Chapter 30
30
ROOK
T he Stone Circle burned with the light of a thousand stars.
Aris watched from between gaps in his fingers as the molten light gradually faded, the amphitheater returning to its normal stone hue. When the blinding beams of divine fire dimmed into nothingness, he dropped his hands from his face and stared at the stretch of scorched earth that sank into the arena’s center like a crater.
Aris’s wife, Vasia, stood at his right, looking down at the dying embers. Her mouth was twisted into a frown and her golden-brown eyes shone with unshed tears. To his left, Raj leaned over the balustrade and surveyed their handwork with awed curiosity. Next to Raj, Cira was hastily wiping her damp face with the sleeve of her blood-stained tunic.
A dart of guilt lodged in Aris’s heart as he watched the new Mer Queen try to hide her grief from them. Basilia hadn’t returned home. Instead, she’d left her daughter with the fractured pieces of Elor-Wyn to cobble back together on her own.
Aris tore his gaze away from Cira. He wouldn’t feel guilty about Basilia’s death. The Mer Queen had known the risks when they’d journeyed to Anthemoessa. Everything they’d lost had been crucial, every sacrifice necessary. They wouldn’t be standing here if not for Basilia’s death. The souls of their tyrannical makers would not be bound for all eternity in the Stone Circle if it wasn’t for her sacrifice.
Every bargain came with a steep cost.
“It is done. We’re free,” came Vasia’s voice. Aris watched as his wife looked to the heavens, stained pink in the dawn. “Revelore is free.”
“History will remember this day,” Raj said. “The day when the immortals became dust. They’ll tell stories of our victory, you know. Our lives will become legend and our triumph will become myth.”
Aris felt a grimace twitch on his lips. No, history would not remember what they’d done. Not if he could help it. But history would remember Leucosia’s treachery. Generations to come would remember how the sirens betrayed them all.
“We are free but was the price to pay worth it?” a new voice asked. “Shall we become no better than our former gods?”
Aris turned to watch his sister, Pythia, step out from under an arched doorway. She took her place next to them on the parapet, looking down on the aftermath of the Titans’ binding ritual. Standing in the light of dawn with her dark black curls and apple-round cheeks, Pythia was the mirror image of their mother. Her auburn wings were gilded in the sunrise, turning a reddish shade akin to flame. A circlet of gold gleamed on her brow. Aris stared at the gap in the center of the gold band, empty of the Seer stone that had once been embedded there. She turned her sightless eyes to him, each iris the milky white of a moonstone.
Pythia saw too much, even without her Seer opal to amplify her powers. It was inevitable his sister would learn of what they’d done in Anthemoessa. She would learn about the prophecy, too. She probably already knew. As an Auran-Healm Oracle, she had the gift of Sight. She could see into the future, but could she also peer into the past?
“Yes,” he finally answered. “The price was worth it.”
Pythia stared at him with that unnerving, unseeing gaze. Sorrow welled up in his throat as his little sister silently pleaded with him. If she had already used her Sight to peer into the future, then she already knew what he would do to her.
Pythia knew she would die by his blade. She and every Oracle who would come after her.
They would all die until the magic of Sight fizzled out like a candle burned to its wick. It had to be this way. Just like bargains of magic, the cost of his sister and her Oracle Guild would protect their legacy. Aris had always known that the peace and freedom he and his two remaining kinsmen had fought tooth and nail for would have a cost. For generations to come, Revelore would taste liberation. His sister’s Sight would not get in the way of that. The prophecy had to remain buried with the sirens for all eternity.
Aris looked out over the amphitheater, a place that had witnessed too much bloodshed over the years. He’d once been a gladiator fighting in those sand pits for the callous amusement of the Titans. They had all been starved dogs in a fighting ring, forced to kill each other in a game no one could win.
“We should host a symbolic tournament here,” he found himself saying. “We should take ownership of the Stone Circle, make it ours. It will be a celebration of our victory. A new tradition to begin a new age.”
