by Sadie Moss
“I-I left the oven fired!” Violet stammers, her gaze darting to me and then back to the men. “And the door open! I’m so sorry! We have to go back before the house burns down.”
“We’re already late for our meeting, Violet,” says a man with silvery black hair whom I recognize as Lucius, her master. His voice carries to our hiding place in the shadows, slightly muffled by the distance between us. “Run along and fix it yourself, and we’ll meet you at the market in an hour.”
My stomach clenches as Lucius moves to turn away from her, but Violet clutches his arm.
“No, no!” she insists. “I saw a very bad man sitting on our route while we were walking. What if he hurts me? I don’t want to go alone.”
“She’s right,” the other messenger notes. “That vagrant soul who lives under the bridge. I saw him sitting in front of the blacksmith’s a few blocks back.”
“We’ll hurry,” Violet says, widening her eyes to almost comical proportions as she pleads with the men.
“Then you go with her,” Lucius says to his friend, clearly irritated.
The other man scoffs and throws an arm around Lucius. “Oh, come, brother. Violet asks little of you, doesn’t she?”
Lucius’s expression softens a little, and he heaves a sigh, turning to the dark-haired soul. “Vi, didn’t you have bread in the oven this morning?”
Violet nods so vigorously it makes my teeth chatter. “I did! And then I got distracted by other things. I shouldn’t have been so careless as to leave the oven fired, but I don’t want to risk the flame catching. Please.”
“All right.” Lucius nods, and his friend chuckles as he claps the big man on the back. “We’ll go. But I’m going to do something about that vagrant soul while we’re at it.”
Their voices continue to carry to us for a moment more as they begin to walk back down the narrow street. Violet casts one more glance back at me, and then they’re gone.
I’m stunned by what just happened as we hurry back onto our route. I’m grateful Violet was there—the messengers would have sensed the weave before my men could even incapacitate them. If she hadn’t been so quick thinking, we would have been in trouble. Even though our fight is with Kaius and the messengers work for him, I know Callum, Paris, and Echo don’t want to hurt any of the men they once worked alongside.
I wish I had the chance to thank Violet, though at this point, I’m not even sure I’ll survive long enough to do it in the future. But I am grateful to her, and I hope she knows that.
The men and I dart across another larger street and back onto a side road, and something else occurs to me as I consider Violet’s interaction with her master and his friend. She knew we were wanted people and she helped us escape notice anyway. How many other human souls in Ironholde would rather help our cause than hinder it?
Kaius has ruled by fear and domination for so long, he truly believes it’s the only way. But neither of those things breed true loyalty in a person, as evidenced by Violet’s subterfuge.
Maybe we’ll be able to bring this god to his knees after all. Maybe once we weaken him, there will be more help to be found where I hadn’t even thought to look for it.
Instead of taking the front entrance over the drawbridge, we cut down a back alley that descends into a narrow ravine behind the palace. The moat encircles the palace at the bottom of the ravine, and I remember that from above, it looked so far down and so vicious with its raging white waters. But up close, it’s quite a different story.
Yes, the waters rage and churn… but they’re only about three feet deep. We splash through the frothing in a matter of moments and trudge up the hill toward the lowest visible level of the palace.
Kaius is so arrogant, so sure that his people would never seek to harm him, or be able to even if they did try, that his back door security is nonexistent.
Lucky for us.
Although when we draw up to the barred windows at the back of the building, I’m not sure how we’ll get past this particular obstacle.
The windows are small, hardly two feet in diameter. They’re covered with thick, round bars that are so old they’re decorated with rust and moss. I can’t see anything beyond the darkness inside, but I have a sneaking suspicion this is the dungeon.
I shudder at the thought of crawling through that small, infernal hole.
Callum drops to his knees before the window, and I feel the tingle of the weave being plucked. I even catch a glimpse of the strand, shining like golden sunlight between his fingers as he tosses it around one of the bars. I have no idea what he’s about to do—manipulate the bars into opening? Is that possible?
But then he gives a quick tug, and the iron bar rattles against the stone.
Ah. It was already loose. He must’ve known that, and now he’s taking advantage of this window’s structural weakness.
Kneeling down beside him, I add my efforts to his, aware of the two men behind us doing the same. It takes some work, but we manage to tug and twist the metal bars until they loosen even further. When the first one pops out of the stone window frame, Callum catches it deftly in his hand.
We keep working, slowly widening the gap in the window. In the space of five minutes, they’ve created a large enough opening for us all to squeeze through.
It’s a tight fit for me, and I grimace as I imagine how the men must feel like they’re being crushed as they force themselves through the tight opening. But none of them speak even a single word of complaint. Echo is the last to drop to the stone floor, and we all stand in a tight huddle, surveying our surroundings.
As I thought, we’re inside the dungeon. Whether by accident or because Callum is familiar with the layout of the dungeon, we didn’t get locked into a jail cell or anything when we entered. The window opens into a wide, empty space with walls covered in dirty manacles and all sorts of dried, foul substances.
This must be a seldom-occupied section of the dungeon, which explains why the window through which we entered had fallen into disrepair. Though there are an unholy amount of chains in the room, it’s clear they haven’t been used in some time.
