Page 75 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
Memories clawed their way to the surface: burns on my arms, explosions shattering the world around me, shadows ripping my skin apart. They assaulted me, each one sharper than the last, until a strangled gasp finally escaped from deep in my throat, the first sound I’d managed since waking.
I wanted to scream, to cry, to force the panic back down, but my body betrayed me.
Then a voice cut through the chaos.
“Thea, breathe!”
Clay.
The sound shocked me out of my spiraling terror. My eyes darted across the cell, and there he was, slumped on the ground opposite me. His face was hollow, his breathing labored, and his body lay at an awkward angle, as if he’d tried to move toward me but hadn’t been able to make it far.
“You’re going to be okay,” he promised, his voice strained but steady. “I swear, but I need you to stay calm for me.”
I didn’t care about my own well-being, though. Not anymore. All my fear, all the memories, faded the moment I saw the newly purple bruise across his jaw.
But my mouth wouldn’t cooperate enough to tell him that.
I sat there, trapped in a body that felt like it wasn’t my own, focusing all my effort on forcing my quivering lips to form words. My head throbbed with the effort.
Finally, I managed to whisper, “What in all of creation is happening?”
Clay’s expression softened, relief flickering across his face. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay!” The words tumbled out in a rush, each one a little less of a struggle. “One minute I was trying pastries, and the next I’m being stabbed with some mysterious drug—for thesecondtime in my life, I might add—and I couldn’t do anything to stop it! What’s the point of having so much power if I can’t—”
“Theadora!”
His sharp bark cut through my ramble, urgent and intense. My breath hitched as his eyes locked on mine, scanning me desperately. Veins pulsedin his neck as he strained to lift his head higher, inching closer despite the chains binding him.
“I need to know you’re not injured,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.
“I’m fine, Clay,” I said, my tone softening. “I’m unharmed. Just angry.”
A dry chuckle escaped him as he let his head fall back to the ground. “You’re not the only one.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I was with Damon, playing cards, when the guards rushed in shouting something about the Zion Archives being raided. Before I knew it, the syringe was in my neck.” His jaw tightened, and he exhaled shakily. “I put up as much of a fight as I could because I knew if they were coming for me, they’d already gotten to you. But whatever it is that they used... it’s not Mortal blood. I’d wager it’s magically engineered—something mixed with Mortal blood.”
His explanation faded into the background as those first words hit me like a hammer.
The Zion Archives had been raided.
“Clay,” I said slowly, the pieces of the puzzle already falling into place, “who would do that? Who would raid the Zion Archives?”
His brows knit together as he frowned. “I don’t know. Magical dealers, maybe? Looking for wares to sell. Usually, they don’t go anywhere near official archives of the High Houses. Especially not House Zion. We don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”
Of course not. To raid the Zion Archives would mean taking an enormous risk—one no one would dare without a powerful reason.
Unless, of course, someone promised protection to whoever conducted the raid. And if the person offering that protection was powerful enough to ensure their safety, that might make it worth the risk.
But what was inside the Archives?
“Clay,” I said, my voice low and purposefully quiet. “Where is the Sword of Zion?”
His frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
Zion’s Sword was his God-forged weapon, like Hyrax’s Bident. His power was stregthened when he wielded it.
