Chapter 38
It took them more than two days, but they finally stopped at a small village inn where they could get Esa’s injuries healed.
Imani’s thoughts were constantly on Kiran. How much she loathed him permeated the surface of her feelings, but deep down, a tether to him made it impossible to let him go. She still wanted every secret, every betrayal, and craved his wild, unpredictable ways, even when it threatened her life.
It was too overwhelming to think about for too long.
A fear was building inside her, as well. She needed to focus everything on finding the Drasil. Because if he did locate this horde king—and kill him—they would need the power more than ever.
Inside, Imani went to the bathing room and shut the door behind her. She turned the faucet and watched water pour from the pipes and into the smooth basin.
She unstrapped her weapons first then peeled off her clothes, which were caked in sweat and grime from their grueling travels.
Blood, too. She examined the rust-red stains in the light of the sinking sun.
Lingering for a moment on a particular blotch, her fingers curled into the fabric before setting the clothing aside.
The bath was scalding. Imani hissed as she lowered herself in, hands braced against the tub’s rim.
The freshly healed wounds on her back felt fiery.
Her whole body was stiff and sore. She held her breath and dipped all the way under.
She did not soak for long. Even here in the hidden Drow elf city of Evov, even in the privacy of the suite, bathing left her feeling vulnerable.
The bathing room mirror had fogged. Imani used a fist to wipe it clear then caught sight of herself and wished she had not.
There were bruised circles under her blue eyes, a fresh cut on her pale cheek, a new whip mark—raised and dark, not yet scarred—curled over her shoulder, and she looked thinner. Gaunt, even.
Her eyebrows drew in as she examined herself.
Imani startled at a knock.
“Kiran got word from his father,” Zadie said through the door. “Well, Kiran received a letter from the king. We intercepted it.”
“And how did you accomplish that?”
“Ren. He’s the one who’s delivering it.”
Imani whipped around. “Ren is here?” Her stomach dropped, wondering if he’d delivered her message to Tanyl. She debated whether or not to admit that he was working for Tanyl. Or was he? Could Ren be a double agent?
She kept these thoughts to herself.
Zadie continued speaking behind the door. “The king has also made an announcement that’s just now reaching the territories. The letter indicated that Respen apparently intends to move against Magnus—there’s a civil war coming.”
Imani wrapped herself in her robe and cracked the door open. “Do you believe it’s true?”
“I do.” And with the flick of her wrist, Zadie produced another piece of parchment. “Ren had a message for you, as well. From Tanyl.”
The ball of nerves in her stomach tightened. “So, he is a double agent. You know the truth then?”
“That Tanyl asked you to spy on us? Indeed. I expected it. So did Kiran. We did not expect you to decline.” Zadie had read the note—of course, she had.
Imani tried to snatch the letter away, but Zadie held it just out of reach. “You’re getting better at this, but you’re still not good enough.”
“Better at what?” Imani snarled.
Zadie’s face widened into a knowing smirk. “Playing the game.”
“Give me the note.”
Zadie handed it over. “It was smart of you to decline. You’re in very precarious situation, and soon, it will be time to choose sides. I hope you choose wisely.” And with that, she walked away.
Imani didn’t even wait for her back to disappear before she ripped open the note with shaking hands.
It was written in red ink—it looked like blood—and there was only one sentence with Tanyl’s sigil at the bottom.
The Saints intended the third, worst kingdom of the Under for traitors.
It took two weeks to travel from Evov, and when they arrived back in Kehemol, everything blended together in a messy blur of preparations for the attack.
They trained, slept, ate, and worked. Imani also read—she read the entire book of The History of Royal Bloodlines and had found several fascinating facts inside.
First, the Drow elves—Niflheim’s wandmakers—had their own chamber in the lost city of Zorah where they stored their best-made wands for the realm. If the city had fallen into the mountain, like the story said, there could be wands just waiting for the taking.
But like so many other places and pieces of information, the lost city of Zorah was entirely out of reach.
Second, she knew where to find the royal vaults now. They were in the deepest, darkest part of the castle, near the dungeons. She’d never thought to look near the dungeons for something so important, nor was she even sure she could get down there with all the guards, but tonight, she would try.
The book also mentioned doorways and slips, as expected.
It confirmed Drasil wands could create stable doorways, but it also confirmed there was a slip inside the Niflheim royal vaults.
She wondered where it would lead and if it was stable enough to traverse.
She supposed it was since the castle hadn’t collapsed in a Fabric event, but where would it lead?
She had a wild, completely insane guess, but the only way to find out would be to see for herself.
So, in the dead of the next early morning, Imani dressed in dark leggings and a black tunic then cast her invisibility illusion over her entire body.
The dungeons were located at the bottom of the stairs at the end of the east wing.
There were meeting rooms that lined the first level down, but the farther she got, the more she could feel the cold start to seep into her bones.
A musky, dirt-tinted scent filled her nose.
She could hear rumblings of conversation wafting up the stairs from below and breaking the calm quiet she’d experienced up until now. The guards, probably.
Creeping around the corner of the stairs, Imani spied one large cage door with four men standing as watchmen. She hopped out of view.
Lightly slamming the back of her head against a wall, she squeezed her eyes shut. Think. Another slam. Think. If she did anything in her miserable life, this would be the crowning achievement. Another slam. Think. She couldn’t let the opportunity pass.
