22 #3
But before we could decide what to do, several Light Legionnaires stepped forward, weapons raised.
Erebus cursed colorfully under his breath. As did I. I adjusted the makeshift scarf he had fashioned earlier from his own cloak, ensuring it covered my neck. If they saw my mark of Corruption, I’d likely be shoved into a holding cell.
The Light Legionnaires weren’t much older than me, but their eyes were cold behind their gilded masks.
“Hold there,” one barked, his voice sharp and commanding. He motioned for us to dismount, gaze flitting between our injured faces and the blood clinging to our boots. “State your business, travelers.”
“We’ve come to witness the celebration,” I answered evenly, though my voice carried little of the enthusiasm he probably expected. “Please, let us in. We’re exhausted. Our village was attacked by Corrupt.”
The legionnaire’s eyes narrowed, lingering on Erebus’s brooding figure. “You don’t look like celebrants.” He gestured at our disheveled state. At the fine swords hanging at our sides. “You look like trouble.”
Erebus scowled. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, but he didn’t draw it—yet.
The other legionnaires shifted uneasily, their hands tightening around their weapons. Behind them, a second line of legionnaires eyed us warily. This was not going well.
“We’ve traveled a long way,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “We just need—”
“Enough,” the legionnaire interrupted, shaking his head. “You’re not setting foot in Istralla until we’ve cleared you with our commander.”
Tension coiled in the air like a spring about to snap. Erebus’s murderous gaze burned into the legionnaires, and I could feel the grumblings of shadows beginning to stir, restless and eager. They weren’t visible to the naked eye, exactly, but if one looked closely enough…
Before my patience frayed, a voice cut through the standoff.
“Let them in.”
The speaker strode toward us with brisk authority, his golden cloak billowing behind him.
He was a handsome man with warm brown skin, and he had the air of someone with power behind his name.
The guards stiffened but obeyed his command, stepping aside to let us pass.
The man met us at the gate, his unmasked eyes scanning our faces with a mix of recognition and urgency.
He was taller than I remembered, his features sharper, more dignified, but I recognized him instantly.
Silas.
When I’d last seen him, he was cradling Elliot’s unconscious body.
He was the only legionnaire Mithras had spared that night.
His comrades—the men and women who camped, laughed, and fought with him—had been ripped apart by the Light Bringer’s deadly power.
And Silas hadn’t even seemed surprised. It was as though he’d expected it, even.
“You’re late,” Silas proclaimed, urging us forward. “Welcome to Istralla.”
“We didn’t realize there was a schedule,” I replied curtly, trying to stamp down the relief I felt. This man wasn’t my friend, I reminded myself. He’d taken Elliot from me. Left me in Erebus’s tomb to rot, just as Mithras had. “Is there anything else we might be missing? Like my brother?”
“Elliot’s safe. You’ll see him soon,” Silas said quickly, offering a smile.
Oddly, the gesture didn’t reach his eyes.
Gone was the easy warmth I’d once seen in him, extinguished like the flame of a long-suffering candle.
“Come, now. You’re drawing too much attention.
” Then, to the legionnaires, “Take their horses. Mark them under my name in the stables.”
Inside the gates, the city of Istralla unfolded like a dream.
The streets, paved with shimmering white stone, caught the final traces of the early evening light.
Towering buildings with gilded spires stretched toward the skies, their windows alight with the warm glow of lanterns.
Banners of gold, white, and red fluttered from every rooftop, emblazoned with the Light Bringer’s sigil: a sunburst surrounded by a halo of stars.
The streets pulsed with life, a vibrant tide of celebrants weaving between vendor stalls draped in even more silken banners.
Musicians filled the air with triumphant melodies, the trill of flutes blending with the rhythmic clap of tambourines.
Merchants called out their wares—ribbons dyed in every shade of the dawn, delicate glass baubles that caught the light like captured sunlight, and intricate children’s masks fashioned to mimic those worn by the Light Legion.
But beneath the radiant joy, there was a subtle undercurrent of unease.
It lingered in the stiffness of smiles, the darting of eyes, and the murmured prayers slipping through trembling lips.
The future shimmered with possibility, yet the past lingered, heavy in the hearts of every person.
If only they knew the full extent of the evil writhing in the shadows.
That the wicked ruler who wanted to damn us all was none other than their own glorious king.
“This way. And keep your hoods up, please,” Silas said, leading us through the throng at a pace that left no time for gawking.
We passed merchants hawking more golden trinkets, villagers whispering excitedly about the Light Bringer’s grand speech, and laborers hoisting decorations into place.
“The Revel of Dawn begins tomorrow at first light,” Silas continued, glancing over his shoulder.
“You’ll need to stay hidden until then. From villagers and legionnaires alike. ”
Erebus’s lips curled into a scowl. I’d told him of Silas.
Of how he’d held an unconscious Elliot in his arms as I was thrown into the tomb.
How he’d refused to help, even when I begged.
“If you’re thinking of sequestering us in some prison, you will regret it.
I have a blade that could be embedded within your neck in less than a breath,” I said.
“Maker help us,” Silas grumbled. He stopped abruptly, turning to face us.
“Not a prison, but a room inside the citadel. You don’t have a choice in the matter, to be clear.
” His voice grew sharper. “The Light Bringer’s followers won’t hesitate to tear you apart if they realize who you are.
There’s a bounty on both your heads that could buy this entire kingdom. ”
“The Light Bringer’s followers? You mean yourself?” I prodded. Erebus grabbed my hand, holding it tightly. His other hand, I noted, was planted firmly atop the hilt of his sword. “What do you want from us, Silas?”
“We can’t talk here. I’m taking you to the citadel first—”
“You’ll take me to Elliot first.”
Silas gave me an inquisitive look, lingering on our clasped hands. “You’ve changed.”
“Everything has changed.” I searched his eyes, wondering if he knew the truth of what Mithras was doing. What he had become. “More than you know.”
Silas’s mouth thinned. “Yes, it has. Come, now, we’re nearly to Firstlight.”
As we walked, the towering silhouette of Citadel Firstlight came into view, its white stone walls gleaming against the encroaching night.
It loomed above Istralla like a sun waiting to swallow the dark.
I glanced at Erebus, and found his jaw set in grim determination.
My own thoughts churned with questions, fears, and the weight of what was ahead.
We were in Mithras’s lair now.
And here we would confront the end—or the beginning—of everything.