Chapter Twenty-One #2
I spare a tendril of curiosity to detect his fear has dissipated while amusement and wonder return through our connection.
His brows knit with focus as the tunnels curve around the first Emperor’s elaborate crypt, followed by the highly decorated memorial for Mythsea, the Dragon for whom First Emperor Aslo returned her precious egg, which earned us the right to this land.
The shrines take up so much of the confined space that no one should see us holding hands, yet when the pathway opens wider, he squeezes me quickly—all four times—before we release each other, and my heart aches with the need for more.
Varic glances behind us before turning back to me. My heart leaps when he reaches across the short distance to graze the side of his pinkie finger alongside my own.
Warmth spreads within my chest, and tingles scatter up from the contact—intensifying the urge to grab hold of the leather harness crisscrossing his chest and shove him into a dark corner.
Guards shove open the old wooden door to the small landing leading to the top of the Stairway to the Stars, whose spiral design is considered treacherous even for those more surefooted than me.
Varic’s eyes rise to the higher ceiling, with his entire being relaxing now that plenty of space exists around us.
We take the wide staircase in sets of three, with Malin, Cirrin and Lars walking ahead, while Fray and Varic fall in on either side of me. Varic offers his hand, which I refuse, needing to prove I can handle a staircase such as this without assistance.
Failing to do so immediately, as I misjudge the first step and catch the toe of my boot on the edge when the muscles in my leg buckle. Varic swoops down to grasp hold of my waist to keep me from falling sideways.
My voice cracks as I offer him my thanks, to which Varic nods as he helps me straighten, removing his hands now that I am stable.
Fray offers his arm to steady me while issuing Varic a self-satisfied smirk.
I shake my head at their apparent rivalry and pivot to look at either wall in study of the marble reliefs depicting different scenes from the time of the Dwarf King’s reign.
Flames dance over iron sconces, casting a glow over each of the historical moments carved by the dwarves, whose king so famously commissioned this staircase to be built for his wife, the Witch Queen, with the intent for the staircase to carry her to the top of the mountain so she might lie beneath her beloved night sky in relative safety from their enemies.
The staircase remains unfinished, as the landing to the secret entrance was the last level completed before the dwarves were forced to flee due to the prejudice of sorcerers and witches, who, in their hatred of the interracial couple, assassinated the Witch Queen while she slept in the clearing beneath her beloved stars.
It is said that in his bereavement, the Dwarf King had this section of the mountain cordoned off to preserve the memories of their union, with only two scenes having been desecrated, appearing as if someone chiseled away certain details.
Without thinking, I raise a hand before Varic’s chest to run my fingers along the damage over which the culprit might have felt so compelled to destroy—or hide—from themselves or us.
My favorite scene is the one with the royal couple standing before the arched windows inside what appears to be a bedchamber, where they look at each other with such devotion, while everything below their shoulders has been obscured by chisel marks.
Varic studies me in silence while I pull in a breath to study the next carving on his side of the stairwell.
One where the same strange desecration has occurred between the Witch Queen and Dwarf King’s frames where they stand behind the balcony railing, looking at each other over the marks marring whatever must have upset the vandal.
Because otherwise, I cannot imagine a reason one might destroy such fine artistry.
“Beautiful,” Varic says.
A familiar heat builds beneath my cheeks when I turn to where he stares at me rather than the damaged scene.
“Yes,” I agree, though I do not mean the carvings, either.
The smile curving his lips fractures something in my chest, wishing it were possible to release Fray’s arm in favor of his, feeling as if this incessant need to pull Varic closer to my being while forced to keep him at such a short distance might ultimately prove to be my ruin.
Pins and needles prick my legs when we step within the heart of the mountain, where the hollow center inspires a sense of wonder, quickly followed by the internal stirring of existential dread, with the vast emptiness feeling at once too familiar and uncertain.
My eyes trace the dark, webbed veins along the walls when a shriek unlike any animal I know to exist emits from the dark tunnel leading to Wyrth’s mysterious laboratory.
The Philosopher strides ahead, gesturing for two of the Guards carrying torches to lean in where he whispers a command I am unable to decipher.
