Page 109 of While the Dark Remains
He just grins and pulls me with him into the next tunnel.
We walk straight for a while, past other tunnels that branch out from the main passage. There are marks left by drilling and explosives, the rock scarred, cracked, broken. But the tunnel doesn’t collapse above our heads.
From there we wind down again, deeper and deeper. Weird veins of light flicker through the rock, red and green and yellow. The taste of magic grows so strong I can hardly bear it.
Then, all at once, Kallias pulls me to a stop.
We’ve come into the chamber that is so familiar to me—it takes a great effort of willpower not to glance over at my hiding place in the rock crevice. Kallias smiles and lifts our joined hands to touch the vein in the wall.
I screech and leap back—the vein is scorching hot, lines of blue and silver splintering outward from where our hands touched it.
I am hyperaware of the beat of my own heart, the magic pressing in and in, like it wants to eat me alive.
Basileious, the engineer, steps up to Kallias and hands him a pickaxe that shimmers the same blue and silver as the wall. It must be made of pure Iljaria magic, and I wonder why his workers never used it before, or if it is something he forced Finnur to make for him only recently. That seems the most likely, and I’m thankful it didn’t occur to Kallias earlier.
Kallias lets go of me to grip the pickaxe with both of his hands. He turns to address everyone in the chamber, the mingled people of four nations. “Today you witness history,” he cries, his voice bouncing about the walls of the cavern. “Today I uncover the power at the heart of the mountain and claim it for Daeros. Today you will crown a man among gods.”
“That was not our agreement,” says Aelia hotly. “We were to all decide together what is to be done with the weapon.”
Kallias just laughs and snaps his fingers, and the Daerosian guards draw their swords, pressing them against everyone’s throat but mine, Ballast’s, and Brandr’s. They are bound in iron, and I am, evidently, not considered a threat.
I take a quiet step back, my fingers quickly releasing the knife from my headdress. I hold it tight in my palm and fight to remain as solid and certain as the blade.
Kallias raises the pickaxe. “For Daeros!” he cries. “For its rule immortal and its power unending!”
He swings the axe and strikes the wall, the shock wave resounding through the chamber. The rock cracks but does not break.
“For Daeros!” he shouts.
He swings the axe again and again, and with every blow, the crack widens.
“For Daeros!”
The rock shatters, magic spilling into the air like blood. Pebbles skitter across the floor, and beyond the opening in the wall, I glimpse what appears to be a huge cube of ice, or stone, bound with chains that trail off into darkness. Kallias sets down the axe, radiating triumph.
But this has gone on too long. I glance at Vil, who gives me a sharp nod.
I slip up next to the king. “I am ready to give you my answer,” I say, forcing sweetness into my tone.
Kallias grins like a cat and slides his arm around my waist. “At last you see sense.” He bends his head to kiss my neck like he owns me.
That’s when my blade finds his throat, pressing hard enough to draw blood.
He curses and tries to back away from me, his blue eyes round with shock. But I pin him up against the wall. Magic pulses behind his shoulders, and the whole cavern echoes eerily, a strange golden music whispering through the air. I blink and see yellow, yellow.
No one else seems to hear or see it. I fight to stay present, my knife biting into Kallias’s throat, blood sliding red down his neck. It is strange, to be the one wielding power over him. I feel strong. Free. But my hand trembles.
“Let the Skaandans and Princess Aelia go,” I order the Daerosian soldiers. “Or your king dies.”
The soldiers withdraw their swords and step back.
Saga and Vil come forward, Vil taking a sword from one of the guards, Saga throwing back her hood to reveal herself. Her ears are heavy with rubies, her hair pulled tight against her scalp and bound in gold.
She stares Kallias down. “I am Saga Stjörnu, daughter of Valdis and heir to Skaanda.” Her voice rings sharp and clear. “By my own name,by the nature of your crimes, and by the power of Skaanda, I claim this mountain—and your life.”
My heart is stuttering in my chest, my palms sweating despite the frigid air. The magic around me teems and burns, burns, down into my soul.
Vil raises his eyebrows at me, ready for me to turn Kallias over to him—we are to hold the king hostage until the Skaandan army arrives, with Brandr conveniently bound in iron.