“I like the sound of that,” Raj agreed jovially. “A tournament held in remembrance of our great alliance.”
“But no blood will be spilled,” Cira said quietly. “Revelore has seen enough bloodshed.”
“No more bloodshed,” Aris nodded. “Our tournament games shall be a celebration of life, not death. All our kingdoms shall partake. We’ll wipe away the stains of the past and start over. We’ll usher in a new age of peace and prosperity. No more shall the Stone Circle be tainted with meaningless death.”
Aris felt Vasia’s fingers weave between his. She leaned her head on his shoulder, staring down at the sands of the amphitheater as though envisioning the games already. “Our children will know peace at last.”
Aris stole a glance at his sister. A single tear burned down her cheek.
What future did she see in the arena below?
Rook replayed the dream over and over as he was led to the third and final trial of Grivur’s games. With the dark hood pulled over his head, everything blazed fresh in his memory: the sunlight creeping over the Stone Circle, the raw grief stark on Cira’s face, the silver tear that carved a trail down Pythia’s cheek. The scene had been the most unsettling one yet, somehow more disturbing than Selussa’s ritual or even Princess Yrsa’s wings being cut off.
He hadn’t known the legendary Auran King Aris had a sibling, let alone an Oracle sister. Never before had the gaps in the Myths of Old been so apparent. Just like the existence of the kingdom of Anthemoessa, Pythia’s life seemed to have been scrubbed from the records of history. She had no constellation in the night sky like the other figures of myth, no painted murals on temple walls. It was as though she never existed at all.
There was something so profoundly wrong with everything he’d seen, something insidious lurking below the surface of the vision. Eleyera’s words echoed ominously through his mind: The Four Kinsmen deceived us all. Everything we know about the Myths of Old is a lie.
After seeing Aris’s memories with his own eyes, Rook knew Eleyera was right. There was something the Four Kinsmen kept hidden, a secret Aris was so desperate to hide he killed his own Oracle sister to keep her from outing their treachery. And Eleyera had uncovered the truth. Just like Aris had killed Pythia to ensure her eternal silence, the Elders had tried to kill Eleyera over the truth she was going to share with his parents eight years ago. And when they learned that Eleyera knew more than them, the Order had tortured and imprisoned her.
The prophecy had to remain buried with the sirens for all eternity.
Rook was still reeling from the discovery of Eleyera’s survival and imprisonment. He was keenly aware of the fact that he shouldn’t have made it out the night his parents died. When the Elders had ambushed their carriage, they’d intended to leave none alive?none except Eleyera, of course. If it hadn’t been for Raven, he might have been slaughtered alongside his parents.
Rook stumbled over a bit of uneven ground, catching himself before one of the underguards could shove him forward. His chains rattled as he righted himself. He could taste a bitter sort of irony as the manacles dug into his wrists. The Tournament had been formed on a foundation of lies and misguided justice thousands of years ago, and here he was being forced to endure the games of a mad king based on a similar twisted sense of justice. Could the Four Kinsmen have known their symbolic gesture of celebration would one day be used as a weapon of control? Could they have foreseen that their descendants would twist their once-peaceful tradition into a vicious game of courts?
Pythia probably knew , Rook realized with a start. When she had looked down into the arena, she had likely glimpsed a future in which their descendants fought each other to the death over a hollow crown. She’d peered into those sands like a scrying pool, seeing future Tournaments reflected at her.
“We’re here,” Sloane’s voice cut through Rook’s musings. “Remove their hoods.”
Rook’s stomach hollowed out. The third trial was already here. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as the black hood was jerked off his head. He felt a wave of relief when he saw the entrance to the Garden of Gods. Sloane had managed to convince her father to change the trial’s location. Their plan was off to a great start.
Finally, a bit of luck.
