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What choice did I have, other than to let him wake up and rage again?
“My hope better not be misplaced with you,” I spoke to Selene aloud.
No answer.
Paris groaned, the power of his blood not keeping him down for long.
“Let’s go.” Medusa opened a doorway. “Brace yourself.”
“Wait here,” I told Vaughn. “The sun will—”
“Then you’re not going, Majesty!” he decried with sudden panic.
“Selene! The sunlight!” Medusa hissed. “I didn’t think.”
“The amulet will protect me,” I countered. “Trust me.”
“How is that possible?” Vaughn said.
I went through, leaving him behind with Declan, Medusa by my side.
Another risk taken for Paris.
“Awaken that which is buried deep.”
The Hinterlands were an arid landscape of ravines and mountains. No life grew here, not one scrap of it. Even the frostbrood avoided it, the entire landscape free of their nests.
Smoke choked the sky from constantly erupting volcanoes in the northwest, the land beset with earthquake after earthquake, shifting the landscape endlessly. Ash fell frequently as if it were rain or snow.
We arrived on the banks of the river, our feet kicking up ash and dry dirt. In the distance, thunderheads rolled, warning us of a storm closing in. The stink of smoke infected the air, a large fire burning close by spewing a stream of darkness into the clouds.
The north side of the river was a barren flatland before mountains took over in the far distance. Behind us were the Dew Hills, a stretch of eight mountainous hills boasting the freshest spring water pooling at each of their bases.
Such a contrast.
Despite the elements cloying the sky, a sheen of sickly yellow sunlight worked its way to the ground.
The amulet hummed, sending pulses of lunar light across my body. The sun’s bite didn’t reach me, didn’t even lurk around my perimeter. It made me a creature of the day, able to stand here without any fear of becoming bone dust.
A pleasure to know my deity could be trusted.
Now for the river
Gingerly, I made my way down the bank, boots crunching on the brittle remains of bone, petrified wood, and rocks.
The water was the color of oil, churning viciously, throwing itself against both banks. We’d arrived at a long straight stretch before it curved northward.
“What are you doing, sugar?” Medusa asked.
I inched closer to the water’s edge. My boots got splashed, my anxiety prickling.
Curse it. Subject Paris to that liquid violence? How was I going to do this?
“You’re not seriously…” Medusa began. “No. You wouldn’t.”
I stared at the water, its aggression an aquatic thunder. I considered taking the plunge with him in my arms.
“Do not fear dropping him in.”
