THIRTY-FIVE
They were forced into the crumbling temple.
A month had passed, but the place still whispered their names. Sand clung to the faded artwork on the walls, the wind moaning through the halls.
The last time she had walked through the temple, it had held a promise of discovery, now it was like walking into a tomb, a place they may never leave again.
Demetrius moved behind them, their demanding shadow, while other cloaked figures led the way and flanked them.
Surrounded.
Trapped.
Amelia’s mind whirred, trying to think her way out of this. Completing the ritual as Demetrius demanded would mean that Silas would…
He would be gone, in a matter of moments.
Terror clung to her skin at the thought, that he could just disappear from her life, that he would be subjected to that awful place were all the others had gone.
The Sanctum seemed to know where they were going, holding lamps before them, and finding the stairway with ease.
They started downwards. In the darkness, a hand brushed softly against hers. Amelia looked up at Silas, his eyes blue even swathed in shadows. Emotion clung to him, radiating from him. Like he knew what was coming, like he had given up.
She took his hand and squeezed. “We can still do this,” she whispered. “There has to be a way.”
A scoff from behind them.
Amelia turned to scowl hatefully at Demetrius.
“Apologies for eavesdropping,” he told her, not looking sorry at all. “I’ve just heard this before. But it’s time you understand…there is no other way. This is it.”
“Ignore him,” Silas urged. She turned away as they entered the chamber.
It was clear that the place had experienced more than a few earthquakes since they had last been there.
The floor was littered with cracks and gaps that would swallow you whole if you took one misstep.
The roof above had a gaping hole, letting the light in, a large beam of sun hitting the top of the steps where the pedestal stood, where they had found the blades, and though it could not be seen at that moment, the full moon was visible through the hole, moving through the sky slowly like a watchful eye carved in silver. Day and night. Life and death. Balance.
The chamber thrummed with magic, ancient and coiled like a serpent ready to strike.
They stepped around the old, weathered statues and rising columns, moving towards the large, ancient steps rising above them.
Amelia paused at the bottom, forcing Silas to stop with her.
“Up,” Demetrius demanded.
She clenched her teeth, and before thinking on her actions, she pulled her blade out and whirled to him, pointing it. “No. You will stay right here, and Silas and I will finish this, the way we intend.”
Silas gripped at her free arm, pulling her back a step. Then he was in front of her, his own blade out and pointing to another figure who had begun to advance, who paused when the weapon was directed at him.
Demetrius’ eyes moved to the blade Amelia held, the sharp edge aimed at the middle of his chest. His tongue darted out, moving across the edges of his teeth as he considered her. He sighed impatiently. “Do you recall what I said to you in the Sanctum?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?” she asked with irritation.
“This is my home , Amelia,” Demetrius said, again with an air of utter impatience, like he couldn’t be bothered with them anymore. “The Gemino tribe are my people, and those blades…belong to me .”
She opened her mouth, but arms grabbed at her from behind, from the side.
Her hand was forced downwards painfully, the grip punishing.
A strangled cry escaped her throat in the whirlwind, her gaze forced low, the blade pried from her fingers.
Someone hissed with pain as metal rang against metal, and then from the corner of her eyes, she saw Silas being forced to his knees.
She tried to find her magic, to pull enough into her to throw them away, but there was a block, something in the way. The Rift, it didn’t want her to access it.
A hand held her head to the gritty ground, pressing painfully into her cheek.
A voice beside her ear. “Stop fighting. It was amusing, now I’m annoyed.”
Someone took her under the arms, lifting her back to her feet. She was forcibly turned back to the steps, and then shoved forwards, hard enough that she lost her footing. She tripped, landing awkwardly onto the first step.
“You motherfu—”
Amelia turned to find Silas shake the hands away from him, lunging towards the figure that had thrown her, raged etched into his features.
But he never made it. Three others surged for Silas, taking him forcefully and holding him back.
One of them took a fistful of his hair, wrenching his head back and holding his own blade to his throat.
“Stop it,” Amelia choked, panic clawing at her.
Demetrius brushed at the front of his shirt with a sigh. His eyes fell to her, uncaring of her sprawled position on the step. He didn’t even speak, just pointed up, towards the dais where they had first found the blades. The pedestal stood, cracked apart from the earthquake, waiting.
Amelia looked back to Silas, held firm by three others, the shiny blade pressed into the skin of his throat.
