Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Keen of mind, with sharp eyes and wit, the Messenger plotted as he watched the ruling gods.
—Fabia’s Fables, “People of the Stars.”
Walls of navy water stretched to the bright sky, shadowing the soaked, sandy floor of the lake from the afternoon sun.
The damp scent of eggs and decay wafted from its depths despite the continuous wind Carina tunneled through the water.
Shorter strands of hair ripped free of the tight braids Vienah and I wore.
Though the cuff suppressed her powers, the water seemed to react to Vienah as we walked through the tunnel, waiting for that whisper of command.
Lord Astraeus and Raek flanked me as we trudged downhill.
Carina’s wind continued to push a wall of water ahead of us, and I let that incessant buzzing lead us in an insufferable zigzagging pattern through the lake.
Six of the pirate’s men joined us in our scouting mission at the bottom of the lake.
“What do you plan to do with it?” I asked him as we stepped over a row of algae-covered, ragged rocks and into a slimy blanket of limp, rancid weeds. Life. So much more life than we’d ever imagined in the Death Dunes...
Lord Astraeus cut a quick glance at me as he pondered his answer. After a moment, he said, “I’ll use it to protect my people.”
An exasperated scoff escaped my lips. “Really?” I said, turning to him as we walked. “‘There isn’t an ounce of good in me.’ That’s what you said. You expect me to believe a Lord of Marisarma is going to use the power of the Bellators to protect his people? What people?”
His dark eyes narrowed as he said, “Votruvians, of course. We’ve been outcasts for hundreds of years. Saros’s protection for humans ends at the borders of Sultira. And with the islands constantly fought over by the sea lords, the people have suffered from more than just the ashen.”
“Then you admit the Lords of Marisarma are a part of the problem. Are you going to kill off the other one and make yourself king?” I asked, remembering the stories Morwyn told me about her homeland.
“There’s much you don’t know, Bonscaíh,” he said, smirking as he patted the top of my head.
I leaned back, smacking his hand away. “Did you just pat me?”
Another smirk. “Bloodhound, right?”
“Fuck you,” I snapped.
He held his hands up in defeat as I put distance between us.
“The bones don’t hand the power over,” I said after a moment. “Daimos could only wield the two he acquired because he is an incredibly powerful mystic who has lived hundreds of years. And as far as Bellators go…” I glanced at him sidelong.
He placed a hand to his heart. “What? You don’t think I could be a noble Bellator? I’m hurt.”
I bristled at the sarcasm. “You’re reckless and cruel,” I spat, thinking of Vulcan’s ruined face. “I could never trust you.”
I opened my mouth once more, and he abruptly stopped, gripping above my elbow and spinning me toward him. I tensed as he leaned in, close enough I could see tiny flecks of gray in his dark irises. A wave of cedar and leather snaked into my lungs.
“I don’t need your trust,” he murmured. “I need you to do your job.”
My molars scraped against each other, and I envisioned my forehead crashing into Lord Astraeus’s nose, but my brain promptly took control. I shoved out of his hold and continued walking, following that miserable buzzing.
“How long has it been?” Ronan asked from behind after a few moments of tense silence.
“Fifty minutes, give or take,” Raek answered. He shifted next to me, eyeing his captain.
“We’ll need time to make it back out, Bonscaíh,” Astraeus murmured.
Something tugged on my braid. I snapped my gaze to Astraeus, and he cocked an eyebrow, the seriousness from moments before gone.
“Don’t touch my hair. And stop calling me that,” I snapped, irritation cutting through the words.
Raek let out a low chuckle next to me.
I whipped my head toward him, “What? What does it mean?”
Raek’s lips twitched to the side, and he opened his mouth to answer.
“Shadow,” Astraeus cut in.
I followed Raek’s eyes as they darted to the pirate lord.
“It means ‘shadow,’ in Old Votruvian. Appropriate for you, I think?” Astraeus explained, eyes sliding to my hands and then to my chest, as if he could see the shadow that smothered my soul. His brows pinched for a moment. “We could try another dose.”