He instantly found Saoirse standing a few feet away from him, shackled in the same chains they were all accustomed to now. She returned his gaze and offered the barest hint of a smile. His heartbeat fluttered in his chest. Despite everything, the mere shadow of Saoirse’s smile made his heart soar. He adored the ferocity in her eyes, bright and unforgiving as a storm gathering on the horizon. He’d meant what he’d told her in the flooded cavern yesterday.
He would gladly drown in her fierce tide.
He regretfully tore his eyes from Saoirse to take in the sprawling entrance to the Garden of Gods. An ancient language was carved into the rough-hewn archway, the blocky letters rune-like and archaic. The shards of multi-colored gemstones embedded into the arched entrance sparkled as the torchlight drew near. Already, he could see fragments of glittering stone within the darkened cave, winking like coins at the bottom of the ocean.
He ran through the plan for the hundredth time, repeating it over and over until it was tattooed on the inside of his skull. Cross the chamber of agate. Make two left turns through the amethyst tunnels. At the first fork in the tunnels, take the right path and wait for Sloane and Tezrus at the wall of quartz.
Rook dragged his gaze away from the Garden of Gods, settling on the small group convened outside the crystal caves. Just like the last two trials, Grivur wore a gaudy robe of crimson trimmed with white fur that engulfed his doughy face. The king’s milk-pale eyes were even more bloodshot than they had been before, gleaming with a mad sheen that made Rook feel uneasy. Sloane took her usual place next to her father, but the customary timid slouch of her shoulders had faded. Instead of cowering, Sloane stood tall next to Grivur, true hope shining in her eyes. She was just as anxious to be free of the Under Kingdom as they were.
Tezrus stood next to Sloane, yet again donning purple Elder’s robes at Grivur’s behest. The robes were ill-fitting and loose, swallowing his wiry frame whole. Rook almost didn’t catch the near-imperceptible movement of Tezrus’s knobby hand settling on the cave’s entrance. Hidden in the folds of his overwhelming sleeves, Tezrus discreetly used his stone-singing abilities to feel out the winding caverns within the Garden of Gods. Rook prayed the old man could locate the Relic of Terradrin within the jungle of crystals. Once they all met at the rendezvous point, they’d have only minutes to search.
“The time has finally come to face your third trial, tributes,” Grivur began. “I can’t say I’m pleased you all have survived thus far. I’d hoped there might’ve been some bloodshed by now. But don’t worry, there’s still time for that,” he said gleefully, his pallid cheeks going ruddy as though the thought of spilled blood thrilled him. Grivur turned unfocused eyes onto Rook, a slow smile splitting his face.
“I’m glad you’re still alive, princeling. Your sister has offered a large sum for your safe return home. If you’d died in the previous trials, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to sell you back to the Iron Queen.”
Rook went cold. How had Raven learned of his capture in the Under Kingdom?
“Naturally, I refused her coin,” Grivur continued. “You cannot forfeit the Tournament after surviving this long now, can you? If you come out alive after this trial, I’ll ship you back to Coarinth in exchange for your sister’s extraordinarily large compensation. But tempting as her offer is, I think I might enjoy seeing you die in this trial even more than feeling my coffers grow heavy with her coin.”
“You’re a monster,” Rook hissed before he could stop himself. Grivur spoke as nonchalantly about his death as he would a prized racehorse. “And you’re a fool. If you think there won’t be consequences for your insolence, you don’t know my sister very well.” Either that or Grivur’s paranoia had warped his mind so much he no longer recognized he was making an enormous mistake by refusing Raven’s offering. Raven didn’t allow people to refuse her. She only gave them the illusion of autonomy while pulling the strings from afar. She was likely already on her way with a full battalion of Aerials, prepared to tear down the entire Under Kingdom to find Rook.
“I’m no more a fool than you , princeling,” Grivur returned, his face growing even redder underneath building splotches of rage. “How could a captain of the Aerials turn from his kingdom so quickly? Only a simple-minded fool would betray his homeland and legacy so easily.” He shifted his glassy eyes to Saoirse, a sneer forming on his colorless lips. “I suppose the Mer siren is quite lovely, though. It only took a few nights between the sheets with this Mer princess to change your tune and join the rebellion. I hope she was worth it.”
