Taryn’s belly burned with need. For vengeance and the hunger to see the man who killed her grandfather punished. There would be time for mourning later.
She sprang up, her sudden movement surprising Rhoane. He followed her angry strides until she came to Zakael’s inert form. The desire to crush his skull consumed her. She gripped her fists against the impulse to cause him harm, then flexed her hands. Bloody half-moons formed in her palms where her fingernails cut into her flesh.
“Taryn?” Rhoane’s voice was low, cautionary.
“He needs to pay for what he did to Brandt.”
“Would you have me kill him?” A spark lit in his eyes. Challenging. Something else lay hidden there, too. Something that reached to her core and frightened her.
She glanced at the pathetic form lying huddled on the sand. “As much as I hate him right now, it wouldn’t be right. There’s no honor in killing an unconscious man.” When she glanced back to Rhoane, there was approval in the mossy depths of his stare.
She shook out her hands, and a crystal fell from her grasp. Nadra’s tear. She bent to retrieve it and studied Zakael’s profile. He looked peaceful. Except for a trickle of blood from a scrape on his head, he could’ve been sleeping.
“Someday he’ll pay.”
“Yes, he will. But not today.” Rhoane led her away from Zakael to the lake, where she rinsed her hands and quenched her thirst. The honeyed water slid down her dry throat, and she drank as if trying to fill the void of Brandt’s loss.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you,” she lied. “What do we do now?”
“Are you well enough to travel, Darennsai?”
“Why do you call me that?”
“It is the name my people have given you. It is a name of respect. If it does not please you, I will not say it again.”
“I was just curious.” After a moment, she added, “Should I call you Rhoane, or is there another name you prefer?”
“There may come a time when you call me something else, but Rhoane will do for now.”
“Okay, just Rhoane. You said travel—where are we going?” A chill ran the length of her despite the warmth of the cavern.
“To meet with some friends.”
“I take it you two aren’t what you’d consider friends?” She cocked her chin toward Zakael. “What was that fight about, anyway?”
Dark brows pinched above his straight nose, nostrils flared the slightest bit. “Our quarrel goes back many seasons.” He turned and strode away without further explanation.
“Got it. Long standing feud. But since this quarrel got Brandt killed, I think I deserve to know why.”
“Perhaps you do.” Rhoane stopped before a thick wall of crystals. “For now, what you need to know is that Brandt’s death was not in vain.” He motioned for her to follow and stepped around the rocks, out of sight.
Hidden behind the stones was a campsite of sorts. A small fire burned low, with blankets and cooking supplies laid out in neat array. Before she had a chance to sit down, Rhoane handed her a pile of clothing.
“I have brought you a change of attire. I am afraid what you are wearing is not what Aelinaens are accustomed to.”
Taryn gave Rhoane’s leather pants, tunic, jerkin, and boots a long look and groaned. “I’ve gone back to the bloody Middle Ages. I don’t wear dresses, so unless you have something like what you’re wearing, I’ll stick with what I have.”
“Then I think you will be pleased. There is an alcove fifty paces that way where you will have privacy. Would you like me to walk you there?” He was tall, perhaps half a foot taller than her five feet nine inches, but his closeness dwarfed her. The light from the cavern cast a halo over his curls, keeping his face in shadow. His presence wrapped around her like a comfortable blanket and she had the sense she’d been there before. With him. Strange words drifted through her mind.
“Darennsai?”
His voice pulled her from the memory. “I can manage. Thank you.”
She started to turn from him and paused, her fingertips stroking the soft cotton tunic in her hands. “You knew we’d be returning, didn’t you? That’s why you’ve been waiting and why you just happen to have clothes for me. But why? How did you know?”
“Yes, I knew. Nadra bade me come to the cavern and wait.”
The voice from her flat tugged at her. It is time. He is waiting.
She shivered against the unknown and made her way to the alcove, distracted by the nagging feeling of familiarity. Rhoane, the cavern, even the fresh smell of her garments, triggered memories. Thoughts she’d pushed to the back of her mind came forward, begging to be relived. She pulled the tunic over her head and then shimmied out of her T-shirt. The pants proved more of a problem, but she managed to strip off her jeans and pull on the leather breeches without showing too much bare leg. After several failed attempts to tie the boots, which had more eyelets and laces than she’d ever seen, she gave up and wore her sneakers.
When she returned to the campsite, Rhoane was nowhere in sight. After an anxious moment where several scenarios played out in her mind—of Zakael returning to finish the fight, or Rhoane deserting her—she spied two mugs sitting on a flat rock near the fire. At least one of her fears hadn’t come true. She sank to the blanket, eyeing the dark liquid in the cup. A hint of spice tickled her nose. Chilies, perhaps, but sweet like cinnamon.
Her backpack lay on one of the blankets, looking oddly out of place in the pristine cavern. Footsteps crunched against the sand, and she froze, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Rhoane stepped around the crystal wall, and she breathed out, loosening her grip on the boot she held like a weapon.
Feigning calm, she tossed the boots to Rhoane. “I can’t figure out the laces on these things.”
“Let me help you.” He sat beside her and patiently showed her how to tie the boots, his fingers weaving the laces with practiced grace.
When he finished, she stared at the intricate crisscrossing pattern. “I’ll never figure that out.”
“You will in time.” He handed her a mug. “Drink this, Darennsai. It is called grhom and will give you energy.”
Chocolate, thick and luxurious, with a snap of heat from chilies, flowed over her tongue and down her throat to settle her aggravated belly. “It’s delicious.” It was actually more than delicious; it was heaven in a cup. She emptied the mug and Rhoane refilled it. She nodded toward her backpack. “Where did you find that?”
