“And that weaponry you showed us,” Azriel said quietly, pausing his steps to let them catch up. “Those … guns.”
“That’s tech,” Bryce said, “not magic. But some Vanir have found ways to combine magic and machine to deadly effect.”
Their silence was heavy.
“We’re here,” Azriel said, motioning to the darkness ahead. The reason, it turned out, that he had halted.
A massive metal wall now blocked their way, thirty feet high and thirty feet wide at least, with a colossal eight-pointed star in its center.
The carvings continued straight up to it: battle and suffering, two females running on either side of the passage, as if running for this very wall … Indeed, around the star, an archway had been etched. Like this was the destination all along.
Bryce glanced back at Nesta. “Is this where you saw my star?”
Nesta slowly shook her head, eyeing the wall, the embossed star, the cave that surrounded them. “I don’t know where this place is. What it is.”
“Only one way to find out,” Bryce said with a bravado she didn’t feel, and approached the wall. Azriel, a live wire beside her, approached as well, a hand already on Truth-Teller.
The lowest spike of the star extended down, right in front of Bryce. So she laid a hand on the metal and pushed. It didn’t budge.
Nesta stalked to Bryce’s side, tapping a hand on the metal. A dull thud reverberated against the cave walls. “Did you really think it’d move?”
Bryce grimaced. “It was worth a shot.”
Nesta opened her mouth to say something—to make fun of Bryce, probably—but was silenced by groaning metal. She staggered back a step. Azriel threw an arm in front of her, blue light wreathing his scarred hand.
Leaving Bryce alone before the door.
But she couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted. Couldn’t take her eyes away from the shifting wall.
The spikes of the star began to expand and contract, as if it were breathing. Metal clicked behind it, like gears shifting. Locks opening.
And in the lowest spike of the star, a triangle of a door slid open.
17
Only dry, ancient darkness waited beyond the star door. No sound or hint of life. Just more darkness. Older, somehow, than the tunnel behind them. Heavier. More watchful.
Like it was alive. And hungry.
Bryce stepped into it anyway.
“What is this place?” Bryce breathed, daring another step into the tunnel that lay on the door’s other side. Azriel and Nesta quickly fell into step behind her.
A shriek of metal sliced through the air, and Bryce whirled—
Too late. Even Azriel, now mid-stride, hadn’t been fast enough to stop the door from sliding shut. Its thud echoed through her feet, up her legs. Dust swirled.
They’d been sealed in.
Bryce’s star flared … and went out.
A chill rippled up her arms, some primal instinct screaming at her to run without knowing why—
Light flared at Azriel’s hand—faelight, he’d told her earlier. Two orbs of it drifted ahead, illuminating a short passageway. At its other end lay a vast, circular chamber, its floor carved with symbols and drawings akin to those on the walls of the tunnel.
Nesta whispered, voice breathy with fear, “This is the place I last saw the star on your chest.” She drew Ataraxia, and the blade gleamed in the dimness. “We call it the Prison.”
* * *
It was like game day, Ithan told himself. The same restlessness coursing through his body, the same razor-sharp focus settling into place.
Except there would be no ref. No rules. No one to call a time-out.
He stood at the edge of the empty ring in the center of the fighting pit, surrounded by his friends and Sigrid. The sprites, unable to stomach the violence, had opted to stay away.
There was no sign of the dragon.
He hadn’t dared research how bad third-degree burns were. If he’d be in any shape to go help free Athalar and Ruhn. And the Helhound, apparently—what was that about?
Focus. Survive the fight, win, and they could be out of here tonight. He was good at winning. Or he had been, once upon a time.
“She’ll try to distract you,” Flynn said from beside him, staring at the empty ring. “But get around her flames, and I think you can take her.”
“I thought you had the hots for the dragon,” Declan muttered. “No pun intended.”
“Not when she’s about to toast my friend.”
Ithan tried and failed to smile.
“Ari won’t go easy on you,” Tharion finally chimed in. He’d returned to the suite an hour ago, but he’d gone into his bedroom and shut the door. At least he’d come down for the fight.