Her soul draw. It was the only solution that made sense, especially since she’d recently discovered it had the power to erase memories.
With no tricky memory spells needed, she had a vast power at her fingertips.
The only issue was that Imani had never subdued four men with her draw before, and it made her more than a little nervous.
Gods, if only she could dive headfirst into danger without fear, like Kiran, she would.
But he was a twelve-mark and far better trained.
If she were caught, she’d be put in the dungeons and probably executed unless Magnus decided to keep her around for breeding.
A shudder ran through her body at the thought.
Despite her trepidation, Imani had to try.
She cracked her neck and took out her wand. With a swipe down her body and one muttered incantation, her form glimmered back into existence. She would need them to see her for this to work.
With one massive breath in and out, she strode around the corner with a secretive smirk on her face. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
Immediately, they ceased conversation, and all four pairs of eyes fell on her. Her soul draw raged, entirely free and permeating the room. None of the men could look away.
With a slow, deliberate turn of her head, she looked at every single set of eyes and said, “Without speaking, I’d like for you to let me pass into the dungeons.”
The four men scrambled to unlock the door for her. Once it clicked open, they turned their dazed eyes back on her again.
“Once I walk through, you’ll lock this door again and forget I was even here,” she stated confidently, prowling forward toward the door. She paused. “Nod if you understand.”
Jerky movements up and down from all four confirmed that it had worked.
Satisfied that they wouldn’t speak of her—or even remember—Imani slipped through the door and into the shadows of the dungeons.
A surge of pleasure rose up inside her chest at her power.
Inside, it was even more dank and musky—and dark. So dark.
She held her wand up, whispered a spell, and an orange ember lit the end. It illuminated a small circumference around her, but shadows still clung to her like a second skin. It made her feel right at home here. Almost as if she could suck all the darkness from the room and wield it.
There were no prisoners inside either, which meant the guards were stationed there to watch over something else.
The royal vaults, if she had to guess.
Imani crept deeper into the small, narrow hallway between the cells. After what felt like an hour of walking, she found a door standing at the end of the corridor. It looked nondescript, and she wondered if anything important would be on the other side.
Only one way to find out.
She placed her hands, one holding her wand, flat against the wood and asked her shadows to unlock it.
Veins blackening, her shadows slinked out from her wand and fingertips, swirling through the keyhole.
A loud clank sounded, and Imani stared in wonder at the door, which was now glowing around all edges, peeking through the cracks.
Her power groaned at the strength of the door.
There was intense magic protecting it. She’d never had this much trouble unlocking a door before.
With a twist of the knob, she grunted as she turned until the door finally creaked open. It was heavy, and without her shadows for support, she wouldn’t have been able to open it.
More bright light came barreling at her, enough that she had to squint her eyes as they adjusted. Once the door was open enough, she slid inside, careful not to touch anything.
There it was—a slip. And just like the one she’d seen in the mountain with the dwarves, this slip was stabilized, with nasty-looking lightning and churning Fabric contained in a tunnel.
The blazing light made it impossible to see what was on the other side, but if Imani had to guess, it was the royal vaults.
Steeling herself for another walk through a slip, Imani imagined herself holding the Drasil. She imagined its power thrumming beneath her fingers and running her hands over the smooth wood. It was enough to push her feet forward. She took a deep breath and held it.
The slip was similar to the dwarves’—nothing like the doorway that took them to the Under—but far longer. Imani was gasping for breath by the time she reached the end, where another door greeted her.
Fumbling with her wand, she called on her shadows. They obeyed and, once again, a locked door was opened for her. This one had even more wards and defensive spells coating it, but Imani shrouded herself in shadows and stepped through.
Such defensive magic was useless against her doraca power.
The light faded, yet sconces with flames made shadows—her shadows—dance along the stone walls.
Sucking in deep lungsful of air, she surveyed her surroundings.
She was in a vault, but one with many doors.
None of her clues had given her any indication which door to choose, and Imani stood frozen with indecision for several minutes.
Finally, she decided trial and error would be her best bet.
She hoped if she made a mistake, it wouldn’t be a deadly one.
More defensive spells and wards shielded the doors from intruders, but Imani cloaked herself in shadow again and went to the first door on the right.
Inside was a vast room with high shelves, storing everything from jars of gods-know-what to books and scrolls.
More sconces lit the walls, and Imani started weaving between the stacks.
It seemed to be a library of some kind, albeit an old one in poor disarray and quite disorganized.
The thick coat of dust on everything told her no one had been here for a long time.
At the end of the room were tall, dark windows, too dark to see anything but her reflection. Imani raised her wand and let her darkness swoop through the room, extinguishing the flames. Impenetrable darkness overcame her, but she expertly called it back and held her face up to the glass.
Squinting as her eyes adjusted to the dark, Imani could just make out a house and a few buildings.
Then houses, then gleaming streets made of what looked like gold.
No sky or stars shown above, just inky blackness.
Indeed, Imani could barely make out anything in the dim light, but as she looked higher, the buildings became larger and more ornate until she was staring at a looming castle towering high above everything else.
This was a city, hidden deep inside the mountain.
She gasped.
This was Zorah.