“Thank you,” Eira said sincerely. “May I ask you one last thing?”
“Proceed.”
“Do you think Ulvarth could actually be Yargen’s Champion?”
Vi snorted and it quickly evolved into laughter. “No, no I don’t. I don’t think there’s any possible way.”
“I thought the same so it’s a relief to hear you say that.”
Taavin pushed away from the desk. “We should move while we have the time.”
Vi nodded but hesitated. She remained focused on Eira. “Are you satisfied?”
“I am.”
“Good, then let’s get to it. I want to see what this shift key opens.”
Deneya led the charge down the familiar hall. It seemed to go on, and on. But Deneya must have had some marker, because she stopped at a door, opening it. Behind was another door, just like in the passage from the village.
Vi summoned a mote of flame that hovered over her shoulder, casting light on the small room. The other door had a simple metal plate where a knob would be. Vi held out the shift key. It writhed between her fingers but snapped into the shape of an ornate skeleton key at the same time as the metal on the plate parted, pulling away to reveal a slot.
“Be ready,” Vi whispered. “This door is an unknown, and we don’t have any idea what might await us on the other side.”
Eira had her magic under her palms, summoning an ice dagger for good measure. Olivin’s power surged as well,mirroring Deneya’s and Taavin’s. Whatever was on the other side wouldn’t know what hit it. There was so much power surging between the five of them that they could handle anything.
Except for what was actually on the other side of the door.
Olivin’s scream filled the small room with deafening agony.
35
Eira’s ears rang.
From the sound of Olivin’s agony. From the blood rushing through them with every pounding beat of her heart as if it was filling her like a dark, cold lake.
There, awash in the ominous, orange and red glow of Vi’s flame, was the husk of a young man. He was curled in the back corner. Clothes as soiled as the floor. The pads of his fingers were bloody. Nails gone. Their tips were coated in the same shade of red as the streaks on the back of the door.
“Yonlin.” Olivin rushed forward.
Deneya thrust out an arm. “We need to make sure there are no traps.”
“Let me go or I will kill you,” Olivin seethed, his voice of pure rage and venom.
“Uncose,” Taavin intoned from behind them. A glyph appeared in the center of the small room Yonlin had been kept in. It combusted into a golden haze that settled onto every surface—Yonlin included—before fading. “There are no traps or hidden passages.”
Eira had never heard that word of power before. But she knew that the Voice of Yargen was said to commune with thegoddess and thus was able to awaken special words within people—like the one Ferro had used at the ball. She surmised this was likely a special word only he knew.
Deneya lowered her hand and Olivin rushed forward. Tears streamed down his cheeks. But he made no sound. Sobs caught in his throat to the point of him choking on them. He could gurgle and croak. But he could not weep.
Her own eyes pricked. Blinking several times over, Eira tried to ignore the pain twisting in her stomach, burning up her chest. Her throat ached from her own screams into the night that still felt like yesterday.
This was not real. It couldn’t be real, Olivin’s twisting mouth seemed to say. She could hear the words his heart screamed as it objected to the reality before him. As he scooped the withered and beaten form of his brother into his arms.
Everything stopped on a sharp inhale. Olivin’s face jerked toward theirs, splotchy and tear-streaked. “He’s alive,” Olivin rasped.
Eira’s eyes widened. Deneya was the first to move. She was at the brothers’ sides in less than a blink.
“Halleth ruta sot. Halleth ruta toff,” she whispered as she moved her hand up and down Yonlin’s body, hovering just above his flesh. Glyphs of light spun under her hand.