Shakily, she got to her feet and slowly turned.
She climbed the steps, heart thrumming madly in her chest. At the third step, she looked over her shoulder.
Silas had been let go, and was following her with a stormy expression, a trickle of blood sliding down the column of his throat.
Anger surged through her at the sight of it.
He met her eyes, and she watched as he tried to give her a small smile, but his face betrayed the fear in his own eyes.
They reached the top, Amelia on one side of the torn pedestal, Silas on the other.
Demetrius, flanked by a dozen followers, stood around them in a circle. He looked between them, and then stopped on Silas, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face. He pulled some loose papers from a pocket, shaking them briefly before holding them out.
They both stared at the offering but made no move to take it.
“The ritual,” Demetrius said coolly. “You will each do your part, and then this will all be over.”
Amelia glanced at Silas. Her blood was boiling with a mixture of anger and fear. She was still trying to find a way out of this, and she could tell that Silas was thinking the same.
She watched him swallow and not move to take the paper. “We don’t need that,” he said in a monotone voice, eyes looking back to Amelia. “We already know it well enough.”
“Hm,” Demetrius said with a quiet smile. “Of course. You are both so studious, it’s been a wonder to observe. Fine then.” He placed the papers away again. “Do begin. But any funny business—” He gave Silas a meaningful look. “—I kill her.”
They stared at each other, frozen.
Her pulse pounded, stomach turning with the desire to be sick.
He looked so uncertain, standing on the other side of the pedestal.
Finally, she swallowed her fear and tore her gaze from Silas to look at Demetrius. “No,” she said quietly.
Demetrius blinked. “No?”
“We won’t do it your way,” she said, feeling steadfast even as her voice shook. “We came here to fix the mistakes, not repeat them.”
Demetrius’ face hardened. “You will, or you die.”
Her chin raised. “We die, and you don’t get what you want. Balance. Restoring your beloved Veilthorne from the Rift’s grip.”
“So stubborn,” he murmured, before clicking his fingers at one of his followers.
They moved forwards and handed over one of the blades, Amelia’s dark blade.
Demetrius took it and gave it a reverent look.
He glanced back up, met her eyes. “Keep resisting, Amelia, and I will kill you. Please understand me.”
Amelia narrowed her eyes in confusion. “You…you need us.”
Demetrius placed the point of the blade to his finger, eyes roaming over the handsome hilt and pommel. “Begin.”
She clenched her jaw. “ No .”
“Amelia,” Silas said, and her gaze swung back to him. His eyes looked on, as if pleading with her. “We have to, we don’t have a choice.”
She gripped the edges of the pedestal, looking at him incredulously. “No, we don’t. He’s bluffing…he needs us to finish this. He won’t hurt me.”
Demetrius snorted, but she ignored him.
“Silas…” Amelia said, “we—”
His eyes flashed in alarm just as Demetrius took her from behind, arm around her chest.
“No!”
The point of the blade pressed in under her jaw, and she hissed in a breath, all while holding Silas’ gaze. He had half rounded the pedestal, looking like he would lunge for her, except Demetrius pressed the point in deeper and she gasped. Silas froze, looking on helplessly.
“Don’t,” Silas choked, holding up a pleading hand. “Don’t harm her, please . All I want is for her to make it out of this.”
Demetrius’ breath was warm and uncomfortable, ghosting across her cheek. “Both of you please understand…I need Silas, not Amelia. I will kill her.” The point pressed in so roughly she was afraid to move even a fraction. “So start the ritual and get this one to stop arguing.”
Silas swallowed, throat bobbing.
He nodded, and her heart jumped. Demetrius released her, pushing her away. She stumbled, gripping the pedestal angrily, reaching up to rub at the spot where her skin still throbbed from the blade.
“Amelia,” Silas said, reaching for her.
She glanced behind her, before rounding her side of the pedestal. She had to step over a crack in the floor to reach him. He took her arms.
Amelia looked up to him. “What can we do?” she said, pleading for him to find the answers she could not.
“We do the ritual…as Demetrius wants.”
Her eyes widened. “We can’t, Silas…you—”
“I know that,” he said quickly, “but you were never supposed to be the one to pay this price. I am.”
It hit her like a knife to the chest.
He was changing his mind, he was going to ruin everything.
“No.” Her voice cracked. “Silas, no . We agreed. We do this together.”