Chapter Thirteen
I stagger a step toward Owen, my fists clenched around the hilts of my daggers. “Well?” I say, wiping sweat from my forehead. “You found me. What now?”
Owen grins. “Found you,” he echoes, shaking his head. He gestures at the three remaining Stalkers. “Was this your attempt at staying hidden?”
I shrug, twirling a dagger. “It’s harder than it looks.”
Owen’s grin falters, but only for a moment. “I told you once that there are limitations to the protection our trinkets once offered.”
Once. As if they no longer offer any protection.
“What are you saying?” I ask, my hand straying to the band of braided leather at my opposite wrist, my heart kicking into a gallop.
“You’ve come here of your own free will,” he says, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “In doing so, you’ve voided the enchantment.”
My vision swims. If I’ve voided the enchantment, the bracelet no longer protects me from fatal harm. And the Shifter who bit me as a child… because his venom runs through my veins, he’ll be able to track me again.
Owen flicks a glance at my bracelet, and before his expression hardens, I think there might be a flash of annoyance in his eyes.
“You’re going to have to come with me.” His gaze slides past me to where Will’s feet peek out from behind the boulder.
“He can stay. These Stalkers could use a little… recreation.”
I glare at the Stalker, still slowly slithering toward Will. “I’m not leaving him,” I say, widening my stance.
Owen rolls his eyes. “I had a feeling you’d say that.” He whistles, motioning with his hands, and the Stalkers take flight, the ominous sound of their laughter fading as they disappear into a cloud of smoke overhead.
Owen takes a step toward me, but I point my dagger at his chest. “Wait.”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Yes?”
Blood pounds in my ears, distorting my voice. “I’ll turn myself over to Morana without a fight,” I say. “But he goes free.”
Owen’s eyes narrow as he barks an incredulous laugh. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
“I’m not negotiating,” I say. “I’m asking. You’re still my brother. I know you still care. So, please.” I sheathe my daggers. “As soon as you have the opportunity, get him out of here.”
Owen holds my stare, his smirk fading. Finally, he nods. “We’ll see how you feel about setting him loose on the public once he’s turned.”
I didn’t expect him to give me his word, but knowing Owen, this is as close to a promise as I’m going to get. I take a step away, allowing him to approach. I watch him, cautiously, my hands hovering near the hilts of my daggers.
I note the small smile of approval when he cuts a glance at my hands, before he motions to Will, barely clinging to consciousness. “Shall we?”
Owen and I each pull one of Will’s arms over our shoulders and hoist him into the air.
“Where to?” I ask.
Owen chuckles under his breath. “Closer than you think.”
He leads us around the outcropping of rock, carrying the brunt of Will’s weight as we navigate over jagged stones. As we skirt the base of the mountain, the pitch-black sky appears to glow, a haze of orange smoke.
Weakly, Will murmurs, “Don’t—Aster—”
Will’s head lolls to the side, his breath coming in long, rattling gasps. And when I glance at Owen, he’s already watching me, his jaw set.
“Watch your step,” he says, leading me up onto a plateau of rock.
I stare at my feet as we drag Will onto the overlook, but when I lift my gaze…
I gasp. “Is this—”
Owen’s smirk doesn’t reach his eyes. “The Lake of Eternal Fire.”
I struggle to catch my breath. Heat radiates from the vast chasm, black smoke billowing into the sky. The cloud reflects the light of the fire, flames lapping at the walls of the blackened gorge, a mesmerizing, centuries-long dance.
The entrance to Havok, the realm below.
“Do we… jump?”
Owen’s laughter seems genuine. “No.” He shakes his head, angling his body toward the base of the mountain. “Nothing quite that exciting.”
He places his hand on the charred rock, chanting something too low for me to hear. Stone scrapes stone, opening to reveal a dark stairwell.
Owen halts at the first step, his brow furrowed. “It was always going to be this way,” he says quietly.
I hold his gaze. “I know.”
He lifts his foot, as if to take a step, but—
“Wait,” I say, my heart beating painfully against my rib cage. “We go together, right?”
He presses his lips in a tight line, his expression somber. “We go together.”
And it’s my brother’s presence that gives me the strength I need to take the first step down into darkness.
Instantly, the rocks seal us inside, and we’re plunged into pitch-blackness.
The air turns to ice, as if the flames that rage beyond the door have all been extinguished.
But rather than stepping down, following the path of the staircase, we emerge, dreamlike, into a long stone hallway, illuminated by torches lit with blue flames.
The stench of death and decay causes me to retch, and Will groans as Owen leads us down the passageway. I hardly register the sadness in Owen’s eyes when we reach the end of the hall and he knocks, just once, on an unremarkable iron door.
Will’s hand squeezes my shoulder, his grip feeble. Still, a feeling of calm passes through me.
It doesn’t last.
The door opens, and that’s when I hear the screams.
Following Owen through the doorway feels like falling into a nightmare.
Darkness consumes the throne room, broken only by the occasional blue torch.