I turned back, my gut reeling at the suggestion. The buzzing inched toward unbearable.
“No. We’re close,” I muttered.
Carina’s wind followed my movement and pushed forward, the water falling away and revealing a steep hill.
“There.”
The sandy trench merged into a set of stone steps, leading to a small, round gate at the bottom. An eight-pointed star sat at its center, marked with the various symbols of the Bellators.
Vienah approached as I knelt in the sand, running my fingers over the markings. My dual powers stirred at our proximity to the bone below.
“This is Elvish,” Vienah said, noting two sets of script. “Do you know what it says?” she asked, turning toward Kresida.
The War Slayer knelt beside me, and her brown hands stretched across the snow-white stone. Her dark eyes slid to mine, and she pinched her brows before reciting:
“Life is nothing without it.
As small as a thought; as strong as the tides.
As quiet as whispers; as loud as thunder.
It exists in the light and the dark.”
“What in Tynan’s Hell is that supposed to mean?” Ronan blurted out.
“And what about this?” I asked, motioning to the smaller script at the base.
Kresida squinted and leaned forward. “Cast your weapons down. Honor opens more than doors.”
I frowned, running my fingers along the edge of the wide gate, feeling for any type of handle or lock.
Tiny, round divots lined the outer edge of the circular door.
No, not exactly round, but pointed, as if something sharp were to fit inside.
My hands drifted inward, eyes scanning the various Bellator symbols circling the center of the door.
Larger divots, like wide slices, were dispersed in a random pattern around the symbols.
And in the center of the eight-pointed star, a shallow, round indent.
Astraeus’s men began to slide their blades along the edges of the door, attempting to pry the stone free.
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” I murmured.
“We don’t have time to solve a riddle,” Lord Astraeus replied, motioning for his men to continue.
They began to hack away at the stone. I cringed as small bits of white stone chips flew into the air, destroying the delicate filigree etched into the edges of the circle.
Wrong. This seemed wrong. I eyed their swords as they continued to hack away. The tips of their blades were too thick for the edges of the door. But…
“Stop,” I said, stepping forward, holding my hands up. “Stop! You’re not getting in that way. I know how to open it.”
Astraeus snapped his head toward me, dark eyes narrowing. “Explain.”
“Give me your arrows,” I said, nodding to his man in the back wielding a bow. He eyed the pirate lord warily, who gave him a cautious nod.
“It’s a puzzle,” I murmured, mind drifting back to Enya’s tomb. My heart squeezed for Drystan.
I eyed the small divots, looking strangely like stars. Could it be a constellation? I recited in my head as I counted out eight arrows, doing my best to recall the exact constellation alignment of the eight brightest stars on the day of the twin eclipse, each Sending.
“If the center is the sun,” I said, kneeling at the center of the door.
I aligned myself facing the text, fingers sliding up to the top of the eight-pointed star.
My finger slid into the uppermost divot above the star and over, before sliding one of the arrowheads into the divot.
And then another, counting and aligning them in the exact position. Gods, I wished Drystan was here.
“What are you doing?” Astraeus demanded, yet his voice held a soft sort of awe.
“It’s the Sending,” I said, standing and turning toward him. “I need your sword now.” I held my hand out, waiting.
Raek scoffed, chuckling, but the pirate lord held my gaze.
“Cast your weapons down,” Astraeus repeated the strange verse. “Not aside. Down.”
His dark eyes slid to the stone door and the slices I’d examined.
He stepped forward, unsheathing his curved blade.
Kneeling before the eight-pointed star, his fingers slid over the little cluster of five stars, the symbol of the Celestyn power.
He plunged his curved blade into the slice next to it. A perfect fit.
A wry smile formed on his lips as he glanced at his men, jerking his head toward the door and ordering them to insert their blades in the door.
The fletching of the arrows and hilts of the blades stuck straight up in the air, and nothing happened. I cocked my head.
“There’s no handle,” Vienah murmured. “Even if it’s unlocked, how do we open it?”
That was it.
