CHAPTER SIX #3
Reize returned with four cups in hand and a chipped dusty-blue teapot.
After she placed them on the low wooden slab used for a table, she gave them an overly pleased smile and sank down on a bench across from them, then smoothed her grey moth-eaten skirt.
“Ask your questions,” she chimed in a sing-song voice.
Destonne propped his ankle on his knee. “Well, Reize, I’ll get straight to the point. We need to enter the Hollow.” He drummed his fingers on his thigh and eyed the simmering tea with a hint of disgust. “But we haven’t the slightest idea how to get there or what to expect.”
She surveyed the three of them carefully, her dark brows arched. “The path to the Hollow is a dangerous one, not like it once was. The demons run rampant. Those Deimos cast out now run the lands outside the sanctuary.”
“I’m afraid we have little choice,” Destonne said. “We wish to find a loophole to retrieve the blood offered to make a pactum. To free ourselves of its bonds.” He nodded to Emmery. “She wishes to retrieve her memories, and I, my magic.”
“I can tell you the location of the doorway, but it won’t guarantee you entry.
” Reize took a sip of tea, her stare darting between Emmery and Destonne, a secret in her eyes.
“There are rumours of the demons' games and how they feed off pain. It’s the reason why the path was sealed away and no one has dared enter in centuries.”
Emmery glanced at Destonne, whose face remained neutral.
He placed his foot back on the ground and leaned his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t expect an easy journey,” he said. “However, we need to know where to begin.”
Reize appeared to contemplate this before she said, “I know of three entrances. One is only for souls—you may exit this way, but you cannot enter. The second is blocked by ice where Deimos awaits. The third seems to be your only option, and its location is sealed away in the Sacred Lands. There you will find a passage in an underwater cave.”
Emmery’s world stilled and ice flooded her veins.
Destonne must have heard the catch in her breath because his gaze slid to her.
And she couldn’t stop her damn lip from quivering as she asked, “Is it truly underwater or is it like the portal to the Iron Gate?” She squeezed her knees to her chest as she waited on bated breath for a response.
“You must swim to the cave,” Reize replied. “But rest assured it’s not a long distance.”
Emmery’s head spun, twirled like she was caught in a whirlpool, and she panted, yet each gulp of air wouldn’t quench her need for oxygen. The weight of Destonne’s stare was a fucking boulder as she laced her fingers, her knuckles blanched.
Water.
No. This wasn’t possible.
This couldn’t be happening.
The colour leached from Emmery’s face as her attention shot to Brennen, maybe for support or an anchor or something to hold onto.
Still at his spot in the corner of the room, his stoic expression mixed with confusion.
He cocked his head at her, but no words sounded in her mind.
Gods, she needed to pull herself together.
But when she sucked in a breath it stuck in her chest and a cold wave of dread bowled her over.
She grappled for anything to hold onto. To keep her from sinking into the floor.
Reize continued, “But be warned, you cannot bring belongings into the Hollow. Leave all valuables behind.” As she eyed the chain around Destonne’s neck, the black crystal glinted back at her.
“However, you may bring that. It tells me it has been made by Hollow hands.” She narrowed her gaze on it. “How fascinating.”
Destonne cleared his throat and tucked it beneath his collared shirt. “There’s other information we require.”
Emmery barely heard the words.
The walls seemed to shrink. Box her in.
She needed to get out. Needed to breathe.
She shot to her feet and managed to say, “Thank you for your help. I—I need some, uhm, I need some air.” She clutched her chest, and stumbled toward the door, her limbs heavy like she slogged through damp snow.
This couldn’t be real. Her worst fear was now the one thing that kept her from retrieving her memories, from finding Shade, from proving herself and saving these people. The barrier between her and her destiny.
Emmery burst through the door. And, after all these months in Asaella, her hold on the flimsy rope, the one whose strands snapped one by one and frayed, the only thing that kept her from plunging into the writhing inevitable nightmare below—
Her grip on it faltered. And as she stumbled into the clearing, she was hurled into the darkness as the last strand broke.
And she broke with it.
She gasped for air as she braced her hands on her knees like she’d run uphill for hours.
Aera leapt from her shoulder and wove in and out of her legs, but her yipped concerns couldn’t calm this storm inside her.
Emmery’s heart thundered like an erratic drum.
Her magic strained against the marks on her hands.
The khaos flame fought the cage of her body. Burned her from within. Leapt to her aid to quell her panic. She convulsed, shook, heaved—
Fur brushed her side. A snout nudged her hand. But it wasn’t Aera.
“Princess?”
She knew that soft voice, the way it rattled in her mind, but she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe or form coherency beyond the abyss that closed in on her.
Drowned her. And all she could do was shake her head as bile climbed her throat.
Trapped inside her body, pressure built, her muscles seized and she crouched, knees pulled into her chest as if it would save her from herself.
As if she could fold like a bedsheet and reduce. Tuck herself away.
But the power inside her swelled, matched her frantic heart, and in a burst of light—
The marks shattered.
Golden flames engulfed her—licked up her hands, encased her head, and circled her in a protective cage. Her khaos flame was her ally as it swaddled her in heat and flames and safety.
And she let it burn.
There were footsteps and then at her side, Destonne asked, his voice shockingly calm, “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. She just started—” Brennen stared helplessly at Emmery. “Doing that.”
Destonne knelt on the ground before her, dangerously close to the flames, and studied her unmarked hands before he shot Brennen a look overflowing with blame. “How did you remove them?”
“I didn’t. They … broke.”
On his knees, Destonne shuffled closer and met Emmery’s eyes through the wall of gold. “Look at me, angel. It’s alright.”
His voice was soft, deep, soothing. It hovered around her buzzing head like a cool wind clearing away smoke.
But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t answer him. Her tongue wouldn’t work.
She could only blink through the golden wall, but he held her stare.
“Emmery?” he tried.
But she couldn’t muster a response.
Destonne reached toward her, an unreadable look on his face as his fingers neared the golden shelter around her body.
What the fuck was he doing? Her flame would char his hand to the bone or disintegrate it entirely.
“Don’t,” Emmery choked, desperate to keep him away. “Don’t touch me.”
He blinked as if his senses slammed back into him. Destonne’s hand froze, like he debated taking the risk but pulled back, and threaded his fingers together to keep his wandering hands caged.
But he kept talking, saying nothing important and somehow everything she needed to hear. And it was his voice that grounded her, coaxed her back. She grabbed onto his voice like a lifeline, as if it reached her through the flames and freed her from the protection it’d offered.
Bit by bit her flames died, her panic with it, until her magic extinguished entirely and left her shaking and chilled to the bone.
She collapsed onto her side, buried her face in the charred grass, and wished she was anywhere but there. The breath Emmery sucked into her lungs tasted of soot and scorched earth. Nothing was said between them.
Brennen helped her stand and Destonne removed his cloak and wrapped her in it.
She didn’t remember much of the ride back, only the shame festering in her chest as they travelled in silence. Emmery stared blankly out at the forest and Aera snuggled into her neck for support.
Destonne didn’t press her.
And he certainly didn’t try to touch her again.