I veered closer, as close as we could get without colliding.
“Hold that line, Vale. No matter what. Understood?”
Understanding flickered in his face. He knew the frantic edge to my voice wasn’t just about the artifact, no matter how powerful it was.
“We’ll hold it,” he said, voice firm. “I swear it.”
I lifted my head to face the onslaught of warriors ahead, speeding toward us in a steady, unrelenting wall. Vale drew his sword, face stone, jaw set.
“Weapons up!” he roared, voice booming through the air, the echo rolling through the armies as his captains passed the order along.
Simon’s army was now close enough that I could see their faces.
And clearer than any of them, I saw Simon’s—blood-streaked, rage-drenched. He practically reeked of otherworldly power, a faint, crimson-tinted smoke collecting around his wings, the glow at his chest simmering like hot coals in the night.
One look at him, and I knew he’d rip through whatever poor bastards threw themselves at him. Heir power might be enough to hold him off. Maybe.
“Stay away from him,” I said to Vale. “He’s mine.”
The truth was, it wasn’t all that selfless. I was ready for a rematch.
I drew my sword.
67
ORAYA
I couldn’t see a damned thing. I cursed my human eyes as I staggered through the darkness—darkness so all-encompassing that within just a few steps, it swallowed up even the distant remnants of the moonlight through the open door. One hand blindly felt my way forward as I ventured into the dense shadows, the other holding up an orb of Nightfire that didn’t even begin to penetrate the black.
What was I even looking for?
A safe? A chest? Where would Vincent have hidden something so powerful? Would he have made it into a weapon? Should I be groping around these walls for—what, another magical sword ready for the taking? Or—
My next step did not find ground where I expected it.
My backside hit the floor hard, sliding down a set of stairs. My hands clawed at the walls to slow myself, Nightfire sputtering out.
With a clumsy THUMP, I slid to a stop.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
My tailbone ached. I’d lost count of how many steps I’d struck on the way down.
But nothing, thankfully, seemed broken. It would be awfully pathetic if, after everything I’d been through, a fall down a flight of Goddess-damned stairs was the thing to take me now.
I pushed myself back to my feet, wincing as my bruised muscles whined in protest. I conjured Nightfire in my palm again, holding it out before me.
The unnatural stubbornness of the darkness had, apparently, broken, because now the cold light bloomed through the shadows.
I let out a shaky exhale at the sight before me.
I was in a circular room crafted entirely of stone. I stood in an arched doorway. At the center of the room rose a massive column, stretching floor to ceiling. Two circular barriers surrounded it, as tall as my waist, expanding from the center and each bigger than the last. The stone was black and polished, clearly the work of fine craftsmanship. Unlit lanterns lined the walls, six around the outskirts of the circle.
Every inch of this place—the walls, the barriers, the obelisk itself—was covered in carvings. I’d never seen anything quite like them. They didn’t seem to be a language, exactly—they weren’t arranged in the linear, neat lines of writing. Most of the symbols formed circles, though some floated off on their own or were wedged between other sets of carvings.
Glyphs, maybe? Sigils?
Wielders of Nyaxia’s magic used them rarely, aside from summoning, but I’d heard that some sorcerers who drew from gods of the White Pantheon did. A few of the marks, upon closer inspection, reminded me of some of the symbols I’d seen in my mother’s notes.
I gingerly stepped from the last stair—cringing slightly, half expecting that the floor would fall out beneath me or burst into flames. When no such thing happened, I let out a sigh of relief and walked around the perimeter of the room, lighting each lantern with Nightfire.
Something was off about this place. My skin felt itchy, the air too thick, like the atmosphere itself was heavy with magic. It was an unpleasant sensation. It reminded me of how I’d felt when I’d wielded the Taker of Hearts for the first time, but much, much stronger.
The magic in this room, I knew, wasn’t meant for me. My blood was close enough to let me in, but it was wary about me. Goddess knew what kind of horrible death I’d meet if it decided to expel me, like an unwelcome virus.