“That whole climb,” Andimir panted, “for that?” He gestured toward the center of the surface, where a tiny wooden box sat nestled beside a handful of the glowing fungi. Fetian sat on the platform beside the chest, side-eyeing the lock. Andimir glared and the raven flew to his shoulder.
Jyn grabbed my arm when I stepped up beside him, warning in his eyes. “Didn’t you learn anything from the catacombs?”
I winced at the plea in his voice. “Yes, Jyn. I learned that for most of our journey, I’m going to be the only one with the ability to activate these things. If I don’t have to risk any of you, I won’t.”
The frown on his lips deepened. Camion squeezed my fingers—an offer. I nodded. Together then, even if my mind screamed that I should leave my friends safely behind.
We crossed the platform in a few quick strides, the other three close at our heels. I laid my hands on top of the box. The chill of the metal trim bit into my palms. Cold magic spread through my veins, pulling at me from the inside. As quickly as it began, the pulling sensation faded. Goosebumps erupted across my skin, followed by a new wave of exhaustion that tugged at my senses. I opened my eyes and slid off the lock that had popped open under my fingers. All that lay inside, though, was a miniscule silver key. One that, for several moments, I stared at in confusion. Another emotion flooded my veins—courage, or curiosity perhaps. Magic? I wasn’t sure I knew the difference.
Either way, I lifted the box.
Embedded in the floor was a tiny, matching silver keyhole. My eyebrows drew together, but I hesitated a moment before I pushed the key inside, twisting until I heard a soft click.
“Natylia. Please consider that there’s four other people with you.” Jyn scowled. “You know what can happen. What if that lock had thrown you, or all of us, from the platform?”
“Jyn, you should be used to Natylia doing impulsive, dangerous things,” Meryn teased. “Isn’t that what we signed up for?”
I murmured an apology, but even Meryn’s face tightened into fear when the platform lurched beneath us. Fetian flew from Andimir’s shoulder with a caw of protest. Then the structure moved, lowering us slowly toward the ground. I grabbed Camion’s hand, steadying him. The Zylarra jumped backward as we closed in, tilting her head as if confused. When the ground began to tremble and collapse beneath the platform, she leapt on, weaving herself between Camion’s ankles before she crouched into a nervous ball, her ears flat.
We slid beneath the earth and watched with horror as the earth closed above us, sealing us in darkness.
Meryn scrambled to throw lights in the air, but there was nothing to see. Walls of dirt encompassed us on all sides as the platform sank farther below ground.
“I can’t decide what’s more ironic,” Andimir chuckled nervously. “A pirate killed by water or a pirate killed by land.”
“He’s going to be killed by an Elf if he doesn’t shut his trap,” Jyn growled. The threat was empty, though. The same panic was written across Jyn’s face.
I reached out and grabbed Jyn’s hand too. He met my eyes for a moment in the dim light, but I shook my head at the goodbye reflected there.
“Not today,” I whispered. “Let’s wait and see what comes of this.”
His eyes fell away; to the walls, to the sides slowly crawling past. Meryn was the one who seemed most unafraid when the walls fell away. Wonder was bright on her face, then delight. A grinding sound echoed around us as stone scraped stone, and finally the platform sank into place at the bottom of the cavern.
A grotto had been carved beneath the surface of Emeryn Marsh, a massive, round room of earth and life. Thick, flat gray stone circled the room. Every inch of bioluminescent foliage glowed in shades of greens, blues, yellows, and pinks. Between them were ferns, flowers, and spores the size of my fist that floated harmlessly through the air.
I forgot about the Zylarra until she bolted off the platform, vanishing once more into the plants. Tiny silver ears flicked as she peeked out, long enough to track Camion’s footsteps as we stepped out, following the curved pathway without direction. More glowing flowers grew in sporadic clusters through cracks in the old floor, until the edges where gray faded into rich soil and the foliage took over.