Rhoane followed her gaze. “Where you and Brandt entered the cavern.”
“Can I keep it?”
“I am afraid not.” He eyed it warily, as if something horrific might be hiding inside.
Taryn inhaled a deep breath. “Figured as much.” She pulled the bag toward her and started tossing items on the ground. Notebooks, pens, pencils, toothbrush and toothpaste, books—nothing of real value, but the thought of throwing them away pained her. It was her last link to Earth. To Brandt. “Can I keep any of it?” She clutched a book to her chest. It was her favorite, one she’d read dozens of times.
Rhoane took the book and flipped through it. “I am sorry, but everything from that world must be destroyed. No one can know where you have been.” He picked up a small velvet pouch and held it out to her. “What is this?”
Taryn turned it over several times, examining the cloth. “I don’t know. It’s not mine.”
“It is with your belongings. You have never seen this before?”
“Never. It looks old. See the stitching—that’s by hand. The silk loop and pearl would place this somewhere in the fifth or sixth century. Brandt might have—” She stopped herself. She and Brandt traveled all over the world to recover ancient artifacts. His job was to acquire items for his clients, not keep them.
In places, the faded blue velvet was threadbare from years of handling. Whoever owned the pouch had kept it near them. She untied the delicate gold ribbon and slid out a silver disk about the size of her palm. It felt good in her hand, heavy and solid. Her pendant hummed against her skin as a ripple of energy pulsed up her arm, exciting her. When her fingertips touched the silver, etchings moved across the surface. She dropped it as if bitten. When it left her touch, the inscriptions shifted to the edge of the disk.
Rhoane made a figure eight above his head. “Nadra has twice blessed us.” He picked up the silver piece to examine it. The disk gleamed in the firelight, and Rhoane muttered under his breath while covering the artifact with his hand as if to shield them from it.
“Do you know what that is? What those symbols mean?” Her fingers flexed, anxious to grab it from him, to again feel the pulse of energy.
“This is a Seal of Ardyn, lost from our world many millennia ago. How did you come to have it?”
If Brandt had hid it in her bag, he must’ve had a good reason. “I have no idea. Is it important?”
His eyes flicked to her and then back to the seal. “Very much so. This seal, one of thirteen total, was created to keep Rykoto locked away in the Temple of Ardyn.”
“The what locked where?”
Rhoane stared at her, a shadow of contempt crossing his face. “About ten thousand seasons ago, there was the Great War between two elder gods, Daknys and Rykoto. Before the war, Aelinae was a peaceful world. Rykoto betrayed Daknys and sought to rule alone. He tried to destroy not only the elders but the younger gods, as well.”
“I thought gods were immortal.”
“Immortality is subjective. They do not suffer disease and cannot be killed by mortals, but one god can destroy another.”
“How?”
“I am not a god and therefore cannot answer that.”
“Was he able to? Did Rykoto kill them?”
“He tried, but Daknys and the others were able to seal him away before any real damage was done.”
“And that little piece of silver is helping to keep him locked up? If it’s so important, how did it get lost? I mean, you’d think people would keep track of that sort of thing.”
“You make a good point. We must take good care of this.” Rhoane placed the disk back into the pouch, securing the ribbon before handing it to her. “Keep this safe for the time being.”
“Oh no. If that thing is so important, you carry it.”
She thrust the pouch at him, but he held his hands up and away from her. “If you will recall, we found this in your possession. You must be the one to safeguard it.”
“That’s so not fair. I didn’t even know I had it.”
She touched her belongings with a sigh of regret for the life she left behind. Before she could change her mind, she tossed her things on the fire, ending with the backpack.
“I don’t have anything to carry it in. You need to take it.”
Rhoane handed her a leather satchel. “Will this do?”
Taryn took it from him, shoving the pouch inside. It looked small and utterly unimportant in the empty bag. When the carnage burned itself out, they covered the embers with sand and packed up the campsite. She was about to heft one of the bags onto her shoulder when Rhoane flicked his wrist and the gear disappeared. Energy sizzled up her arm, not exactly unpleasant, but uncomfortable all the same. Like ice held against skin a second too long. Moss green sparks lit out from where the items had been.
She gaped at Rhoane. “What the hell just happened? Where did your stuff go?”
“Where we will need it next,” he said with a slight shrug and left the campsite.
Unsure if she really wanted to know how he made the equipment disappear, she followed in silence. When they neared where she and Brandt had entered the cavern, the void pulled at her, thick with desperation. She hastened her steps, ignoring the temptation to let the sweet emptiness of the portal envelop her once more. From beyond the glittering wall, a hiss recoiled in defeat. Goose bumps rose on her arms and neck. Rhoane glanced at her over his shoulder, a worried look in his eyes.
“I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.” She quickened her pace, matching Rhoane’s long strides with her own.
The crystals dimmed behind them as they hurried along the edge of the lake until only Rhoane’s glowing orbs cast small circles of light along the path. When they reached the passage leading them out of the cavern, Rhoane stopped so suddenly Taryn almost ran into him.
“Follow close. The tunnels in this mountain are treacherous. If you do not know your way, it is easy to get lost.” He set off again without waiting for her to reply.
After a short distance, a flicker of light caught her eye and she stopped, calling out for Rhoane to wait. Pale green lights crisscrossed an opening off the passageway. When she peered into the darkened alcove, she suppressed a cry. In the center of the space, surrounded by purple quartz walls and a white sand floor, lay an unmoving and very naked Zakael.
“Bloody hell.” She looked at Rhoane, not sure she wanted to know the answer to what she was about to ask. But she had to know. “Did you kill him?”