Rook lurched in his chains, hands folding into fists on instinct. “Don’t talk about her that way!” He bit back a cry of pain when his chains were jerked backward, his knees scraping along the stone floor. A fist flew into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Saoirse flinched, fingers bunching in the folds of her tunic as though she had to hold herself back from attacking the underguard who’d just struck him.
“This foolish infatuation has made you blind,” Grivur tsked, his annoyance overt. “Infatuation with a Mer harlot. Infatuation with a romantic notion of revolution even though you’ve had everything handed to you on a gilded platter your whole life. I’m sure your sister is so ashamed of you. And you ,” he said, turning his focus to Neia. “You’re as much a fool as this young Auran princeling. You threw your life away over a cause that will end in burning flames. You tossed aside an esteemed military career to act as a puppet for a dying king and a naive princess who fancies herself a revolutionary.” He swung his bloodshot gaze around, surveying all four of them with blatant disgust. Hasana’s golden eyes smoldered with fire, but she remained quiet, jaw working as her teeth ground together. There was no point arguing with a delusional king and jeopardizing the plan when they were so close to escape.
“It’s time you all pay for your crimes against Revelore.” Grivur’s bulging eyes darted over to Tezrus. He thrust a parchment scroll into the old man’s hands. “Master of Trials, would you tell our tributes about their final trial?”
Tezrus inhaled slowly, a hollow rattle that took a startling amount of effort. He unrolled the parchment and scanned the instructions for the third game. “Each of you has been tasked with finding a Bloodstone, the rarest of all gems within the Garden of Gods,” he began. He looked up from the scroll and began intentionally going off script: “Only the most talented stone-singers can locate them within the earth, as Bloodstones are notoriously quiet jewels. They do not want to be found. Veins of Bloodstone give off hardly any song whatsoever. Upon their initial discovery centuries ago, Bloodstones were said to have been tears in the earth, bleeding wounds ripped through the rock by those who dwell in the Underworld.”
Just as they’d discussed the night before, Tezrus was stalling, buying time as his hand continued to send ripples of invisible magic through the stone at his back. “They say tracts of Bloodstone are only found at the lowest levels of the earth, fault lines between the planes of existence. To locate a tear of glittering crimson is to find an entrance into the Underworld. It is the thinnest point between worlds and the easiest way to break through the veil?”
“Enough about geology, old man,” Grivur interrupted. “Cut to the chase and adhere to the script.” For someone so anxious to have a Master of Trials for his replication of the Tournament, Grivur didn’t seem keen on hearing the specifics of their task. Rook could practically see Grivur salivating over their impending deaths, so eager was he to send them into the lethal garden.
Tezrus frowned, thin skin twisting like crumpled parchment at the corners of his mouth. Another labored breath whispered past his lips as he sucked in more air. It was evident even a few minutes of stone-singing had required a significant amount of energy from the old man. He’d had to send his magic into a jungle of crystals that extended for miles into the earth, probing through the rock and sifting through different chords of sound and vibration, searching for traces of the Moonstone Shard. A sheen of perspiration beaded on his forehead with the effort. Rook suddenly grew concerned the old man might not have enough strength to guide them through the garden with his magic. He seemed nearly depleted, and they hadn’t even made it through the threshold yet. After they located the Relic, they still needed to free Eleyera in the flooded tunnels and escape up to the surface.
“Each of you must retrieve a Bloodstone and bring it back through the garden gates,” Tezrus continued after Grivur’s admonishment. He gestured at the stone archway with his free hand. His other gnarled hand was still splayed against the cave entrance, enveloped by the fabric of his robes. “If you have retrieved the incorrect gemstone, the wards embedded into the garden’s gate will not let you pass. As I said, Bloodstone is exceedingly difficult to find. Many jewels look the same in a certain light and many counterfeit variations of Bloodstone may trick you. You’ll identify true Bloodstone by its temperature. Bloodstone is cold to the touch, chilled as ice.”