Whatever his message, it must be urgent, since the Guards nod to him before taking off at a fast clip to disappear within the darkness.
Wyrth swipes a hand down his face as he returns to stand behind us, and I share a knowing look with Imelda.
Emperor Aldritch commands his own Guards to continue for the dens, to which they listen, leading us through the mouth of the hidden passage to the outer world. I release Fray’s arm and shield my eyes from the piercing pain entering them, though the light filtering in is dreary and gray.
“What exactly are you shielding yourself from? It is neither sunny nor bright outside,” Lars says as I fix him with a glare. “Whoa, whoa.” He holds his hands up in defense, as if my gaze alone can harm him.
We come to a halt at the top of the valley and gaze over the area where cave openings dot this side of the mountain, each one opening to intersecting tunnels leading to the Dragon’s dwellings.
The thought of so many beasts living inside these caves is almost too fantastical, yet having witnessed every size of Dragon exit these wide openings, there is no question.
Perhaps if magical beings were permitted to enter, read the descriptions of such a location, or to have any depiction past those made from pure imagination, it might feel possible.
Though no witch nor sorcerer dare enter, except when summoned for a meeting with the Elders.
A long sloping path curves down before us and continues on all the way to the edge of the forest, just a few paces before the line of soldiers who stand guard before the pines, ensuring no one enters and nothing leaves it.
Their stern expressions contribute a grim reality to the celebratory air of the day, since their purpose is to note any abnormalities in the trees to both sound the alarm and defend against any threat.
Imperial witches stand between every handful of soldiers or more, ensuring the telekinetics maintain their focus, with shoulders squared and expressions neutral.
Yet they cannot hide the deep, dark crescents underneath their eyes, exemplifying their exhaustion.
A contradiction to their otherwise well-crafted image.
Though isn’t this exactly what is expected of us?
To pretend all is well, even when evidence to the contrary stares back from our faces.
Excitement rolls from Varic’s shoulders down his body with his tall form practically vibrating, eyes sparkling as he glances around with a different sort of energy than when he is assessing for safety.
I can’t help but stare over with curiosity, unsure if such a drastic change in his demeanor is in anticipation of the upcoming ceremony, or from simply being outdoors.
Then my heart constricts with the possible reasons, because even when he blood-bonds with a Dragon, he will not be permitted the freedom to come out and visit whenever he pleases.
Instead, this sorcerer who thrives in the sunlight will be locked away in the Palace with the rest of us, only permitted to come outdoors when it serves the Emperor.
The large white stage looms before us, with the throne set to face the caves across the clearing. Impossibly bright brown eyes seek and find mine, with that magnetic draw he wields pulling me to him.
I clear my throat and redirect my gaze forward, with the image of his small smile imprinted behind my retinas.
Black and gold banners embroidered with our sigil ripple in the wind from all four pillars on the stage, surrounding the newest banner hanging in the center at the back where a large black square of cloth obscures what will soon be revealed as Varic’s signet.
Emperor Aldritch climbs the shallow stairs and strides toward the center of the stage. He pauses to peer out over the audience made up of those he deigned to offer an invitation.
Varic tilts his head to the side, drawing my attention before indicating for me to look down where he points at a patch of Dragon’s Fury, our Empire’s flower and my signet.
Its black petals and purple stems rise from the ground so plentifully they nearly surround the stage.
I glance back at him and widen my eyes as he bends down, reaching toward the forbidden flower.
Panic erodes all sense, and I lightly smack the side of his arm with the back of my hand.
Cheeks burning, I scan those around us, worrying someone may have noticed my Lead Guard reaching for the flower that not even the strongest force sorcerer in the world is permitted to touch, much less pick, as it appeared he might.
My stomach drops when Ivo’s brown eyes ensnare my focus while his cheek lifts in a knowing smirk.
Fuck. This is the last kind of disruption we need, should the Emperor’s force sorcerer report my own Lead Guard for being inches away from committing a fatal crime.
“What’re you doing?” I chastise once Varic straightens. “You know it is forbidden to so much as touch one.”