Callum takes the lead, and we creep soundlessly through the dark lower levels, using the weave to help light our way. It’s a neat trick, one Echo taught me back on the mountain, where I weave a small portion into a veil over my eyes, and suddenly I can see better in the dark. I can’t hold it very long yet, but I’m determined to excel at it eventually.
If I’m given the chance to practice.
We navigate a small, narrow staircase tucked into an out-of-the-way corner, ascending several floors without passing anybody on the way down. I assume it’s a service stair, meant only for messengers or servants in the course of their duties to the dungeon. Our luck continues to hold, and we see no sign of another soul as we tread silently up the stairs.
But soon, we’ll have to leave the private staircase for the main hall, where we’ll be much more likely to run into trouble.
Before long, we spill into a wide, bright hallway that I think I recognize—we ran through here on our mad dash to escape Kaius’s wrath.
We worked out a rough plan of attack for our attempt on Kaius, but much of it will have to be improvised. There are too many unknown variables for us to count on being able to stick to any rigid plan.
We’re in uncharted territory now, and the only thing I can think of is how quickly we’re going to be found out. If messengers sack us before we can even reach the throne room, all our preparation will have been for naught.
Please just give us the chance to try.
I send up a fervent prayer, though I’m not sure who I’m praying to anymore.
And then… Paris takes the lead.
This piques my curiosity. Callum is the leader of our little clan. Paris and Echo look to him in all things. Yet now Paris leads us swiftly up a small side hallway, guiding us here and there all over the first floor of the palace as we avoid palace workers and messengers around every corner.
My curiosity is heightened even more when Paris stops abruptly in a small, dim corridor behind the throne room. We’re in plain sight of anyone who might come around the corners at either end of the hall. Plus, there’s nowhere to go—nothing but plain walls on either side of us.
Paris runs his hands along the decorative plaster floorboards, eyes narrowed as he searches. I bounce on my toes, my gaze darting between him and the two directions from which we could be discovered. I want to yell at him to hurry up whatever it is he’s doing, but we all stay silent.
Then the blond messenger grins, twists a small nodule in the marble, and a hidden door cranks open in the wall.
I’m almost too surprised to move. Echo gives me a shove, just as we hear voices approaching from down the hall. The four of us stumble into the hidden passageway, and Paris eases the door shut with a light, barely audible click.
We wait a few seconds, listening to the muffled voices passing beyond the wall, but whoever it was clearly didn’t see us before we were able to get inside. The sounds of their passage continue beyond us and then fade into nothingness.
Paris leans back, smiling like a cat.
I cross my arms. “A secret passage?”
“I’ve had a few dalliances with palace maids,” he admits. “Kaius didn’t like the help mingling with the messengers, so we had to find… secret ways.”
A stab of jealousy twists through me, but I firmly shove it back to the depths from which it came. These men existed for hundreds of years before I was even born. They were bound to have a few lovers before I came along. My existence has been the blink of an eye compared to theirs.
Besides, what happened in the past means nothing. It’s the present and future I’m concerned with, and on those counts, these men have shown me repeatedly that they are mine and I’m theirs.
As if sensing my thoughts, Paris brushes my hand with his as he steps forward to lead us through the passageway. We take another hallway leading away from where we entered the secret corridor. All of us have to turn sideways to fit, shuffling slowly and silently with our fingertips resting against the exposed wooden panels.
Then Paris stops abruptly, and I smack into Callum’s hard back. Echo steadies me from behind as Paris touches a small notch in the wood, and a hidden door springs open.
A shaft of golden light filters into the hallway. The four of us lean in to peer out through the tiny crack.
Kaius’s throne room. My shocked mind can barely even believe what I’m seeing.
We made it.
“Good, good,” Kaius is saying. His deep, familiar voice sends a shiver down my spine. “And the troops are ready in the earthly realm?”
He stands at the edge of his throne platform, and we’re off to his right, allowing me to see only a profile of his face. Three messengers kneel before him on the marble floor.
“Yes, sir,” one man replies. “Mobilized as of yesterday evening.”
“Excellent. What of the traitors?”
“Still on the run, my liege,” the messenger replies. “But we’re on their trail.”
Echo and I exchange an amused glance at that, even as my heart beats harder in my chest, adrenaline beginning to surge through me. If they were on our trail, we wouldn’t be in the walls.
Kaius sits back down onto his ostentatious throne and flicks his fingers at the messengers. “Off with you.”
The three messengers bow low, then turn to file from the room, leaving their god alone.
In the silence, Kaius rests against the back of his seat and closes his eyes. It’s never occurred to me to wonder what gods do in their spare time. Does Kaius have hobbies? Or does he just sit on his precious throne and stare into the abyss of his own soul?
Nish, what a miserable existence that must be. Is that why so many gods seem to be so heartless?
Callum looks around at us, making eye contact with each of us in turn. Echo and Paris give him brief nods, lifting their hands in preparation to reach for the weave.
My heart is galloping in my chest now, my fingertips nearly numb as I realize this is it. No more stalling. No more waiting.
We’ve come this far, and one way or another, this will end here.