“If you carry the wrong gemstone through the garden gates, you’ll die,” Grivur cut in gleefully, the red veins of his eyes near to bursting. “You’ll fall dead right on the threshold.” He clapped his bejeweled hands together and barked out a laugh.
What Grivur didn’t reveal was that the gates had been warded so anyone who tried to leave the Garden of Gods would be killed. This idea had been a stroke of genius on Hasana’s part. When they’d planned the ideal trial yesterday, they’d thought about the best ways to whet Grivur’s bloodlust. They’d decided the inevitable conclusion of their deaths needed to be central to their plan for him to take the bait. Hasana had suggested the wards would kill anyone who attempted to exit back out the gates, whether they had found a true Bloodstone or not. Grivur didn’t just want them to die; he wanted them to believe they had a chance at beating his trials. He was just as amused with mind games as any physical challenge. This would also serve as a deterrent should any underguards attempt to follow them in. They would all be very aware of the fact they would be signing their death warrants if they chased after them. If only the mad king knew the entire trial had been conceived by the tributes themselves.
“May glory be given,” Neia muttered through clenched teeth.
Grivur turned to Neia, cocking his head like a predator who’d caught a glimpse of prey in the underbrush. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you about the ship my new commander found anchored just beyond the eastern coastline.”
Hasana’s golden eyes widened with shock, and she jerked her head as though slapped. Against her will, shimmering light began collecting in her shackled palms.
Rook tensed, a spear of fear bursting through his chest. The last time he’d seen Adresin and Noora on the ship’s deck surfaced in his mind. They’d both been drenched with the relentless rain, anxiously awaiting Saoirse and Hasana’s return. He should’ve insisted they leave the coastline the minute he went to go find the missing party. He could’ve saved them.
“I was surprised to learn a Tellusun merchant ship had been anchored offshore. I didn’t think the rebellion was foolish enough to stay in one place for so long. Fortunately, Commander Barrow alerted me to their presence after the first trial began. It was quite easy to storm the ship and take control, what with half the crew injured below decks. If the Auran princeling dies in the next trial, it won’t be a total waste. The Iron Queen was not happy to learn of her brother’s involvement in my Tournament, but I’ll make it up to her with a worthy gift. She will be pleased to receive a new shipload of prisoners of war. Especially those who are so close to the rebel princess.” He threw a pointed glance at Hasana, lip curled into a sneer.
“Your guard?what was her name again? Oh yes, Noora Mir. With all her knowledge of the rebellion’s secrets, the archer will be of great use to Queen Raven. They’re already bound for Aurandel’s dungeons as we speak. Commander Barrow himself is overseeing the transportation of the prisoners to Coarinth.”
The heartless bastard .
It was one thing for Rymir to go after the nobility of Revelore in the supposed tradition of his father’s rebellion. It was entirely different to betray the rebels born of common blood. How could he oversee the imprisonment of people he once called friends?
“No,” Hasana gasped. “Let them go. Please .”
“It’s far, far too late for that, Daughter of the Desert. I’ll make her and everyone who ever devoted themselves to your cause wish they’d never promised themselves to your futile rebellion. You should’ve thought about that before you sold their souls for your cause.”
Sobs wrenched from Hasana’s mouth as the reality of their capture sank in. Rook suddenly felt nauseous, imagining Noora and Adresin and the rest of the rebel crew behind bars deep within Aurandel’s mountain dungeons.
“Take me instead!” Hasana screamed through sobs. She clawed uselessly at the manacles on her wrists. “I’m the one Raven wants. Spare my crew from her dungeons and torture. She’ll offer wealth beyond your wildest imaginings in exchange for my capture.”
