Chapter 18 Aisling
EIGHTEEN
AISLING
The tunnel smells like blood.
I knew it would. I spent weeks breathing this exact copper-rot stench while Valdris’s servants drained me drop by drop. But knowing and experiencing are different things, and my body remembers this place in ways my mind can’t control.
Keep moving. Niamh needs you. Keep moving.
Selene walks ahead of me, flames dancing at her fingertips to light our path. Rurik brings up the rear, his presence a wall of heat at my back. The channels are narrow—too narrow for dragons to shift, just like I told him—but wide enough for three humans to move single file.
Ancient runes line the walls. Some I recognize from journals. Others pulse with magic I don’t understand—wards and triggers and things that would kill us if Selene’s fire weren’t burning them away before we reach them.
“She’s been busy.” Selene’s voice echoes off volcanic rock. “These wards are new. Layered. She’s protecting something.”
“Niamh.” My cousin’s name is a talisman. A reminder of why I’m walking through my own personal nightmare. “Or whatever she’s planning to do with her.”
“Both, probably.” Rurik’s hand brushes my hip—brief contact, grounding. “Valdris doesn’t do anything without multiple purposes.”
Above us, muffled by stone and distance, I hear the first roars of battle. Drayke’s assault has begun. The mountain trembles with impacts that shake dust from the ceiling.
Good. I push forward, letting the distant violence fuel my determination. Keep her distracted. Keep her looking up while we come from below.
The channel slopes downward. Deeper into the mountain’s heart. The temperature rises with each step—volcanic heat pressing against my skin, making sweat bead along my spine.
And then I hear it.
Crying. Muffled. Desperate. Coming from somewhere ahead.
“Niamh.” Her name tears from my throat. I’m running before I can think, fire blazing in my palms, caution abandoned in the face of that sound.
“Aisling, wait—“ Selene’s warning dies behind me.
The channel opens into a chamber I remember. The one where they drained me. Stone altar in the center, blood channels carved into the floor, chains hanging from walls scorched black by relic energy.
And there, suspended from those chains, beaten and bloody and alive—
“Niamh.”
My cousin’s head snaps up. Her eyes—swollen, but still that familiar warm brown—find mine. Her cracked lips form my name.
“Ais... Aisling?”
I’m across the chamber before I’m conscious of moving. My hands find the chains, fire surging through my palms, melting iron links that were designed to hold Fire-Bringers. Niamh collapses into my arms—lighter than she should be, shaking with sobs that rack her whole body.
“I’m here.” I clutch her against me, breathing in the scent of blood and fear and family. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
“They said—“ She can barely speak through the tears. “They said you were dead. That you’d never come. That I was going to—“
“I’m here.” I pull back just enough to look at her face. The bruises. The cuts. The evidence of what Valdris has done to the only family member I have left who actually loves me. “And I’m getting you out.”
“Aisling.” Rurik’s voice, sharp with warning. “Company.”
I look up.
Shadow-creatures pour from the chamber’s far entrance. Not the rogues I expected—these are worse. Darkness given form, writhing shapes with too many eyes and claws that gleam like obsidian. Valdris’s personal guard.
“Get Niamh out.” I position myself between my cousin and the approaching threat. “Through the channels. Back the way we came.”
“I’m not leaving you—“
“Selene.” I turn to meet the other Fire-Bringer’s gaze. “Please. Get her out.”
Selene hesitates. Looks from me to Niamh to the shadow-creatures closing in. Then she nods, reaching for my cousin with gentle hands.
“Come on. I’ve got you.”
“Aisling—“ Niamh’s voice breaks on my name.
“I’ll be right behind you.” The lie tastes like ash. “Go.”
Selene half-carries Niamh toward the channel entrance. The shadow-creatures surge forward—
And I let my fire loose. Not the controlled flames I’ve been practicing. Not the precise bolts Rurik taught me. This is raw power, grief and guilt and fury channeled into an inferno that fills the chamber with white-gold light.
As I fight, I notice Selene handing Niamh off to one of our younger dragon guards and he immediately leaves with her.
The shadow-creatures scream. Some dissolve instantly. Others press forward, fighting through the blaze, and I meet them with everything I have.
Rurik appears at my side, blades flashing, cutting through darkness that tries to reform around him. We fight back to back—my fire creating openings, his steel finishing what I start.
“That’s my girl,” he growls between strikes. “Burn them all.”
“Working on it.”
The mountain shakes. More impacts from above. Drayke’s assault is intensifying.
And beneath our feet, something ancient begins to wake.
“She’s coming.” I feel it through the blood channels carved into the stone. Through the Relic energy that still hums in my veins from weeks of draining. “Valdris. She knows we’re here.”
“Then let’s not be here when she arrives.” Rurik grabs my hand, pulling me toward the channel where Selene disappeared behind the guard and Niamh. “Move!”
We run.
Behind us, the chamber fills with crimson light. The temperature spikes—hotter than my fire, hotter than anything I’ve ever felt. And through it all, a voice that haunts my nightmares:
“Little flame. I’m here.”