Meryn’s eyes still danced along the foreign leaves, lingering on rainbow-colored berries I wouldn’t be brave enough to try. My attention caught on the polished slab of marble that curved along one side, following the edge of the stone walkway. I shot glances at the three men, releasing Jyn and Camion to pull my bow free. The weight of the wood was reassuring against my palm as we stepped closer. From my peripheral, I saw Jyn twirling his dagger, keeping himself in a constant state of motion.
Writing spanned the length of the wall, etched-in letters that started at the top, almost two heads above me. I couldn’t read the words though, the language completely foreign. I glanced at the others. “Elvish?”
“No, Princess. I’m not familiar with this language.”
I wasn’t entirely surprised. These letters were harsh, chiseled quickly. They weren’t much like the smooth, careful etching that we had seen in the catacombs.
Meryn bounced over, wincing only a bit at the cuts across her front, her fist now brimming with stolen fauna. She studied the wall. Blinked. Her brows knitted together as her head tilted.
“I didn’t think the Dwarves helped with the Scepters,” she said finally. “There’s no record of their involvement. But this is definitely Dwarven.”
“Can you read Dwarven?” Andimir asked, warily eyeing the plants in her hand. “And I thought you said you couldn’t take anything?”
“These feel different. Normal,” she offered by way of explanation, wagging the plants at him. Andimir waited, as though expecting a real answer, but she continued. “And no, I can’t read Dwarven. I’ve learned a few languages over the years, at my father’s insistence, but he never thought I would need Dwarven for some reason.”
“I’ve met a small handful of Dwarves, but they weren’t too inclined to leave their ruins and mines,” Andimir said, inching closer to the carved stone. “I can translate this, though. If you want.”
“How do you know Dwarven?” Jyn scoffed.
“Trade contracts.” He shrugged, grinning. “Their language hasn’t evolved very much, at least not since this was carved, and they’re not fans of the common tongue.” His eyes danced across the letters. “It’s a message. Almost a taunt and a warning combined . . .” He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, a familiar expression of concentration. After he had studied the words a moment more, he said, “Roughly, it reads, ‘What would you give, if the price were only yours? Who would you save? Who would you condemn? If you are willing, pay your worth. Let the gods decide.’”
“What does that mean?” Jyn asked warily.
I stepped closer to the wall. Repeated the words in my mind over and over. What would you give, if the price were only yours. I considered each one carefully. Only yours?
If you are willing, pay your worth.
I paused on that line. We knew that the Elves were capable of keying spells to blood. Why not also the Dwarves? If they did, if the individual truly offered their life for the Scepter . . .
But there had to be a penalty for such magic. Perhaps if the person’s life was judged unworthy by whatever magic was read in their blood, they would die. Or if they were murdered, maybe the spell wouldn’t work. My eyes fell to the ground, to a skull peering sightlessly from a bed of moss. If I was reading this wrong, if Andimir had deciphered anything incorrectly, I wasn’t willing to let any of them take the risk.
Let the gods decide . . .
“It’s a sacrifice,” I murmured. “A literal self-sacrifice.”
Jyn stiffened beside me. “That’s not an option, Princess.”
“Nat you can’t seriously be considering—” Meryn started.
I raised a hand. “I would bet my life there’s an enchantment on those words.”
Anger flashed in Jyn’s eyes. “I know w
hat you’re thinking. No.”
For once, Camion’s carefully controlled temper strained against the tight-set line of his clamped jaw. I didn’t meet the blue and green eyes waiting, trying to penetrate my soul. Instead, I pulled a dagger free and stared at the rainbow lights reflecting off the silver. My blood had been keyed to every trap this far. Mine, not theirs. I wasn’t going to stand by and watch one of them die because they were not what the sacrifice demanded.
My wrist twitched as my fingers tightened around the hilt of my dagger. Jyn was there in a heartbeat, hand around my wrist.
“You know I’m right,” I pleaded, tears blurring my vision. “Let me do this.”
“Never,” Jyn said evenly, nostrils flaring.
