The observation goes without saying. The silence sends icy fingertips crawling up my spine, and I can practically hear the eyes lingering in the shadows watching us. Nothing may be left of this city, but those who destroyed it are lurking all around. They wait for that right moment to ambush us and take us to their sadistic king.
We weave through the streets, keeping to the narrower passages and the cover of what little structures still stand. It takes longer than it should to reach the center of Stigian, but the precautions are necessary. The shifter birds still soar above, searching for the dead to scavenge from and the living to kill.
Ashavee moves to the head of our group. Her sleek feline form makes her impossible to see when she peers around corners, and her lithe steps are undetectable when she steps into open spaces before the rest of us follow. My gut turns thinking about the risk she is taking for us. The Allaji hold loyalty above all else, and she is now a traitor to her kingdom. It doesn’t matter that she wants better for them, to make them a productive part of our continent. When she helped me escape, she went against their king and therefore all of her kind. If she’s seen, they will kill her on the spot.
We reach the last corner before the sanctuary comes into view. Ashavee prowls around it and just as quickly steps back while shaking her head. I glance at Kyron as he leaps down fromSamson’s saddle and calls forth his shadows. They surround him in an ebony cover that rivals the night sky. Seconds pass by with no sign of him before he makes himself visible again. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he says, “The steps of the sanctuary are crawling with shifters. We aren’t getting in through the front doors.”
“What about the tunnels connecting it to the palace?” Greer asks.
Thinking of how the Allaji loved commandeering trinkets from ships, I shake my head. “No way. I guarantee you that they are ransacking the palace right now.”
Kyron runs his hand over the back of his neck and releases a long breath. “There’s another way in, but it’s tight quarters and nauseating.”
“Nauseating?” Terro says, with a slight tremble in his voice.
“An old sewer pipe runs along the passage. It’s not really in use anymore but it’s still awful. I only used it once when I needed a break from my mother, and one time was enough for me.”
I click my tongue and look up at the stars as I mumble, “It must be horrific if you never used it again to get away from her.”
Kyron chuckles and says, “I guess you’re about to find out, aren’t you, princess?”
The tunnel entrance is in the cellar of a small tavern. Thankfully, this side of the city didn’t see the devastation that the central part did. We tie our horses to posts down the street, knowing the Allaji would never harm a fellow animal. The doors to the tavern are wide open when we arrive. Chairs are overturned on the concrete floor, and half-drunk pints litter the tabletops.
Kyron leads us through the kitchen where uncooked food waits at the prep station by the stove. He yanks on a thick wooden door toward the back, and we descend into the bowels of the tavern. Dim lights hang from the ceiling, illuminating thekegs of ale lining the walls and rows of shelves jammed packed with wine and spirits. We reach the darkest corner, and Kyron flicks his hand, igniting a flame in the center of his palm. He nods—a gentle warning to brace ourselves—and wrenches open another door.
The balmy air brushes my face, carrying the distinct scent of shit. I pull my tunic over my nose and force the vomit rising in my throat back down. From the little I can see, the ground ahead is all dirt and ancient wooden beams keep the roof from caving in. The structural integrity of the tunnel is questionable at best.
“I told you it’s bad,” he says, not hiding the amusement he finds in everyone’s disgusted reaction.
“This is vile,” Greer responds, sweeping her arm in front of her to herd us all inside.
One by one, we file into the tunnel and trek down the narrow path. The mixture of the stench and the confined space is horrendous. Sweat drips down the back of my neck and the thin fabric of my tunic does little to stifle the overwhelming scent of the sewer. The hike feels like it takes hours with us tripping over the feet of the person in front of us. I would have hated being the people who had to dig this miserable walkway.
We reach a door that looks out of place. The Stigian crest is carved into the wood, and the gold paint is covered in a thick layer of dust. Kyron turns the handle. The room beyond is dark with flickering lights to brighten the path. And the air... my lungs have never been this thankful for fresh air.
With my hand in his, Kyron leads us through the long, empty passages of the Sanctuary. Our boots tap against the glossy floor and the walls feel like they are caving in on me with their black paint. It’s not until we reach the main gathering place that the darkness gives way to light.
We step through the side archway and into the grand hall. Two thrones sit upon the dais and the water that was onceused for the amplification ceremonies flows down the back wall, unhindered by the monstrosity of a statue that once stood under it.
“Where are they?” Ulric asks, stretching his neck as if he will find clusters of people huddled in the far corners.
“The Allaji wouldn’t be standing guard if no one is in here,” Terro states.
I tilt my head and turn in a slow circle, examining the colorful images painted on the ceiling. It is the history of our kingdom that every person was taught from a young age. There is no picture of a king who abused his power, no curse cast upon our people. A white ball of light meant to represent the Statera stretches out over the people gathered around it. Those to its right are blessed with brighter rays that seem to pierce their chests and set them aglow, while those on the left only feel the warmth of the Statera above their heads. The Khiros and the Cyffreds. The smaller images go on to depict each of the powers the Statera has granted our people, and the benevolent ruler who oversees the syphoning of the dormant gifts. Pliris’ darkest moments are nowhere to be seen, including its division. I can only imagine what would have happened to me and those like me if Micah never made the choice to leave and build a new kingdom.
I still at the thought and turn to Kyron. “The catacombs. Borin and my dad would take everyone to the catacombs.”
Without waiting for him to reply, I head out of the hall. Kyron matches my stride and gives me clipped directions down another set of corridors. It doesn’t take us long to descend into the bowels of the sanctuary. The iron gate protecting the tombs of our past rulers is open. Shuffling feet and whispers echo from inside. We race past the stone graves and lifelike statues of the deceased. At the back of the catacombs, a cluster of people surround a familiar grave. One by one, they enter the tomb anddisappear into the only secret passage that still exists between Stigian and Lucent.
I push my way through the crowd and let out a sigh of relief. My dad and Borin help a woman with a baby strapped to her back down the first rungs of the ladder leading below the city. She disappears inside, and I rush forward.
“Papa,” I say, flinging myself into his arms. He is covered in dust and my fingertips slide over wet and sticky blood along his arm. His beard is caked in mud and his guard uniform is tattered. He is a bit worse for wear, but he is alive, and that is all that matters.
“Where is Mama?” I ask.
“Her and the girls are in the tunnel.”
“And Rowan?”
