“I'm about to sign my own death sentence for you, Jordan Elías, so you better not die.” I squeeze his hand, shut my eyes, and breathe to center myself.
Centering was the first thing the Sages taught me when my gifts manifested. The second, once they discovered my natural-born healing gift, was to lock it away and throw away the key. After reading what happened to healers throughout the kingdoms, that's exactly what I did. I've been tempted over the years. Never enough to act on it. Until now.
Magic is an exchange of power between us and the gods. A lot of people in Veritas won't even remove their amulets for fear their gifts will feed the wrong gods. As if there is such a thing. Everyone knows the gods aren't merciful or benevolent.
But then, neither are we.
I take one more breath and start my plea to Ignata. I've never done it this way before, but I don't know how to heal someone, and right now, I need all the help I can get.
Please, Goddess Ignata. Creator. Kiskeya. Mother of all land. I beg you to help me heal my brother. Please. I don't know how to do this. I can't do this without your help.
Nothing. No spark in my chest. No tingling in my fingertips. I let out a shaky breath and repeat it once more before I move on.
Please, Goddess Sulara. Daughter of Ignata. Goddess of day, health, life, and rebirth. I'm begging you to help me heal my brother. I'll do anything. Please.
Nothing. I was so sure this gift was linked to Sulara. It's healing. It has to be. But my second plea goes unanswered, and I'm forced to move on.
Just thinking about the next goddess makes the sigil on my chest flare. Not with defiance. Something else. A warning to stop. A dare to keep going. It feels like standing at the edge of the Shroud.
The thought almost knocks me off center, but I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate harder.
Please, Goddess Mortiana. Daughter of Ignata. Goddess of night, time, and death. I beg you to help me heal my brother. I'll do anything you ask. Take on any task you give me. Just … save him. Please.
Nothing. I repeat the words, shouting them inside my own head. And then I feel it. Discomfort blooms in my chest.
Not the warmth I feel when I summon my fire. This burns. Scorches. It spreads through me until my throat closes and my eyes sting. Unbearable. Intense. I struggle to cut the connection, gulping for air. And then I'm yanked underwater.
Chapter Four
Igasp awake. My arms swing wildly, expecting water, but my feet are on solid ground. Dim orange lights flicker in the darkness. It takes a moment to realize where I am.
Or where I think I am. The cavernous tunnels beneath Lunaris. I haven't been down here in years, but the scent of burning eucalyptus is unmistakable. The Veritas torch binders use it.
I turn and stumble back when I find myself in front of a massive archway. I reach for the torch resting beside the column. I summon my fire, light it, and raise it to the stone. Ravens are etched into the columns.
Above, a massive raven head crowns the entrance. But the stone is colorless, so I can't tell whose temple this is. Mortiana's ravens are black. Sulara's are white.
Either way, one of them answered. Pulse roaring, I step inside the chamber and freeze. A pit sits at the center. Identical to the Undying Flame in the Temple of Veritas.
Jordi's words flash through my mind:Do you really believe they moved the Undying Flame from its original location?My heart pounds harder. He's been trying to tell me something. Could he have found the lost temple?
I shake my head. None of this makes sense. I was just outside the Noxbridge Library. Jordi was dying in my arms.
I have no choice but to approach the pit. Each step echoes in the vast chamber. Inside, I find pieces of chipped stone, ancient and crumbling. Beneath them, the faint pulse of an ember. Waiting.
I move to drop the torch inside. My hand trembles and stops right above it. The Undying Flame is never supposed to be re-lit by mortal hands. The texts are clear on this.
But nothing about this moment is right. Nothing about any of this is real. I've already shattered a dozen laws tonight. What's one more? I have to save Jordi.
I toss the torch.
A column of flame surges toward the vaulted ceiling, so bright it sears my vision. I lift a hand to shield my face and stumble back, trip, and hit the stone hard. From my elbows, I watch the Flame climb and writhe, casting wild shadows across the ancient walls. Then it settles. Contracts. Expands again. As if it's breathing. As if it's alive.
“Your name,” it hisses.
My blood turns to ice. “Ada.”
“Full name.”
