A door towers over us, massive and thick, made of the same gray stone as the rest of the room. Four images are carved in the center of the door—one, a tangle of flaming vines; another, books stacked in a pile; another, a simple mask; and the last, the largest one centered above the smaller three, a mountaintop bathed in a beam of light with words arching over it, THE ORDER OF THE LUSTRATE.
I step closer, my boots tapping against the stone floor.
A beam of light hitting a mountaintop. Where have I seen that before?
And who is the Order of the Lustrate?
Theron hisses. “Golden leaves.” He slides forward a step. “Are those . . . keyholes?”
I grab his arm, keeping us both from going too far into the room. This place feels dangerous, like it’s waiting for something, and I don’t want to find out what.
But he’s right—in the center of each of the three small carvings sits a narrow keyhole.
“Do you think this is it?” I whisper, barely loud enough to stir the air.
Theron’s hand encases mine where I hold his arm and he nods, absently amazed.
“Yes,” he says, smiling like a piece of him is rising up over the walls of fear that built within him. “We found it. We’re going to be okay now.” He looks to me, back to the door. “We’re going to be okay . . .”
I glance over my shoulder at everyone still clogged by the entrance. Sir’s eyes meet mine, and I wheeze on the choking knowledge of what exactly this means.
The last time our world had more than just the eight Royal Conduits, the Decay was created. People began using their individual conduits for things that harmed one another, murder and theft and evil, and that birthed a dark magic that infiltrated people’s minds, encouraged them to use their magic for evil, and started a cycle of despair.
And when we open that door, if it does guard the magic chasm . . .
We could be wrong. It could just be a . . . room. In a mountain?
What else could it be?
My throat clamps shut. This really is it, isn’t it? I should have stopped Noam long ago. I shouldn’t have let him do this to my kingdom—how did we even find this?
Theron’s face is wide with astonishment. He’s pleased with this find, he’ll want to open that door, and seeing that expression on him makes me reel even more. I didn’t think. I charged in here without remembering who Theron is, who he really is—not just a source of comfort, not just my friend. He wants this. Cordell wants this.
I back up, farther from him.
Theron reaches out for me. “Meira?”
Biting and sharp, a cold sensation cuts through my body in a heave of magic. My magic, not the spark in the air. I slam to a halt.
Meira! comes Hannah’s voice. She’s upset. Afraid. Of what?
Theron follows my retreat. His foot hooks on the floor and he teeters forward, arms flailing as he collides with me and sends us toppling down, closer to the carved door.
Meira, get away from here!
So cold, so cold—
MEIRA! Hannah cries. Mei—
Silence. Utter, aching silence, like a door slamming shut, cutting off all noises beyond.
Fiery, determined heat eats at my body in mad snatches of relentless pain. Just as frigid as my magic is cold, this is hot, spreading in singeing fingers up my limbs and across my chest and neck. It cauterizes my throat into a lumpy, impenetrable knot, intensifying and raging against every nerve so that when I scream, it goes unheard.
Theron’s body presses against mine, and all I know beyond the licking warbles of pain that eat up my insides and remain trapped behind the knot in my throat is that we’re causing this. Or me—I’m causing this, because Theron isn’t in pain. His brow furrows only in confusion.
“Meira, what—”
An invisible force launches us through the air, hurling us back at the entrance to the room. Our bodies pop with a chorus of blows against the stone wall before we collapse in a heap on the floor. Everyone by the door shouts in alarm and dives toward us, but somewhere along the way the knot in my throat released, and the pain comes rushing out of my mouth in a scream that doesn’t even sound human. My body throbs and I curl into a ball, head to my knees, arms over my ears, rocking back and forth, trying to find some position that doesn’t feel like I’m being burned alive.
HANNAH! I shout at her, at the magic, at anything that could make it stop—
Silence, still. Just silence, that’s all I get from her. Dread plummets through me before thick darkness slides into my eyes and down my throat and fills me top to bottom in a prison I know far too well.
“Meira!” Theron’s fingers bury in my hair, his arms fold around me. “Meira, hold on—”
A blink, and I’m left alone in darkness, fire, and ice.
Blackness subsides, unfurling in the yellow glow of torches. I’m almost grateful for the light—I’m awake; I survived; I’m okay—until my eyes adjust to the room.
A cell reveals itself in the flickering light, grimy black stones glinting with putrid stains. In the corner sits Theron, staring at the door with a concentration spurred by intense fear.
Because in that doorway stands Angra.
“The heir of Cordell,” Angra announces as he walks forward and crouches before Theron, leaning on his staff. “You give new meaning to the word valiant. What was your plan? Sneak into my city and free my latest Winterian slave?” He reaches out, grabbing Theron’s chin and wrenching his attention up.
“Or are you expecting your father to sweep in and save you both?” Angra purrs.