Grivur chuckled a malignant sound that sent a chill up Rook’s spine. “Perhaps I’ll send you with the Auran princeling to the Iron Queen if you both survive the Garden of Gods. But I highly doubt all four of you will make it out alive.” He grinned, the sodding bastard. Grivur took great pleasure in knowing he had no intention of letting them walk free. He gave off the same glee as a mischievous child who knew a secret no one else did.
Rook would’ve rolled his eyes at the mad king, but he was more terrified of what his sister would do to Noora and Adresin. They’d be tortured within an inch of their lives if they didn’t give up the rebellion’s secrets quickly. His stomach dropped to his feet as he thought about the grim dungeons that spiraled deep into the roots of Mt Thalia. Even when he’d been a staunch supporter of the Auran regime, he’d always dreaded those dark chambers. On the rare occasions when Raven requested his assistance with interrogations, he’d vomited the moment he left the dungeons. He’d almost wished Adresin and Noora had been killed instead of becoming prisoners of his cruel sister.
“I’ve heard enough flimsy protests from the mouths of traitors. Let us begin the final trial.” Grivur’s voice pitched into a cheerful tone as if he hadn’t just sentenced a hundred souls to death in Aurandel’s dungeons. His sudden shifts in tone were disturbing. One minute, his spittle-crusted mouth was ranting and raving, and in the next, he was as mirthful as a child on their nameday.
Rook’s eyes shifted to Saoirse’s. She gave a covert nod, confirming they must continue with the plan. Grivur was trying to rattle them with the news of Adresin and Noora’s capture, throwing Rymir’s betrayal back in their faces as a distraction. As harrowing as it was, they had to proceed with their escape. Rook’s mind felt singed around the edges, curling in on itself.
He needed to focus. None of them could afford to lose their wits now, not when they were this close. Rook spared a glance at Sloane. She looked just as shocked by the news of Noora and Adresin’s capture as they were, her pale fingers wringing together anxiously. She worried one corner of her painted lips. Was she having second thoughts about helping them escape?
Rook didn’t have time to guess at Sloane’s intentions. His chains were abruptly unlocked, and he was shoved toward the garden gates, an obsidian spear pressed against his spine. He looked over his shoulder as an underguard continued pushing him toward the archway. The others were unceremoniously freed from their shackles and forced to follow him. With guards flanking every side, he was reminded of a procession of prisoners being led to their execution. It wasn’t far from the truth; this trial was Grivur’s twisted version of capital punishment.
The Garden of Gods leered in the darkness, fragments of crystal and glass gleaming eerily in the waning torchlight like shining teeth in the shadows. A palpable sense of dread washed over Rook as he shuffled closer to the archway. The wards draped over the entrance were not visible to the naked eye, but he could feel the magic humming with a faint vibration. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, the sensation akin to the feeling of being watched. His eyes skimmed over the rune-like words carved into the stone and he vaguely wondered what they said.
With a final shove, Rook found himself passing under the archway, his body subconsciously recoiling as the invisible wards whispered over his head. It felt like slipping into an ancient tomb, the air stale and suffused with the sickly sweetness of rotting graveside flowers. And suddenly, he was on the other side of the garden gates.
He looked around slowly, that unsettling feeling rising like a tide in his chest as he surveyed the cave. It was silent as the dead, reinforcing the crypt-like atmosphere. True to its name, a garden of multi-colored crystals bloomed through the cavern. Panels of sparkling crystal dragged across the stone cavern like the claw marks of a mythical beast. Mingling with the stalactites that dripped down from the ceiling, shards of diamond hung like petrified tree branches overhead. Clots of sharp gemstones grew up from the ground, gleaming like polished ice sculptures. The cave was undoubtedly beautiful, but there was something lethal in its cold allure, like thorns crawling up the stem of a rose.
Rook turned to face the garden gates, watching his companions approach from the other side. Hasana was next in the procession, her golden eyes blazing as she glared at the archway with contempt. Wavering torchlight caught on the streaks of tears flowing down her cheeks, but her trembling mouth was set in a hard, determined line. She passed under the threshold with her head held high. She shivered under the faint magnetic pull of the wards.
