CHAPTER 14
DAVINA
One month ago
THE PYRAMIDS THAT GAVE NAME TO THE CITY WERE FAR MORE IMPOSING UP CLOSE.
Their almost-black stone stood in stark contrast to the brightness all around, eerily out of place, like shadows that refused to vanish.
Maybe that had been the kings’ intention: to make them stand out like wounds in the land, so their meaning could never be forgotten.
They’d be sorely disappointed.
The sun was barely a quarter up the sky when we crossed into the perimeter of the historic site, and the heat was already punishing.
A post of the same dark stone jutted from the sand, its flat arrows pointing in various directions, though the words carved into them had long been erased by the desert wind and time.
The only real shade came from the looming pyramids themselves, and even that would vanish once the sun reached its zenith.
Kwabena, Zephyr, Armand, and I moved in a loose single file behind the appointed guide, who was leading us to the pyramid most often visited by Dr. Sircelen.
After I told them one of my incursions in Kostrols had resulted in me obtaining the clue we needed to go forward—and subtly rubbing it in the captain’s face—it had taken two days for the army to secure the permits we needed to gain access.
Two days in which, no matter how much I had insisted on the urgency of the mission, Zephyr had rejected every and any alternative proposed.
All to get into a pyramid that Silvester Sircelen had apparently been accessing for years, and yet there wasn’t a single official record of it in either of our files.
I had thoughts about that, but I kept them to myself.
Neither party had clearance to pay the obscene fee the family owning the land demanded in exchange for access, and short of sneaking in—which I was completely on board with—there was nothing we could do but wait.
And wait we did.
Almost two whole days of sitting ducks, and going through a dossier that by now I knew by heart, and was growing more and more convinced of its uselessness.
Armand, true to his character, had made the most of those two days by delving deeper into the Kobrant population, as he’d called it. Kipiramidan men and women alike must have fallen prey to his charms, for he’d been gone most of the time.
“I learnt some interesting bits on the pyramids and how they’ve been used for various nefarious purposes over the years,” he’d said defensively when I called him out on it. “Some of which I was especially interested in.”
He was a lost cause.
That morning, we were roused by a Kobrant emissary who led us to the outskirts of Kipiramida.
After a brief exchange of words and documents we’d not been privy to, we were on our way.
And that was how we ended up trailing one of the appointed guards toward the southwestern pyramid.
The one built for King Kan, we were told.
“King Kan was responsible for logistics and commerce,” Kwabena said as we neared the shadowed entrance of the massive black structure.
“He was known as the most social, kind, and open of the brothers, so it’s assumed his treasure is the easiest to find.
Though no one’s managed it in nearly a thousand years, that we know. ”
I’d had plenty of time to speculate on what Sircelen might’ve hidden inside, but I was no closer to an answer. I couldn’t bring myself to believe he’d risk the pyramids for relics. Hiding a stash of sap, though? That would be worth it.
I didn’t dare to be too hopeful, though.
The guide came to a halt a few feet from the gaping entrance.
“This is as far as I’ll go,” he said, dipping his chin. “Good luck.”
My palms grew slick. Up close, the pyramids weren’t made of solid stone, as I’d assumed, but laced with brass, now dulled and worn by centuries of desert storms.
The entrance to King Kan’s pyramid was through a six-foot-high opening.
An open maw of darkness ready to swallow us whole that had goosebumps erupting along my forearms. Two torches flickered in the Kobrants’ hands, but the light felt thin, devoured by the yawning black beyond.
And yet, the moment I crossed the threshold, a wave of relief swept over me.
A cool mantle settled on my skin, banishing the sun’s suffocating heat in an instant.
I took a deep breath. With any luck, whatever we were about to find would either lead us directly to Sircelen’s stash, or far, far away from Kipiramida and its cursed, searing heat.
Then I remembered the weight of thousands of pounds of stone pressing in around me, and the calm cracked.
Objectively, I knew they couldn’t trap me.
If bad came to worst, I could always phase back out—make myself intangible and walk through the stone.
But fear was rarely objective. And as I cleared that looming threshold and delved into the darkness beyond, my heart thrashed and rebelled, my shoulders hunching.
Like I’d done countless times before, I fought to keep it under control.