Camion moved then, swift as the wind, and disarmed me. My dagger fell into his hand. His expression was triumphant, but Jyn’s glare was scorching. I dropped my eyes to the floor, then slumped my shoulders in mock-defeat and ran my fingers over the Dwarven etchings—the words I couldn’t read. Purple and blue sparks danced at my touch. A sob knotted my throat and squeezed my chest until I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t want to watch any of them die. Couldn’t watch any of them die without tearing off a piece of myself in the process. They could retrieve the Tellus Scepter and take it far from here. Destroy the components. I straightened my shoulders, blinking away the forming tears, and turned toward my friends.
“Assuming I’m right and this is a spell, I’m probably the only one who can trigger it.”
Jyn threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t believe you’re still considering—”
“Hear me out,” I went on. Jyn started to turn away, but I grabbed his arm. “Annalea can take the throne. She will need you, Jyn, more than ever. Raul isn’t efficient, not the way you are. If she accepted my throne, in the midst of all that’s happening, I’d never forgive myself if she didn’t have the best, most reliable, trustworthy guard a queen could ask for.”
My eyes fell to Meryn. “You’re an incredible healer. The things you’ve created have saved lives, cured diseases. I can’t take you from the world, not when I can’t replace you.”
“Let me,” Andimir interjected. “I’m vastly less valuable than all of you.”
“You’re not, though,” I said to Andimir. In contrast to the furious expressions of the others, he looked sad. “You have ships. And you’ve seen what we’re up against with Eurybia. We’re going to need a force at sea to stand against her, and I know there are sailors who will follow you. Starting with the crew that’s already waiting. You have to rally them. You have to help them stop her, if I can’t.”
Camion’s eyes clouded with pain. My throat ached. I tried to ignore the single tear that slipped free. The list of reasons I couldn’t let him die was far longer than I could express in a few sentences. But I managed to say, “You have an unmatched talent.”
“Don’t, Tyli.” He clenched his jaw. “Don’t—”
“My people are going to need weapons, and armor, if they stand any small chance,” I blurted out, before I lost my confidence. “They’re going to need a blacksmith who can help them without tearing away every coin they have. My people will need to be able to fight.” The anger in his eyes faded, replaced with an emotion I couldn’t quite nail down. Sadness? Or the realization that I was right. When he opened his mouth to speak, I cut him off again. “I’m replaceable. The Elves can help you with the arcana. My sister can be queen and do a damned fine job. I offer nothing you can’t find elsewhere, except the magic in my veins.”
“Tyli you can’t believe that. You can’t truly believe you’re so unimportant.” Camion waited a moment. When I didn’t answer, he said, “Tyli. Please. We’ll find another way.”
“We don’t have time to find another way.”
“We’ll make time,” he gritted out.
“You know it’s not that simple.”
“Tyli—” His voice caught, the words dying on his tongue.
I studied Camion’s eyes, the lines of his face. I knew my life could end on this journey. He did, too. We could go around in circles for hours, debating who should offer themselves for this Scepter. Burn days we didn’t have. Ripping free from his gaze, I moved to study the wall once more, my back to him. A tear fell and splattered on my boot. I hated that, if this were the last time I was to see him, it would be with such sadness marring his expression.
But this was bigger than us. Always had been, always would be. My feelings didn’t matter, not now. This was more than me, him, or us. And if risking my life was the cost, to save them and all of Araenna, the price was mine to pay. They had known that from the beginning.
And they would forgive me in this life or the next—I hoped.
They could live.
I can do this. I can do this.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, shooting a final glance over my shoulder.
Before even Jyn could react, I shook my second dagger free of my sleeve. For a moment, I almost hesitated. Almost stopped, because the expressions of horror on the four faces behind me shot agony through my soul.
My mind screamed in resistance as I lifted the weapon, my arms fighting me as instinct took over. Another tear crawled down my cheek. I focused, watching the purple and blue sparkles spread up my hands. The tip of the blade was there, pressed between my fourth and fifth rib as I had been trained time and again. The sob in my throat broke free. Strength filled my limbs, my dagger biting into flesh.
