Page 3 of The Stolen Throne
Tabra was with Eidolon less than two weeks, and look at what shape she’s in. Wasting away. Prone to violent fits. With Meren’s face, it’s been very easy to picture the same happening to her, too.
Screw waiting.
I imagine stuffing the king’s Shadows into a box made of indestructible stone with a heavy lid. I shove all of what I feel in there with them. Every strong emotion. Emotions are dangerous for someone like me. “I’m going. Stay here and wait if you want.”
Cain flashes out a hand to stop me before I can do more than shift my weight forward. “Hold on.”
“What now?”
He straightens with a light in his eyes I don’t trust and a cocky grin I’ve seen way too often. “Actually…” He holds up his hands, palms glowing a cheerful yellow. I’m not the only Imperium—humans who were born with powers gifted to them by the goddesses—here, though he’s Hylorae while I’m Enfernae. Just another reason to hate each other. His light bounces off the water but doesn’t penetrate beyond a few feet into the tunnels.
I cross my arms. “Seeing won’t help all that much.” Breathing is the bigger issue if I get us lost down there.
He ignores me, focusing on the water, which begins to bubble like a current, pushing toward us from the sunken passages beyond. The level in the chamber where we stand rises, coming up the stairs until I have to back up to keep my shoes dry.
Then, suddenly, the water parts, clearing a small, walkable path for us down the stairs and into the exposed hallway beyond.
I glance at Cain, who shrugs. “Better than drowning.”
At least he’s handy for something. His power to draw water from the driest part of the desert saved our asses more than once these last weeks. Handy for the zariphate, too.
Together, Cain and I descend into the dark and now dripping tunnel only to encounter a wall of water before us. As we get closer, the water behind us moves, slipping across the walls and ceiling but not touching us until it fills in at our backs, locking us in a bubble of sorts.
Cain cocks his head at me with an air of expectation.
“What? You want a pat on the back for creativity?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
“Your ego doesn’t need any help.”
“What can I say? Self-confidence is part of my personality the same way asshole-ness is part of yours.” Then he sobers, the warrior in him focused. “Since I don’t know where I’m going and space is limited in here, I can’t move all of it. Just enough air so that we don’t immediately die if you get us lost, but it will only last so long.”
Between the two of us, we make it through the cistern—dry, I might add. Yes, thanks to Cain. It only took two wrong turns that would have killed us if we’d tried to swim it. Peering through the crack in the door that leads out of the cistern and up to the patrolled grounds between the outer and inner walls that surround the palace, we wait, timing the guards, like Meren taught the Shadow that was in control of me when she showed him this way into the palace.
Finally, we take our shot, running across the open land that protects the palace like a dry moat, softly lit by only the third moon, then up and over the inner wall to drop into the private royal gardens.
Which is when we hear it.
Music. Laughter. Talking. Far enough away that no one is near us, but still, a big problem.
Hells and damnation. “A party,” I whisper. Quite the occasion by the sounds of it.
Cain thinks for a moment, then grimaces. “Sandrats. It’s Meren’s name day.”
Wait. Her birthday is today? Perfect. Just perfect. “And you didn’t think to mention that?”
He throws his hand out, waving around us. “I’ve been a little busy to keep track of the day. And what about you? If you’re so arrow shot for her—”
“Arrow shot?”
“So taken you’ve lost your wits.”
Before I can blast him with shadow or at least punch him in the face for that one, a shout rises up nearby.
“Hey!”
On sheer instinct, without even blinking, I will the shadows behind the guard running at us to grab him and slam his head into the trunk of a tree. He falls to the ground in a heap. The purple glow of my palms douses immediately.
