Imara
THIRTY-FIVE
The junction is a circular chamber where multiple drainage channels converge.
Tomek is waiting.
He’s brought more supplies—fresh water, additional rations, and a stack of papers covered in cramped handwriting. Maps. Schedules. Intelligence gathered over years of careful observation.
“You made it.” He doesn’t sound surprised. “Good time.”
“The tunnels are—” I search for words.
“I know.” He spreads the papers on a flat stone near the basin’s edge. “You get used to it. Or you don’t. Either way, you push forward.”
Kharvek positions himself at my shoulder, one hand resting on my lower back. The touch is casual. Possessive. A reminder that I’m not alone down here.
“What do you have for us?”
Tomek walks us through the intelligence.
Patrol schedules for the last week—the Matron has doubled security on the upper levels but left the underlevels almost unguarded.
Ward configurations—stronger near the Womb Chamber, weaker in the service corridors.
Attendant rotations—who’s loyal, who’s merely afraid, who might be persuaded to look the other way.
“The Chamber itself is the problem.” He taps a section of the map. “She’s been in there since the pit. Not coming out. Not even to feed.”
“Feed?”
“The Matron doesn’t eat anymore. Hasn’t for decades. She sustains herself on harvested life-force.” Tomek’s expression darkens. “Usually she takes it from the stock in controlled amounts. But lately she’s been… consuming. Whole people at once. Burning through her reserves to fuel something big.”
I exchange a glance with Kharvek. His jaw is tight.
“She’s preparing for us.”
“She’s preparing for something.” Tomek pulls out a small iron key. “Whatever it is, you’ll need to get past her defenses to stop it. This opens the service corridors that connect to the Chamber’s maintenance passages. It won’t get you all the way in, but it’ll get you close.”
I reach for the key.
Tomek’s hand closes over mine before I can take it. His eyes are intense. Urgent.
“There’s something else you need to know.” He lowers his voice. “About the weapon. About where he came from.”
Kharvek goes still at my back.
“What are you talking about?”
“The genealogy records. I’ve had access to them for years—part of maintaining the infrastructure, keeping the breeding charts updated.” Tomek’s gaze flicks to Kharvek. “His lineage isn’t what the Matron claims. He’s not bred from selected stock. He’s—”
A sound cuts him off. Distant. Echoing.
Footsteps. Dozens of them. Coming from multiple directions.
Tomek’s face goes white. “No.”
“What—”
“They followed me.” He’s already moving, grabbing papers, shoving them at me. “I was careful, I checked for tails, I—it doesn’t matter. They’re here.”
The footsteps grow louder. Closer. I can hear them now in at least three tunnels—the rhythmic march of Attendants moving in formation.
“How many exits?” Kharvek’s voice is flat. Combat-ready.
I scan the chamber. Three drainage channels feed into this space. All of them are producing footsteps now.
“None that aren’t blocked.”
Tomek shoves the key into my hand. The iron is cold against my palm.
“The central basin.” He points at the dark opening where the runoff drains. “It connects to the old ritual processing system. Cramped, but passable. It’ll put you out near the Chamber’s lower levels.”
“What about you?”
He meets my gaze. Holds it.
“I’ll buy you time.”
“Tomek—”
“This is what I’ve been waiting for, Imara.” He pulls a knife from his belt—small, almost pitiful against what’s coming. “Ten years. Ten years of watching people disappear into those halls and never come out. My daughter. My wife. Everyone I ever loved.”
The first Attendants appear at the tunnel mouths. Dark robes, pale faces, the crimson glow of blood-ward amulets at their throats. A dozen at least, with more behind them.
“Let me do something that matters.” Tomek’s voice cracks. “Let me be more than a man who watched.”
Kharvek’s hand finds my arm. Grips hard.
“We can fight—”
“Not this many. Not in this space.” Tomek is already moving toward the nearest tunnel entrance. “Go. Now. Before they seal the basin.”
“The information about Kharvek—”
“Ask the Matron.” A terrible smile crosses his face. “She loves to talk about her achievements.”
He charges the first wave of Attendants.
His knife finds a throat. Blood sprays. Bodies fall. More Attendants swarm to fill the gap, and Tomek disappears into the chaos of robes and blades and screaming.
Kharvek yanks me toward the basin. I resist for half a second—watching Tomek fight, watching him fall, watching him rise and fight again—
“IMARA.”
His voice cuts through the horror. I tear my gaze away. Let him drag me to the basin’s edge.
The opening is narrow. Dark. The smell rising from it is indescribable.