When I look up, it’s as if every star in the heavens had burned out of existence, leaving only an endless void that presses down on us, as oppressive as the Stalker’s hold, curling around my heart.
I glance back at the doorway to find it’s gone. There are no doors. Only shadows.
And in those shadows, thousands of red eyes.
There are more than just the five types of Underlings I know of—Gores and Stalkers and Sylks, Shifters and Changelings.
Figures take shape—gruesome beasts with sharp teeth, sinister beings with sallow skin that appears to melt from their bones, giant insectoid creatures, and tiny, hunched things with long, claw-tipped fingers that shriek with laughter.
Wolves with skin like stone and wings like bats.
The metallic bite of iron assaults my senses.
Blood chants, the staccato drumming of a death knell.
I blink, willing my sight to adjust to the darkness, but smoke stings my eyes, blurring my vision. Everywhere I look, I’m met with some new horror, because what I had not thought to prepare for is that I am not the only human in Havok, and Will is not the only Nightweaver.
It’s easy to spot which humans and Nightweavers work for the Underlings, all marked with the crest of Deimos, the three-headed dog—Morana’s insignia—in some way or another, whether it’s tattooed on their face, carved into their skin, or embroidered onto their coats.
That, and they’re not strung up like butchered cattle to be tortured like those who are not here of their own free will.
I look away from the corpse of a human man in an iron cage, picked over by tiny Underling creatures, attempting to orient myself within the throne room.
I locate the dais, composed of what appears to be jagged shards of frozen blood.
And there, sitting on one of the two thrones composed entirely of bones, is Annie, wearing a ruffled black dress, her dark curls adorned with a crown of iron spikes, her smug, haughty expression giving her the appearance of having lived hundreds of lifetimes.
My heart sinks, and I cover my mouth to stifle a sob as Owen drops Will, and he slides to the ground with a dull thud.
Annie—Morana—smiles. It’s a broad, eerie smile that doesn’t belong on Annie’s childlike face, and it fills me with such rage—the smile, the torture taking place around me, the screams and the laughter—that I reach for my daggers.
But the instant I unsheathe them, a familiar feeling seizes my bones, freezing me midmovement.
I grit my teeth as I’m forced to my knees, my forehead pressed against the rough stone floor. The Shifter must be here.
“I have to admit, I’m pleasantly surprised,” comes Annie’s clear, sweet voice. “I thought it would take a bit more coaxing to persuade her to draw those abominations.”
The phantom force pries open my fingers, and the daggers clatter to the floor. Owen kneels to retrieve them, whispering, almost too low for even me to hear, “I’m sorry, Aster.”
So this is it. I don’t know why I ever thought this could work.
I don’t know what I expected—that I would waltz right into Morana’s kingdom and demand blood?
And then what? Fight my way out against an entire army of soulless, undead creatures?
Mother was right. I don’t know what it takes to lead. I should have stayed on the Red Island.
But… Will and I had a plan, didn’t we? For some reason, I can’t remember it now.
At least I’m not alone. Will is here.
I have hope that Henry has boarded the train already, escorting Margaret and Jack to the safety of the Starchaser.
Perhaps they can reach the Red Island before Morana launches her assault on the kingdoms of the Known World.
Perhaps there’s still a chance that they can defend the island against the full power of the Lightbringer.
They’re going to be all right. I have to believe they will be all right.
I feel Will’s presence beside me just as I always have—constant, reassuring—held captive by the same force that keeps me pinned to the floor, a foot or so to my left.
We must have been wrong about Gabriel being the Shifter.
Unless he somehow broke away from Henry and made his way to the Burning Lands.
Whoever he is, he’s here. I can feel it.
The venom in my blood begins to slow my heartbeat, making me sleepy, dulling my senses.
Bile rushes to my throat, but I can’t even open my mouth to vomit.
My veins feel like they’re on fire, my head heavy, my temples throbbing.
Every muscle in my body aches, and I have the distant, muddled thought that I’m dying.
Part of me almost wishes Will had killed me back on the Mythslayer.
If he had, would the power of the Lightbringer have transferred to another one of my siblings, or would it have simply vanished?
I’ll never know. Once I’ve transformed fully into a Shifter, will I even care?
“You’ve made your point,” Morana says, no longer using Annie to speak. Her snakelike voice slithers throughout the room, brushing against my eardrums in a booming whisper. “You’ve completed your task. I will honor your claim on the girl.”
I was right—the Shifter is close. I can feel him speaking to my blood, commanding my body to regulate, soothing the ache in my muscles.
Morana laughs, as if she’s just seen something humorous. “Welcome home, General.”
“My queen,” comes the deep, rasping voice of the Shifter to my left.
The pressure of the phantom force eases only slightly, enough that I’m able to lift my head and see Will kneeling before the throne, his eyes glowing red, his head, arms, and hands wreathed in shadows.
He cocks his head at me, smirks. “You really do look lovely when you’re surprised, Aster.”