Chapter 47 #2
Then they dispersed, leaving me standing alone with Pip and a terrible certainty settling in my chest.
“We need to find the others,” she breathed. “Right now.”
“Yeah.” I whispered the summoning spell, calling Silas back. “We really do.”
Because whatever was happening at midnight in the Master’s throne room involved Calder and I was not about to sit by and let him fucking ascend to anything he didn’t ask for.
Midnight found Pip, Wickett and I cloaked and moving through crowded streets. Riot didn’t argue when the Oracle asked him to stay with her. Which didn’t bode well for whatever we were to find.
Citizens flooded toward the central castle, their elegant coats now more like funeral garb. And they sang.
They sang in a language that made my ears ring and my teeth ache, syllables that felt wrong just from hearing them. Ancient. Twisted. The kind of sounds that shouldn’t exist.
Someone grabbed my arm, trying to pull me back. Wickett.
Silas was between us before I could blink, a low growl rumbling from his chest.
“Syn, we need to talk.” Wickett’s voice was urgent, strained. “Before we go in there.”
“I promise I’ll give you all of my time. But I can’t right now.” I kept my eyes forward, watching the crowd flow toward those massive black gates. “Calder’s in there. That’s what matters.”
“Syn, please—”
I turned to look at him, heated beneath his gaze as he gripped my shoulders. “Later,” I promised, pulling free of his grip. “We can talk after we get him out.”
Pip stayed near my shoulder, uncharacteristically subdued. I knew she could feel the wrongness saturating the air, the sense of walking toward something we shouldn’t. But for him, we’d do it anyway.
The gates loomed ahead, of course, carved from more of the same black stone. Silas’s growl intensified as we passed through, and I placed my hand on his head to try to pacify him. “Don’t cause a scene, Si.”
We listened to the crowd as we pressed forward. Whispers, excited murmurs, all variations on the same theme, the voices not coming from anyone specific but rather echoes through everyone.
“The Heartless One.”
“The ascension.”
My stomach churned. What the fuck was happening?
“The Master honors him.”
“Such a gift. Such a blessing.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out how he’d been captured. He’d gone after Vitoria, likely the second after he told me to stay put and walked out. He’d gone himself. And now they were both in trouble.
We walked with the rest of the crowd into the palace, hoping we blended in, though it was clear we didn’t. Our uniforms were dirty. None of us smiled. And while the citizens of Dyssara stared straight ahead, we scanned our surroundings as much as possible.
Not a single sentinel stood guard. Not a single weapon was shown.
The walls were dark and towering, lit not by the Erelith like the rest of the city, but glowing red runes.
The floor was so glossy in the patches of light that reflected, I thought, if not for the crowd, I might’ve been able to see myself in the stone.
We passed alcove after alcove, each one hiding statues of gargoyles and demon-like creatures with horns and angry eyes.
This castle didn’t feel like it was simply hidden from the world but rather pulled from somewhere else entirely.
From below.
The throne room—because that’s what this had to be—opened before us like a mouth. Massive. Cavernous. Lit by hundreds of floating Erelith chalices that should have made everything bright but somehow only deepened the shadows with their scattered pockets of lavender light.
A dais rose at the far end, and the second I laid my eyes on it, I nearly fell to my knees, gaze narrowing onto Calder.
He stood at the front, head bowed, wearing a long black robe that hung open to reveal his bare chest. Showcasing the heart stone embedded there, glowing with deep red light from beneath his skin. Pulsing. Alive. Wrong.
My stomach twisted with worry as Pip and I exchanged a similar look of dread.
Calder was not alone up there.
Beside him stood a man I didn't recognize. Bronze-skinned with dark hair and darker eyes, elegantly dressed, the kind of stature that spoke of wealth and power, or something older than either. He leaned close to Calder, saying something that made my friend’s jaw tighten.
Then the man turned his head slightly, and light caught the mark on his neck.
Not a tattoo. The edges were too sharp, too clean, like it had been burned or branded into flesh. Three vertical lines, each ending in wicked points like spear tips or claws. They ran parallel down the side of his throat, stark and unmistakable.
I knew that mark. Had seen it somewhere, read about it, heard whispers of what it meant. The knowledge sat just out of reach, maddeningly familiar but refusing to surface. Something important. Something dangerous. Something that shouldn't exist outside of old texts and darker legends.
He looked at Calder with something like possession.
Shoulders back, hardened gaze scanning the room. He stood as if he owned not just the room but the air we breathed, like the Magistrate did when he’d addressed the city the night of the Oracle’s assassination attempt. Smug, yet fully in control. Every head in the room was bowed toward him.
Including Vitoria’s.
Who was standing directly between Calder and the man—the Master, I realized with cold certainty, though I’d be damned if I’d ever call him that out loud.
But there were others on the stage, too.
A nymph with long silver hair, posture unnaturally still, like a statue that might move if you looked away. When they all lifted their heads at some silent signal, she stared directly at me. Through the crowd. Through the distance. Like she’d known exactly where I was standing.
And someone else was next to her. Someone who made my blood run cold.
Mrs. Deliana.
The owner of Thistle and Thorn. The scrivener who’d opened a portal through her book, who’d helped us escape the hunters, who I’d thought was on our side. She stood on that dais as if she belonged there. Like she’d always belonged there.
Had Vitoria been coming back here all these years? Using the portal at the bookstore? Coming home to this twisted city whenever she disappeared without explanation?
There were more figures on the stage—faces that blurred together as my mind spiraled on the one thing I couldn’t process.
Mrs. Deliana had answers to questions we’d never thought to ask. Had helped Vitoria escape and never told us, even though she knew we were friends. We’d jumped through her book into the Bloodwood, thinking she was saving us from hunters, when really—
When really, what? She’d delivered us exactly where we needed to be to find this place. So the rest of the group could get to us first. But she could have deposited us right into the city. Except Calder hadn’t been with us. My eyes slid back to him.
“Syn,” Pip whispered so quietly I almost missed it. “Something’s really wrong here.”
“I know.”
She gripped my cloak. “No, I mean look at Calder’s eyes.”
I focused on his face. His head was no longer bowed. And those beautiful brown eyes were empty. Glazed. The same expression I’d seen on every citizen in this cursed city.
Whatever they’d done to him, whatever this ascension was, it had already started.
And we were too late to stop it.