“Go.” Kharvek’s scars are blazing. Power crackles along his scarification, illuminating the fury in his expression. “I’ll hold them while you—”
“Not without you.” I grip his arm with both hands. “You promised you’d always come back to me. You can’t do that if you’re dead.”
Behind us, Tomek screams. A sound of rage, not pain. Then silence.
Kharvek’s expression shifts—love, fury, resignation. Then he wraps his arms around me, and we drop into the darkness.
The fall is longer than I expected.
We land hard in ankle-deep sludge, the impact jarring my bones. Kharvek absorbs most of the shock, his body curling around mine, protecting me even as we hit.
“You okay?” His hands run over me, checking for injuries.
“Fine.” I’m not fine. Tomek is dead. We’re somewhere beneath the Sanctum with no clear path forward. The Matron knows we’re here.
But I’m alive. Kharvek is alive.
It has to be enough.
“The processing system.” I force myself to focus. The tunnel we’re in is cramped—even I have to hunch.
“Then we move.”
He takes my hand. We walk.
The passage twists and turns, sometimes so narrow we have to move single file. Kharvek’s shoulders scrape the walls constantly. The sound is like nails on stone, setting my teeth on edge.
I count our steps. Calculate our position. The processing system runs beneath the Womb Chamber—we should be getting close to the maintenance corridors Tomek mentioned.
“Stop.”
Kharvek’s voice is barely a whisper. His hand tightens on mine.
I freeze. Listen.
Ahead of us, a sound. Not footsteps—something else. A humming. Low, constant, vibrating through the stone itself.
“Blood-wards.” I recognize the frequency. “Active ones. Strong.”
“Can you get us through?”
I pull Tomek’s key from my pocket. The iron gleams faintly in the dim light.
“Perhaps.”
We approach the ward junction carefully. The humming grows louder. Crimson light pulses ahead, rhythmic—synchronized to a heartbeat that isn’t human anymore.
The maintenance door is set into the wall, almost invisible in the shadows. I fit the key into the lock. Turn it.
The wards flicker. The humming stutters.
The door swings open.
Beyond is a corridor, better lit than the tunnels, lined with pipes and conduits that carry the Chamber’s magical infrastructure. The air is warmer here. Humid. Like stepping inside a living body.
“We’re in.” I step through. “The Womb Chamber is close. I can feel it.”
Kharvek follows. The door swings shut behind us with a soft click.
And the Matron’s voice echoes from the walls.
“Welcome home, children.”
Ice floods my veins.
Kharvek moves in front of me, scars flaring hot, power flooding his channels. But there’s no one visible—just the voice, carried by the blood-wards, filling the corridor from every direction.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” Her voice is almost gentle. Maternal. “The moment you crossed my threshold, I felt you. Both of you. That beautiful resonance your blood creates—it sings to me, Imara. Tells me exactly where you are.”
My hand finds Kharvek’s back. Presses flat against his spine. I need to touch him. Need to feel him solid and real.
That’s what we couldn’t understand—out in the open territory, the resonance between us is too diffuse to trace. But inside the Sanctum’s ward lattice, every pulse we make is caught and magnified. We didn’t walk into a trap. We built one the moment we stepped across the threshold.
“I’m not angry.” The voice drops, becomes warmer. Almost loving. “You’ve proven everything I hoped for. The strength of your compatibility. The power you generate in proximity. My calculations were correct. My breeding programs, vindicated.”
“Show yourself.” Kharvek’s voice is a growl. “Face us.”
“Face you?” A laugh, soft and terrible. “Why would I face what I created? You’re not enemies, children. You’re my masterpiece. And when you reach the Chamber—when you see what I have to show you—you’ll understand everything.”
The voice fades. The blood-wards’ humming returns to normal.
Kharvek turns. His expression is controlled, but I sense the fury beneath.
“Trap.”
“Obviously.” I look down the corridor. The Womb Chamber waits at its end. The Matron waits with it. And whatever truth Tomek started to reveal—it’s there too. “But we already knew that.”
“We could turn back.”
“No.” I shake my head. “She can track us anywhere inside these walls. The only way this ends is if we end it.”
He crosses to me. Takes both my hands in his, makes me look at him.
“Whatever she shows me in there. Whatever truth she thinks will break me.” His thumb traces my knuckles. “It doesn’t change anything. Not about us. Not about what I feel for you.”
“I know.”
He pulls me close. His mouth finds mine—not desperate this time, but sure.
Certain. The kiss of a man who knows exactly what he’s fighting for and refuses to let it go.
I melt into him, let his arms anchor me, let the solid wall of his chest remind me that we’re still here. Still alive. Still choosing each other.
When he finally releases me, his hands stay wrapped around mine.
“Ready?”
I take his hand. Thread my fingers through his.