"Once more into the breach," I mutter to myself, and take a step forward. And then another. I pass by the guardian draugrs, my shoulders pinched tight as I wait for the ominous ring of steel against steel, but they make no move to straighten, remaining in their low respectful bows.
Fucking creepy.
I take the draugr-filled turns of the labyrinth faster than I ever have before, careening around the sharp switchbacks as I plunge past the undead soldiers. They line both sides of the tunnel as it winds its way around the heart of the tomb, layer after labyrinthine layer. I gulp in desperate breaths of air that smells and tastes like death and decay, rot and ash on my tongue, trying to ignore the stinging stitch in my side and I sprint. My booted steps pound out a frantic tattoo, thepat-pat-pat-patso close to the jack-rabbit kicking of my heart that the noises crash together in a cacophony.
Who needs a spooky soundtrack when I can make my own?
I finally burst into the center of the last guardian’s tomb, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs.
Whoever this guy was, he must have been important. None of the other shard guards had any freakingdraugrs, let alone a few hundred of them. He's a massive demon, even bigger than my demon ex-lover and he was strapping (and packing a hell of a... well, you know). He stands at the head of the crypt, held up by magic I don't understand and don't want to. His membranous wings are spread, nearly spanning the whole width of the center of the tomb, lofting high over his horned head to make him look menacing.
It works. It really does. In any other circumstances, I'd be shaking in my snow boots. But even if this demon comes to life like his crypt crew did, he still wouldn't be as scary as Khadyr.
The shard glows faintly beneath the demon’s armor and leathery skin turned translucent by the slow passage of time. Kind of like a freaky skin lamp. Like the one Khadyr could turn me into if he doesn’t fancy wearing me as a coat.
“Sorry, buddy.” I pull out my iron dagger and tug my scarf up over my mouth and nose. Not doing so is a mistake you only make once. And one youneverforget.
I slice through the laces on his jerkin, the leather flaking away beneath my blade, and push it aside. This guy may have been a big deal when he roamed the realms, but now he’s just another dead demon chest I need to crack open. I whisper a quick demonic prayer for forgiveness that Aron taught me and jam the dagger between the dead demon's ribs and his sternum. I yank the blade upward, severing what sinew still holds his crumbling ribs to his breastbone. Chalky bits of bone fall away, revealing my prize. Every facet of the shard’s crystalline structure catches the light of my flashlight and shines brightly.
So shiny. So wonderfully, beautifully shiny.
So potentially about to be in my chest if these wards I'm wearing don't work.
I take a steadying breath. After all, what's the worst that can happen? I get another chest rock and then Khadyr brutally kills me and digs them out. My violent death (and Khadyr getting six times the agreed-upon treasure, the asshole) is the worst possible outcome.
I pick up the stone and my stomach flip flops and my insides pinch like I might just be pulled apart. A tug as the shard slips straight past the very expensive warding, a yank somewhere behind my belly button as the tomb disappears around me, as a Brooklyn Heights loft I am all too familiar with replaces damp stone and cobwebs.
I thought Khadyr playing slice-and-dice with my bedazzled corpse was as bad as it could get.
Wouldn't you know it? I was wrong.
Reality is worse. It'ssomuch worse.
Fuck.
"You, thief!"
Fucking fuck fuckfuck.
CHAPTER2
REZNIK
Dark gods, the woman who stole one of the Light Bearer's shards is back in the loft I share with my only fellow remaining member of her Light Guard, all the careful wards we've set be damned. She crashes down on our sofa, snow flaking off her obscenely puffy winter coat.
No, not snow. Definitely not snow. She's cloaked in death, in the remains of one of my fallen brethren. I would know the feeling of Iradil's magic anywhere, even centuries after his death. Does this thief hold nothing sacred? She stole not one, but two of our most sacred relics, pieces of the Light Bearer's crown, defiling the resting dead for the second. What she did to me and Yaelyn pales in comparison. She tricked us, used us, made us love her though we hated ourselves for it. I didn't think she could do worse. But Iradil, he was the best of us. The Light Bearer's protector and captain of her Light Guard. Our brother, her last defense. And this betrayer carved him up to steal another shard of Lux's crown.
She clutches her iron dagger tighter, staring up at me with an impudent glare curving her full, kissable lips. I shake my head, but I can't banish the draw I feel toward her, even now. I loathe it, and her.
She peers over her shoulder and Yaelyn raises a hand in a confused sort of wave.
"'Fucking fuck fuck fuck' is right, defiler," I growl, lunging for her.
She jumps deftly out of the way, as nimble as ever, and sprints for the door, tripping when Yaelyn lassos her ankle with the tip of his tail as she darts past him. She whirls out of his hold and bolts, but falls to her knees just steps from the door, letting out an anguished cry. That doesn't stop her. She crawls, a weak, pathetic thing, clutching at her chest with one hand as she tries to steady herself with the other.
How could I have ever loved this despicable creature? Why must I fight the compulsion to sweep her up in my arms and kiss some sense into her, even now?
She crawls just a foot before Yaelyn grabs her, but not before pain rips around the sun shard embedded in my chest. It is like no pain I've ever known, and I've known torments beyond imagining. I have battled armies, taken down hordes, have been felled by blades coated with salt that sent agony singing through my veins. I have had my trust betrayed and my heart broken by the only woman beside the Light Bearer I have ever loved.