Farse, I wish we’d had more time.
I’m not comfortable with the spell. I wasn’t able to put the same amount of time and effort into practicing my part as I was into using the weave to fight. We thought we would have more time on the mountain, and when we didn’t, we had to quickly piece together this part of the attack on the move as we traveled to Ironholde.
My nerves make my hands shake, and the weave feels tenuous, just beyond my fingertips. But I nod anyway.
Callum gives the signal.
As one, the four of us rush from our hiding place and storm the throne room.
Kaius glances up, his chiseled features sharpening in surprise. But the one advantage we’ve always had is that he’s so arrogant he doesn’t think anyone but another god could ever challenge him. He truly wasn’t expecting this, and we’ve caught him unawares.
All he can do is widen his eyes before we unleash our spell on him.
25
Four threads of magic hit Kaius with vicious quickness, wrapping around him in sparkling tendrils of light. The god stiffens, a grunt falling from his lips. His arms jerk, but not with any real power behind the movement, as if he’s incapable of fighting against the strength of the weave. He comes up against the strands as if they’re made of concrete and sways, fury on his face.
Callum shouts, “Again!”
The four of us pluck at the weave and cast our separate parts of the spell a second time. Kaius jerks as the new wave of magic wraps around him. He topples from his throne and hits the floor on his side, arms and legs useless against the spell.
Holy farse. I can’t believe this is working.
I fully expected to rush into this room and give it my best effort before the god killed me in his wrath. A part of me has been unable to believe this could ever possibly work. Even back on the mountain, as I trained so hard I felt like my body was going to fall apart, I didn’t quite believe. I came into this throne room expecting certain death.
But now…
I can’t keep the feral smile off my face as Kaius rolls down the shallow steps of his throne platform and lands with a pained grunt on the floor. He lands on his face with a heavy thud, unable to extract his hands from the weave to keep his head from bouncing off the floor. The weave hasn’t even allowed him a chance to speak. All of his arrogance is wrapped up in threads, stunted and halted.
And I am elated by this turn of events.
Callum motions us forward. My heart drums out a fast beat in my chest as we race to Kaius’s side, and I’m already plucking at the weave again, ready to cast the spell a third time.
This is it. We’re going to take down a god. Steal his connection to his messengers, his control over them. All of my worrying, all of the terrified premonitions I’ve had leading up to this moment wash away on the triumph burning inside me.
He isn’t so omnipotent after all.
The four of us stand over the prone god, and I realize my messengers are smiling too. Maybe they came into this with the same doubts I had—maybe they too expected us to fail before we even really got a chance to try. But the weave holds Kaius firmly, and his eyelids flutter as if he’s too weak to fight back. One more casting, and he’ll be unconscious.
We didn’t need Sierian as our champion. We’ll emerge the victors in this fight even without her.
“Again!” Callum’s booming voice echoes off the cavernous walls.
I fling the spell at Kaius, drawing on every bit of my connection to the weave as the other men do the same. I’m behind him, all four of us closing ranks as we surround him, but as our final blast of magic hits him, something shifts…
Instead of being hit by the magic, he seems to absorb it, stealing our power without being affected by the spell.
Then the god surges to his feet.
He bursts from the woven blanket of magic with a visceral scream of rage. The strands explode outward into a million shattered pieces, scattering across the marble floors where they wink out of existence.
The blast of Kaius’s godly magic blows the four of us backward with such force that I tumble like a dried weed in the Unclaimed Expanse. I roll three times, head over heels, before I land in a painful tangle of my own limbs on the hard stone. My messengers skid to a halt around me, sprawled over the floor just like I am.
“Again!” Callum roars, his voice muffled as he struggles to rise. I hear the fear that floats below the surface of that single word, but the determination too.
Despite my still whirling head and the rushing in my ears from the blow, I pluck at the weave immediately at the sound of Callum’s voice. I toss the spell at Kaius with every bit of strength I have left. From around me, the messengers’ strands fly through the air to join mine on a course to hit the god full-on.
But even as we cast the spell, the double doors to the throne room slam open—Kaius’s backup has arrived on the heels of his burst of power. It was too naive to hope we’d get through this without the rest of the castle learning what was happening.
I don’t take my eyes off the weave arcing toward Kaius as angry shouts and cries fill the large throne room. I can’t let myself believe it’s over yet. Kaius was weakened by those first two spells. I saw it with my own eyes. He may be bigger and stronger, but he isn’t invincible.
We have a chance.
We have to.
Kaius lifts an arm to cast away the oncoming strands, but they wrap around him like tenuous spiderwebs. This time, he’s not completely successful at absorbing and destroying our magic as he was last time.
My distraction costs me. The room is swarming with guards, and rough hands yank me off the floor and pin my arms behind my back.
But bolstered by the sight of Kaius’s infuriated and dismayed expression as he grapples with our magic, I lift my boot and stomp down the front of my captor’s shin. As he cries out in pain, I follow up with a blow to his face using the back of my skull. The hit sends white speckles of light dancing through my vision, but I don’t let it slow me down. Whipping my dagger from its holster, I whirl on the messenger holding me and sink my blade into his chest.