When she finally joined him on the other side of the arched entrance, Hasana wiped at her tears with the sleeve of her tunic. She hadn’t wanted Grivur to see her drying her eyes.
“Hasana, I’m so sorry?”
He was cut off by a razor-edged sound that resembled shattering glass. He instinctively reached for Hasana’s hand as the world exploded into fractals of shining light.
A wall of dagger-sharp crystals erupted from the floor, nearly impaling them both. Hasana yanked Rook backward as the crystalline wave surged forward. He stumbled as the shards of ice-like crystals lurched toward them, his feet only a hairs-length away from being lanced clean through. He felt stiff and cold, as though his limbs had been seized by frost.
“Run!” Hasana cried as the gleaming mosaic splintered up through the floor.
Rook dragged himself from the haze of shock, forcing his legs to move. The sentient crystals forced them deeper into the cave, recomposing the entire chamber at their heels. They clambered over the uneven terrain, narrowly avoiding several jarring crevices in the floor. He spared a glance over his shoulder, watching in horror as the multi-colored gemstones rearranged themselves and shifted into new positions, forming walls of polished crystals that hadn’t been there before. Gone was the view of the garden gates, blotted out by a solid barricade of diamond. He whipped his head back around, trying not to fall as they dove under low-hanging stalactites and leaped over glass-like crystal formations.
Rook was so disoriented he couldn’t tell which direction they were headed. All he knew was that he had to run. He wanted to scream as the piercing sound of shattering glass echoed in his ears, so agonizingly sharp it felt like nails digging into his skull. He gritted his teeth and fought the urge to collapse and cover his ears.
Abruptly, the cave stilled. The wall of jagged crystal stopped mid-movement, frozen into place like skeletal branches under a veil of snow. Rook stopped running, his heart thundering wildly in his chest as he eyed the violent wave of petrified crystals that curled over them. Hasana was gasping next to him, bracing her hands on her knees as she caught her breath.
The garden had forced them into an offshoot made entirely of cloudy, citrine quartz. The walls were composed of geometric ridges, forming a crystal lattice that entombed them on all sides. All semblance of sticking to the plan scattered like songs in the wind.
Cross the chamber of agate. Make two left turns through the amethyst tunnels. At the first fork in the tunnels, take the right path and meet Sloane and Tezrus at the wall of quartz.
Where the Hel were they now? There was no telling how far off the path they’d run. And they were completely separated from Saoirse and Neia, who had likely been forced in the opposite direction as soon as they’d entered through the garden gates.
“ Titans ,” Rook cursed. “How are we going to find them? Do you think Sloane and Tezrus managed to get through the gates?”
Hasana straightened and pushed away strands of sweaty hair from her eyes. There was a slight tremor in her hands. “I don’t know,” she breathed. “It seems Grivur neglected to tell our Tournament Ambassador of the garden’s penchant for killing its guests upon entry.”
A horrifying thought formed in Rook’s mind. “What if Sloane was playing us all along? What if she knew this would happen? What if this was all part of Grivur’s game?”
Hasana shook her head, eyeing the gleaming planes of crystal warily. “I don’t think Sloane knew about this. Perhaps Grivur grew suspicious and deemed it best not to disclose everything about the final trial to her. She may have convinced him to host the third game in the Garden of Gods, but perhaps he planned more without her knowledge. Sloane is as desperate to escape the Under Kingdom as we are. She would’ve warned us this would happen if she knew.”
Rook cast his gaze about the chamber, trying to ignore the rising panic that had begun tingling in his fingertips. If Sloane had made good on her promise and slipped through the gates with Tezrus, the old man could feasibly use his stone-singing abilities to find them in the labyrinth. From what little Rook understood of stone-singing magic, Tezrus could detect changes in rock and sense new crystal formations in the earth like a Healer identifying infection in the body. Maybe he’d be able to leverage his magic and follow the trail of diamonds that had erupted through the Garden of Gods like wildfire. If he hadn’t burned up all his magic searching for the Terradrin Relic, of course.