I didn’t stop.
Chapter 22
I expected pain. Actually, I hadn’t expected that I would be able to do it at all. I had been almost positive the fear would win out, or my own human instinct.
But, no.
Sticky blood coated my hands.
I stared at the wound, unsure what was meant to happen, what exactly I had expected. The world moved so slowly around me. I jerked the dagger out.
Oh.
There.
Burning fire blazed through the wound, spreading through my body. I couldn’t look away from my hands, from the hilt clenched between them, from the crimson stain spreading down my front. A sound left my lips—a scream, or cry, I didn’t know.
What have I done?
My mouth opened, shut, opened, shut. I tried to apologize again. To say something, anything, but the words froze on my lips before I fell—
Straight into darkness.
***
Consciousness began to tickle my senses—at first, a feather brush over my mind. Sound touched my ears, indistinct but growing clearer. Then lavender.
I flinched at the familiar scent.
Heat slowly spread through my body, running through my veins to my limbs, my fingers, toes. Like warm water being poured over me, but slowly, and awakening the sensation for touch along my skin.
My eyes refused to open, though I began to register the weight pressed on my right side. Adrenaline spiked through my veins, speeding the liquid fire, spreading it through my system.
Finally the world snapped into focus—the flora, the people around me. My eyes were open. Had they always been open? They weren’t mobile but I could look around. As though my soul were loose inside my body.
Had I died? Actually died? Or was the wall truly spelled?
Was I trapped in this unmoving half-life forever?
I scanned the room, carefully avoiding the figure closest, the one who was flooding my senses and tempting me to relax into his arms. He must hate me . . . should hate me. I buried the thought and sought the red curls I knew would be nearby.
Meryn’s face was arranged into organized panic, slowly shifting between extremes of logic and emotion. Her eyes glinted in the strange plant light, though she seemed to be ignoring the tears. She opened her mouth. Snapped it shut. Over and over, scanning the wall, trying to defend my actions . . . Or the words written there. Maybe both. My heart clenched tightly. I turned my gaze away.
The next face was worse than the last.
If I hadn’t stabbed myself
, I might have thought Jyn had taken the wound. His expression was a rainbow of emotions, filled with the gutted agony of loss—and betrayal. Worse still was the absolute failure written in his eyes. The defeat, which stretched across his face, worsening as the seconds ticked by and his movements became more helpless. More frenzied.
Andimir—I couldn’t see his face but I knew him too well, even now. The hunched form, the gently shaking shoulders, the intentional distance he put between himself and the others . . . My insides turned to pulp. I knew, then. I knew how sorry he was for everything that had happened, for the burned bridges. If I found my way out of this waking nightmare, I would forgive him. Already had, even if I was never able to tell him.
But one remained, one person I owed the respect of facing. Despite knowing I didn’t want to see how much damage I had wrought.
I glanced up, in the strange, immobile way the spell let me move inside myself—and withered. Camion held me carefully on his lap, his expression a mixture of disbelief and pure, absolute anguish. I wanted to reach out, tell him I was alive, okay even. But I couldn’t do a thing. He slid his fingers over my wrist, squeezing his eyes shut when he found nothing. Still, he tried again, pressing on the pulse point at my neck. His face crumpled, all hope gone.
Panic raced through my veins at the sight, at the one who never gave up on me falling to pieces. Why couldn’t he find my pulse, when I could feel the thunder of my heartbeat? I could see him, could feel the gentle brush of his hands as he sought proof that I still lived. Frenzied adrenaline spiked through my brain, screaming for me to move, to get up. Anything, anything at all.
Nothing happened.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t twitch a finger to reassure him. My body had become a prison, one I roared and thrashed against. There was no response. I was stuck. Trapped. Locked inside myself, forced to watch the people I cared about grieve my passing.
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