Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
Demos
He heard the sound and knew, right then, that something had been unleashed. He was still on his mount, and quickly, he reined his cervos to the side, pulling the reins so that he could make out what was happening at a safe distance. Something had set off the Ongahri, bringing them to their knees in pain. Whatever it was, he felt it in his chest, his marks burning his skin like acid.
“Retreat!” he called out. Lucius, Mari, Ander… all of the front line were down on the frosted ground, wincing in pain. He looked around, trying to find Sierra, Phobius. He couldn’t find them.
Something tickled in the back of his mind, and he knew then that Sierra and Phobius had never ridden with them to the doors, that the two of them had colluded, tossing mirrors around for all of them to see one thing yet do another. Panic soared into his bloodstream, and in moments he was backing up, facing forward to make sure no one saw him. He shifted into his owl, faster than a blink. He flew high above the party below, noticing more Ongahri hunching forward, the cervos breaking into mayhem.
The gardens, he thought. Phobius knew the Basilica just as well as Demos did, and the western gardens, atop a flat area of ground, built on a hill that sloped down, leading to the water, the Iris Sea. That garden had an access door that would lead to a back hall inside the Basilica.
He had spelled his clothing just that morning, his boots, stockings, everything but the winter cloak, which he wouldn’t need once he was inside. As soon as he spotted the iron door, tucked away behind some elderberry bushes, he touched ground, shifted, and went inside.
His boots thudded on the hard stone of the hall until he made himself slow onto silent feet. Ahead, the hall was empty, the air unstirred and faintly smelling of the incense that burned in the inner court.
Demos frowned now as he thought of how he was to access the dungeon from here. For that was surely where his brother and Sierra had gone.
“By the Wind, Phobius,” he cursed. Such a fool’s errand, such a stupid risk!
So many scenarios flitted through his mind, that maybe Boriel wasn’t being held here, that his father wasn’t truly alive, that all of this had been some kind of collective vision, a ruse. And then of course, the most terrifying scenario, all the above had happened and Sierra was in danger.
He knew Phobius could take care of himself. No doubts there. But Sierra, with her good-natured heart, her benevolent intentions, was too easy to catch, to hurt, to trap. Boriel was strong enough to hold on, but Sierra, as strong as she was, was like an infant when it came down to it. Their father had been the most powerful Seraph in Titus’ long history. Crushing her would be like an ant smudged into his father’s fingers.
He picked up his pace, turning this corner and that, until he came upon a staircase that was tucked away inside a darkened alcove. Cold reached through his bones as he descended, the steps hard to make out in the waning light. When he finally reached the end, there was nothing there but a stone wall. The space was barely enough room to turn around. He felt around that stone, searching for some kind of recess, a notch, anything. There was nothing.
Frustrated, he ran back up the stairs and back into the hall. He had no choice—he’d have to go through the Basilica proper. He glanced down at his clothing. He’d need a—
“Here.”
A flash of white fabric flew towards his face just in time for him to catch it. Standing now before him was a familiar face. Auria.
Thank the Mother.
“We haven’t much time,” she said, her sharp features taut with seriousness. Beside her stood a beautiful woman with black, shiny hair, swept up and decorated with tiny, jeweled flags.
Spring and Summer. Which meant his father was definitely here. Who else was here?
He wasted no time asking questions, though. Instead, he donned the pristine white robes of the Order, quickly spelling them.
Auria nodded. “Let’s go.”
Throughout their hurried walk, Demos felt vibrations, heard booms, and at one point lost his footing from a residual blast that rocked the floor.
“What is that?” he asked.
Auria, her head swinging around briefly to answer him, raised an eyebrow. “The Ongahri have brought the weapon. Liriel is wrestling it from their hands.”
Dear gods. “How?” Mother help us.
Auria shrugged. “It’s part of the plan.”
“An abomination, that weapon,” Esta muttered beside him.
“I hope you all know what you’re doing,” Demos said, shaking his head as they turned into another hall. It was then Demos realized they were heading up, not down to the dungeons. “This is not the way, Auria.”
“Phobius will keep her safe.”
“Wait.” He stopped in his tracks and grabbed her arm. Her skin was as hot as a blacksmith’s anvil. “Where are we going, then?”
“To rescue the Supreme, of course.”
“What?”
“Cae—” She stopped herself before she uttered Demos’ father’s name. “He has the Supreme locked in Elusian irons, Demos. Among other things. Haven’t you been wondering where everyone is?”
He had, but finding Sierra had taken over every bit of his thoughts.
“Fine. We’ll help him, but if it takes too long, I’m going to find Sierra.”
The Supreme was up in the tower. With two elementals, opening the door was a work of a moment. Inside, the body of poor Nevilah was malnourished, unwashed. Demos thought for sure, upon seeing him, that he was dead, that they were way too late. But Esta was squatting over him now, holding the Supreme’s frail face in her hands, whispering words.
The Supremes’ paper-thin skin plumped, his ashen cheeks rosy once more. Auria motioned to Demos, and together they freed the iron cuffs, carefully, once Auria and covered them over with green foliage, lest they touch it with their bare hands. Elusian iron was powerful. There was no doubt now that Cael really was here.
Freed at last, the Supreme looked at Demos, who knew that, to the old man, Auria and Esta weren’t even there. “Servant… Demos? Where-why—”
“The Basilica has been breached, Supreme.” He didn’t know how much or for how long the Supreme had been in his father’s thrall.
“I see. That man… I knew he was up to something. He came here several months ago. I—I’m afraid I haven’t been well, Servant. I let him take control, and now…” The Supreme, even though he looked worlds better than he had moments ago, was still elderly—frail, slow in his movements. But his mind still honed a sharpness that spoke of why he had deserved that coveted title of Supreme. He shook his head and looked at Demos, forlorn, sad.
“Seems the Order has turned darker than I had thought. First, I find out about Prius… I promise you, that is something the Owl would never do.” He sighed, and it was a resigned sound, a turning of the page at the end of a long epic. “I—I thank you, Servant. Find him. I’ll search for the others.”
“Do you know where they are?”
Supreme Nevilah shook himself, brushing absently at his dark robes. “I do. Go on, child. And be careful. He’s… he’s not right.” Green eyes penetrating Demos, almost daring him to not believe.
“No, he sure isn’t, Supreme.”