“Handles,” I clarified to Vienah, feeling smug, and gripped the top of Astraeus’s blade and one of the opposite arrows. I pulled and pushed, attempting to twist the door counterclockwise.
I grunted as I pushed. Ronan reached around me, adding his strength. Nothing. Dammit.
Astraeus edged around the blades, his finger grazing the shallow center of the star. He let out a soft chuckle.
“We’re missing a piece, Bonscaíh,” he said quietly. “Honor.”
“Well, there’s not much of that in this group,” I snapped.
He turned toward me, a wry smile on his face. “Your dagger,” he said, jerking his chin toward my boot where I’d concealed Talon. So, he hadn’t forgotten I still had the blade.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The name of your blade is Honor.”
I pinched my brows, shaking my head, and he leaned down and snatched it from the inside of my boot, his hand gripping the back of my calf.
He held the dagger, almost reverently, between his hands, as if weighing the perfectly balanced blade.
“Onoiren,” Astraeus murmured, his finger sliding over the barely perceptible script on the length of the dagger. “Honor, in old Votruvian.”
I blinked. This was a Votruvian dagger that had somehow ended up in the Crystal Castle, in Cyril’s hands.
My mind didn’t have time to process what that could mean as Astraeus took the blade and placed the hilt, its golden gem a soft glow against the white stone, at the center of the eight-pointed star. A soft click sounded.
“Honor opens more than doors,” Astraeus murmured, turning back to me, his eyes soft. He motioned toward the door.
We gripped the blade and arrow once more and barely nudged the door before it twisted smoothly in a full circle. Air whooshed, followed by the squelch of sandy lake bottom as the door lifted open.
Lord Astraeus let out a low whistle, eyeing the dark staircase spiraling into a deep chamber beneath the lake. “After you, Bonscaíh,” he motioned me forward with a wink.
Vienah threw an encouraging nod in my direction, and I stepped into the darkness.
My hand slid along the dry, chilled stone wall as we spiraled below the lake through a vertical tunnel.
A dry, loamy breeze floated from its depths.
Astraeus’s men lit two torches that they’d brought along.
I held one in front of me as I slid Talon, or rather Honor, back into my boot.
Astraeus noted the movement, curiously keeping his mouth shut.
The other blades and arrows above were stuck, the price of this tomb.
Lord Astraeus ordered his men to seal the gate above us should Carina’s powers falter, insisting the creators of this tomb would have built a second exit. Her sweet, lilac wind vanished as the stone gate thudded against the top of the tunnel, sealing us in.
The constant buzzing in my ears drowned out the bickering that had begun several steps behind me. Beneath the wall of whatever magic this cuff wielded on my wrist, my powers seethed.
My foot finally met the hard, frozen stone of the base of the stairs. My eyes went wide as I took in the bare, circular white chamber.
In its center, a large round sarcophagus rested. Its cover was adorned with images of a fierce battle. Elves, evident by the pointed ears, and humans, fought side by side on various winged animals.
Fire and ice clashed in the skies above.
Creatures of death and pain, the likes of which I’d never seen before, snaked across the tomb.
Scales and talons tore apart the winged warriors.
And at the bottom of the tomb, an ocean of nightmares stalked the ships.
I glanced at Astraeus, whose eyes were narrowed on a particularly vivid depiction of a hydra, the same creature carved on the front of his ship.
My eyes snagged on a simple round symbol in the center. A circle with two lines cutting across the center. So strange and simple, yet something about it reminded me of Enya’s tomb.
I stepped forward, vaguely aware of the others shuffling off the staircase behind me and inching around the large casket. There was little more than a few feet of space between it and the walls. I ran my fingers over the etchings as I studied the lid.
“How are we going to get the top off?” Kresida asked as she hopped off the final step of the staircase. Her movements were quick and energetic despite her injured shoulder.
I eyed Astraeus, opposite of where I stood. He’d grown quiet since entering the chamber, not taking his dark eyes off the constellations that lined the outermost edge of the sarcophagus. He lifted his torch, leaning over the lid, pupils dilated, as he reached for that simple symbol in the center.
“You won’t.”