“We should try to find them,” Hasana said decidedly. “We shouldn’t stay idle, waiting for them to find us.”
Rook nodded wearily and raked a hand through his hair. Some of the adrenaline had worn off, giving way to the pain he’d been trying desperately to ignore. He couldn’t remember when the wound in his abdomen had started throbbing again. His skin had been gloriously free of fever for the past several days, but that creeping flush of festering heat had begun to worm its way back through his flesh. He could feel the wound flickering back to life like a fire that refused to be tamped out, reminding him that death was still on his heels even if it had been temporarily warded away.
Hasana noticed his sudden silence, her perceptive Healer’s eyes immediately scanning him for signs of injury and illness. She strode over to him, brow furrowed. “Let me see.”
Rook obediently lifted the hem of his shirt. Hasana inspected his abdomen, eyes turning molten with magic as she surveyed the wound. Her glowing palms gilded the crystal walls with warmth, making its citrine surface turn a honey-colored hue. Refracted light patterned the floor with geometric slices of gold. He closed his eyes as Hasana placed her hands against his stinging flesh. The familiar wave of her magic poured into his skin, sinking through sinew and bone, targeting the poison in his blood. Hasana’s ministrations would never fully mend the wound, but he could feel her magic temporarily dulling the fever and soothing his inflamed skin.
As Rook absorbed the magic, he was reminded of another walk with Hasana. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d found him that morning in the hanging gardens of Bezhad. They’d wandered through the lush gardens for an hour, speaking of her dying father and the overwhelming responsibility of a kingdom on her shoulders.
He’d been bitter and sullen in Bezhad, a prisoner to his grief. At the time, his preoccupation with Raven and Saoirse’s separate betrayals had distracted him from what was standing right in front of him.
Hasana’s distant words drifted through his memory: If you want to weather this storm, you need to let others help you. Now, they found themselves wandering through a different kind of garden, one with sharp edges and death lurking under a sparkling crust of diamond. And yet, he felt freer than he had in the hanging gardens, released from the shackles of his suffocating pain. There was a bitter irony in knowing that even as a prisoner in the Under Kingdom, Rook had somehow become liberated from the mental cage he’d been trapped behind for the past eight years.
Hasana lifted her palms from his abdomen, the light glowing in her veins receding like dying embers. He felt infinitely better, but the lingering shadow of Selussa’s knife was still lodged in his skin. Deep in his bones, Rook knew the fever would return with a vengeance. For some reason, he got the sense his wound would not be so easily tempered next time. He had repelled fate for long enough and the threads of death were coming for him, pulling tighter each time Hasana temporarily healed him.
“Thank you,” he rasped. “For everything.” He hoped Hasana knew he was thanking her for far more than a simple healing session. He didn’t deserve her kindness or her faith. He didn’t deserve the second chance at life she’d so graciously given him. He could spend a lifetime trying to pay back the debts he owed and never repay her generosity.
More of her previous words returned to him: Being merciless is what allowed our ancestors to become tyrants. She’d defended his honor even when he was acting like a miserable wretch. She’d believed in his ability to break the cycle of his ancestors even when he couldn’t believe it himself. Her unwavering compassion was a deeper assurance than even Eros or Veila had ever offered him. It went beyond fraternal loyalty or blood; it was genuine friendship.
Hasana’s eyes?now returned to their usual golden brown?met his own. She twined their fingers together gently, a platonic gesture that spoke more than words. As she squeezed his hands, Rook knew she understood the deeper meaning behind his thanks. He pulled her into a hug, tears pricking in his eyes.
“After we get out of here, we’ll free Noora and Adresin and the rest of the rebels,” he promised. “And then you’ll lead all of Revelore to freedom.”