Ruthless Vows (Letters of Enchantment, #2)(120)
He stared at that pillar of light. A chill spread through him, like frost creeping over his skin, when he realized it would be the last time he saw the sun.
* * *
It was quiet as a tomb in the under realm.
Iris led the way down the stairs, remembering the words Enva had told her in the dream. Pay attention to the floor. The way it slopes. It will guide you through the many passages, taking you deeper into the realm. She also remembered what Roman had told her about the lowest level of this place, where the eithrals dwelled and could be commanded by a flute.
She still had Val’s flute in her pocket, alongside the key, the ball of wax, and now three blueberry scones. All important items to carry on a death mission below.
When the stairs at last fed into a corridor, Iris chose to take them to the right, because the floor angled downward. She left a crumb of scone on the ground every time she and Attie made a turn, so they could find their way back. But she also paid attention to the clusters of malachite, which were so beautiful they made her pause to admire them.
“What do you think these crystals are for?” Attie mused aloud, tracing their green facets.
“I wonder if they’re supposed to be a map, or road signs,” Iris said. “A way for people to know where they are?” Roman had described seeing amethyst clusters on his walk beneath Oath.
“A lovely thought.” Attie wiped the dust from her fingers. “But why have they overgrown into the passages?”
“Maybe when Dacre slept, wild things took over?”
Thoughts teeming, the girls continued onward.
“Do you think there are rats here?” Attie asked as Iris set another crumb down.
“I hope not.” If rats came along and ate her trail of scones, then they would never find their way back to the café door. But so far they had only passed thick curtains of gossamer and spiders with eyes that winked like rubies in the lantern light.
Soon, they came to an intersection, and Iris was surprised to see the firelight that burned in iron sconces on the walls. She hid her lantern behind a cluster of malachite and studied the different routes they could take.
“Wait,” Attie said when Iris began to step forward. “Do you hear that?”
Iris froze, straining her ears. Two breaths later, she heard what Attie did. It sounded like boots marching on the stone, drawing closer.
“Quick,” Iris said, moving back the way they had come. “Hide.”
The girls ducked behind an outcropping of rock and mineral. Iris held her breath as the footsteps drew closer. She dared to peer around their hiding place to see a stream of Dacre’s soldiers, marching through the intersection. Rifles were propped on their shoulders, packs fastened to their backs.
It was as Iris suspected. Dacre would wait until he had pummeled the south side and then call back the eithrals. His soldiers would then emerge through select doors to round up anyone who had survived.
It was Avalon Bluff, repeated on a larger scale.
Which meant Iris and Attie were running out of time; they couldn’t afford to have an interruption like this. Just when Iris was thinking they might need to double back and return above to find another doorway to pass through, the end of the soldiers’ line came in sight.
The girls waited a few beats before they rose and hurried to the intersection. Iris chose the passage with the steeper angle again, even though it was darker than the others.
She could hear her breath, feel her heart pound in her ears by the time they reached a door. It looked similar to the one Enva had shown her, with runes carved into the lintel. Like in the dream, it was locked.
“Is this it?” Attie whispered.
“Yes,” Iris replied, although she didn’t know for certain. But she brought out the key and watched as it fit, unlocking the door.
This time, the passage they walked was overgrown with vines and thorns. Iris had to break her way through, feeling the briars catch in her hair, drag like talons across her face. She might have stopped in discouragement had she not seen the light in the distance. A hazy yellow beacon, woven with the sharp scent of sulfur.
“We’re almost there,” she panted to Attie, hope warming her blood.
Twenty-one thorn-infested steps later, the girls arrived at the boiling heart of the under realm. Iris gazed into the steam, amazed by how vast this place felt. She noticed that the vines ran along the treacherous floor but soon faded, as if they were only there to mark where this passage was located. She turned and looked behind, to see the lintel was thick with thorns, and also noticed the malachite that had grown along it, nearly hidden.
We need to find the doorway marked by thorns and malachite when we return, she told herself before easing forward.
Iris and Attie walked around the pools, stepping over skeletons and iron chains. The sight made Iris shudder, but she continued to break up pieces of scone and leave a trail, her skin shining with perspiration.
All too soon, the melodic notes of a flute hung in the air. One second, they sounded distant, the next, close enough to touch. Iris tried to follow them, and it was impossible until she saw a pillar of light in the distance. That should be their marker, she realized, and she began to lead them toward it, using the last of her scone crumbs. That was where Dacre would be, playing the flute to command the eithrals as they flew above.
It felt like they had walked for an hour, chasing those notes and that beam of sun, although it was most likely only ten minutes, when Iris heard someone screaming in the distance. She froze, Attie halting close at her back.