A deep inhale had my lungs filling with dusty, ancient air.
The darkness beyond the torches held by the two Kobrants walking ahead was complete, and where I’d expected the most absolute silence, there was the odd groan of metal and stone and their echoing reverberations.
As true, biting coolness nipped at my skin the further we walked, I focused on getting air into my lungs steadily, on the stark relief of my skin that was far from prepared for the Kobrant desert. On the next step.
My head felt light, but still I did not pay attention to the staircase we were forced to take, or how if we kept descending, we would end up beneath ground level. The ceiling started to move downwards, and I launched my hand against the wall, cold stone scratching my palm—
“Lachlan.” Something warm wrapped around my forearm.
Firelight flickered, drawing my attention to eyes the color of forests in spring. A straight nose. Lips set in a tight line.
Zephyr’s brow creased as he looked down at me. “What’s wrong?”
I swallowed but no moisture made it to my throat. It was all of a sudden raw and scratchy. The hold on my arm tightened. Not forceful, but grounding . . . anchoring.
The walls weren’t closing in. The ceiling wasn’t moving. It had all been in my head.
The captain didn’t push me further, didn’t demand an answer. As much as I despised admitting weakness, it was his hold tethering me. Steadying me.
Fuck.
“She’s fine.” A new pair of hands settled on my shoulders, their weight familiar. “Just not a fan of enclosed spaces.”
Not a fan.
Understatement of the century. But I recognized the choice in Armand’s words. He hadn’t exposed my weakness. He could have, but he hadn’t. An unexpected act of consideration.
“Yeah,” I croaked. “Fine.”
Focus on the mission, Davina. Stone is just that—stone. Stone that I can phase through. Stone that I can break.
A pulse of clarity rushed in, steady and sharp. I straightened and, gritting my teeth, I shrugged both sets of hands off.
Zephyr’s brow remained furrowed. “You sure?”
I nodded and wiped sweaty palms against my pants.
“Do you want to go back?”
“No.”
Approval flickered in his eyes as they held mine for a moment longer. Without another word, he dipped his chin toward Kwabena, and the sergeant turned back towards the descending tunnel. I could feel Armand close, not enough to touch but enough for me to know that he had my back.
When Zephyr didn’t move to follow his companion, I looked up at him in question.
“I’ll keep the rear,” he said without elaborating.
And so, I followed Kwabena’s steps, punctuated by the steady cadence of his cane echoing around the eerie silence.
The tunnel evened out. We passed an opening on our right, blocked by metal bars.
The mere thought of the countless corridors and vaults guarding secrets buried long ago was staggering.
I almost crashed into Kwabena’s back as he drew to a sudden stop, making a fool of myself for the second time in mere minutes.
Focus, damn it.
“There is something here.” The sergeant’s tone turned my hands to ice.
Pushing onto my tiptoes to look over his shoulder, I spotted what he meant. The corridor ahead narrowed into a long, rectangular passageway, flanked on either side by tall stone walls. The odd bit came when I spotted the rows of small, round holes embedded into one of them.
“A trap.”
Dust hung in the air in the unnatural stillness of the passageway.
There was no breeze and no echo, just the faint huff of sand shifting under our boots and the low crackling of the lit torches.
My eyes fell to the floor ahead, scanning the uneven surface.
It was composed of large stone tiles, most worn smooth by time.
Some sat flush; others rose or dipped slightly as if disturbed.
I crouched instinctively, tracking the minute shadows between the seams in an attempt to measure the diverse heights.
Armand cursed. “I might need to reconsider my interest in partaking in whatever debauchery happens down here.”
Kwabena said nothing, nor did he advance. He simply raised the index finger holding the slender, copper-capped cane.
A metallic groan broke the silence. One of the central slabs sunk, stone grinding against stone. Before the echo even faded, a snap-hiss cut through the air.
Two arrows burst from the wall beside me, shrieking past with such force they trembled where they struck the opposite stone. One embedded cleanly, the other shattered on impact, metal splinters skittering across the floor.
My stomach lurched. When silence settled once more, Kwabena whistled, and Armand cursed under his breath again. I thoroughly echoed the sentiment.
Another twitch of Kwabena’s finger. Another slab sank. Thunk-thunk. Whisssssss. CRACK.
Over and over.