roll my eyes.
“Okay, well…that was just sweet.” He chuckles. “What else, besides being the best big brother?” He’s contemplative for a while as I let my gaze settle on our tracker. We’re speeding past Okenen. With hyperjump, the planets and suns are nothing more than a flash of light in the endless emptiness.
“Nobody has ever asked me that.” He swipes a hand through his hair. “I don’t feel ready to be king, and definitely don’t feel ready to be someone’s husband.” His gaze bores into the side of my face. “You may not believe me, but I’d like my choice of bride.”
I swallow thickly, ignoring his gaze. “I heard your friends, Sienna and Gunnar, talking one day. She’d pick you.”
He snorts, pulling my attention to him as he drags his palms down his face. “Ignore her. I do. She’s nothing more than a flirt who’s working every angle hoping to put herself at some advantage. She’s just like her mother. She craves power.” I hum in response, fiddling with the hem of my shirt.
“And who would you pick?” I swallow the weird lump in my throat. “If you could, that is.” Why the hell did I just ask that?
“Soraea,” he says too gently. “Look at me.”
I look up, meeting his gaze. “Why are you asking? Do you want the truth?”
I bite my lip, ignoring the way my chest tightens uncomfortably. The sting of tears pricks my eyes, sharp and unwarranted. Why am I about to cry over this? The truth. The truth from him. It could change everything. It could break me.
I shake my head. “No,” I whisper. “Never mind. Don’t tell me.”
His features soften, a flicker of something unreadable—disappointment?
understanding?—crossing his face. He doesn’t push.
Instead, he shifts the subject, asking about my upcoming break, my family’s trip to Kliax.
I try to listen, to respond, but his gaze, though no longer direct, feels like a physical weight, a warmth lingering on my cheek where his breath had almost kissed me.
Even as we talk about FinSurfing and bioluminescent beaches, a potent current still hums between us, a silent language we both understand but refuse to speak.
The casual facade we try to adopt feels thin, stretched taut.
By the time we arrive at the temple, the surface of our conversation is smooth, but the undercurrent is a raging torrent of unspoken words and simmering desire.
The familiar, shimmering glass of the system’s largest temple comes into view as I lower us onto the visitors’ launchpad.
Anders insisted we didn’t tell anyone aside from Professor Ainslyn, as we’d both be missing combat, and the Chancellor.
Neither seemed to ask questions; maybe they didn’t want to know, or perhaps they trust us enough.
Either way, we’re alone, without our guards, and without anyone’s knowledge, we’re here.
If we had alerted King Hunter and Queen Isobel that we were coming, there would have been considerable fanfare, guards, and all the other things.
We need to slip in and out before anyone notices.
I tap my energy shield on, watching him do the same as he pulls my cloak over my disguised hair.
We’re both dressed in all black, unassuming clothing, with black cloaks.
When we step out into the wind, Anders tugs me close, wrapping a hand around my billowing cloak and shielding me with his body.
Inside the temple, it is quiet today, with only a few prayerful visitors moving between different stations to offer prayers to both Astor and Calia, as well as their parents, the Primordials. This is the only temple I know of that has offering tables for them.
We make our way across the rich wine-colored marble floors, illuminated with an orange glow from the thousands of sconces.
The glass building allows for ample natural light.
However, due to the constant cloud cover, the need for artificial lighting still persists.
We pass patrons murmuring their prayers, and find an information screen along the back wall.
Anders moves quickly, pulling up a map and the history of how the new temple was built. Looking over the maps again, he nods silently, urging me to go through the door on my right. We find ourselves alone in a long hallway with only a few doors labeled storage, candles, and holograms.
We slip into the last door, labeled archives.
The door, thankfully, is unlocked. We begin our search.
He takes the far side of the room, while I stay close to the shelving of books near the door.
I run my fingers over the new leather-bound books, knowing that what we’re looking for is much older.
When I find nothing, I groan. Anders does the same, running a hand through his hair.
“Well, shit,” he mutters. “There has to be somewhere else—” His voice drifts off as the hair on my neck stands with a prickling sensation. An eerie “I’m here” is like a whisper on an invisible wind. I turn, focusing, and he falls silent. Another call to me pulls me out of the door.
On the other side, we’re met with another long hall, this one illuminated with bright white walls and offices.
I nearly collide with him when I back up.
“Keep your hood up, but walk to the end of the hall. Act like we belong here.” I’m about to tell him about the voice when a door to our left opens up, and two men exit, lost in conversation.
We both turn, walking quickly but not quickly enough to catch attention. I’m just thankful it’s normal to be found in cloaks here.
Anders holds me back a moment, looking both ways.
For some reason, he doesn’t question me.
He just lets me lead, following, staying close.
I follow the sound, like it’s drifting and leading me down the hall, then another, and another.
I’ve lost my surroundings, but I keep going.
The last turn we take leads us to an old hallway that appears to have been unused for years.
A door sits alone in the old stonework. The voice drifts behind it, disappearing.
With a shaky voice, I say, “I think—I think it’s through here.
” He studies me a moment before nodding.
Without questioning, he tries the handle.
When it doesn’t budge, he looks around just before his hand connects—hard, breaking the handle and lock off completely. My mouth falls open as I stare at him.
“I’ll leave a donation to fix it,” is all he says.
I don’t bother asking before the door swings open, revealing stone steps that descend into the dark.
Anders urges me forward, and the clang of the heavy door behind us swallows the last flicker of light, plunging us into absolute, suffocating darkness.
It presses in, thick and cold, stealing the air from my lungs.
My hands instinctively fly out, hitting rough, damp stone, while my breath comes in ragged gasps. Despite the unending darkness, my vision swims.
My fingers continue to scrape along the wall as I take a step.
The only sound down here is the sound of the rushing noise of my blood pumping through me, and the thump of my heart that feels like it’s attempting to escape my chest. A sharp breath comes out just before I ask, “Is this a bad time to tell you I don’t like dark, enclosed spaces?
” Instantly, his hands find mine. They’re warm and steady, and despite the energy that exchanges between us, I feel my heart begin to slow, my breath becoming even.
“Breathe with me.” His voice is no more than a whisper against my cheek. He inhales for a few seconds and then out for a few. I follow him, letting him guide me. We do this a few times, and after a while, I stand straight. “I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I sense his gaze on me, steady and unwavering, as if the darkness doesn’t exist for him.
Maybe it doesn’t. He’s not normal. I know it in my bones.
He leads me down and down uneven, slick steps, the passage feeling as if it narrows with every step.
He keeps hold of my hand, whispering if there’s a big step or a short one, his soft words echoing off stone walls.
We keep descending, further and further, the air growing heavier, colder, and damper. It gets so cold that I can almost see the cloud of my breath in front of me. We keep going, though.
Down. Down. Down.
When he tells me there’s a turn in the steps, I notice that the air is somehow thinner, tasting of ancient dust and forgotten stone. We continue then in silence for another few minutes.