Page 26 of Vicious Is My Throne

I winced when Raz pulled out his own wicked looking knife. “Raz will get you all out of there.”

“I can’t believe pain’s the only way to stop the vision,” Raziel grumbled, following me over to the crushed skull of my ancestor.

“That we know of,” I said, stopping in front of Amalla’s skull. Tavion halted in front of the plinth, Tristan beside him, palm resting on the hilt of his knife, his expression like a kid about to get his favorite treat.

“Still, I hate the thought of you being hurt, Anaria,” Raz murmured.

I shrugged, trying not to look too closely at Zor’s pointy knife. “You’ll heal us all after, and we’ll have our answers. We’ve gone through worse for less reward.”

“True enough, but…” Raz blew out a shaky breath, his dark eyes glimmering with hesitation. “The thought of harming you makes me want to vomit.”

“Well”—I tried to smile—“you and Tavion could switch places. He likes to get all stabby.”

“I heard that, wife, and I did not enjoy that. I only did what was necessary. Besides”—his grin turned slightly evil—“you’re the one who suggested I stick my blade into both Raziel and Zor, and don’t bother denying it.” I glared at him across the room.

“Tavion and Anaria go in together. Raz and Tristan be ready to pull them out…”

“But not too fast,” I warned.

“But not too fast,” Zor agreed, even though he really didn’t agree with any of this. “Raz and Tristan, concentrate on your charges, and for fuck’s sake, don’t touch them. I’ll watch the door and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes since this entire situation was wrong.

I held out my shaking hands over the skull’s mottled surface, wondering if I was imagining the faint scent of rot permeating everything. How old was this place, and who had created it? The witches? The Old Gods? The Fae?

Written histories weren’t reliable, since I knew from experience how easily history could be erased and rewritten at the whim of those in charge. And the Oracle had been in charge for a long, long time.

But I refused to make the same mistakes as our predecessors. And this, I told myself as I laid my hands on the cool bone, was the only way to know for sure what those mistakes were.

Two moons rose in tandem over snow dusted mountains, the sky blushed with pink.

Sunrise or sunset, I didn’t know, but the day had the taste of fresh beginnings, the air crisp and dripping with dew, tasting faintly of flowers.

Somewhere far away a bell pealed, melodic but dulled, the sound echoing across the sheer distance between us and whatever town square it rang in. Everything here was enormous. The moons ate up much of the looming sky. Those mountains pierced the clouds and stretched far beyond them. I stood on a jutting cliff above an abyss filled with darkness, the crevasse so deep I could not see the bottom.

Sand crunched beneath my feet. Black sand, glittering like a billion crushed diamonds.

This entire world sparkled as far as I could see.

I reached down, picking up one of the pale stones strewn throughout the black sand like stars. I rubbed my finger over the smooth surface, hardly believing what I saw. This was a keystone. My keystone.

Or…I scanned my surroundings. One of a million keystones.

“Is that why I’m here? Can the keystone kill a god?” I mused, the words carried off by the wind as I turned the stone over again and again in my hands. Footsteps crunched behind me, and I whirled, reaching for my magic out of instinct, finding nothing in my veins but hollow emptiness.

A man strode up to me with an arrogance I should have found insulting.

Beautiful. Deadly. Pale eyes the color of peridot, an enormous sword strapped to his back with a golden pommel. Long silvery hair braided strangely and bound by silver rings stamped in a language I could not read.

A different body, a different face, a different world, and yet, I knew him to the very core of my being.

“Tavion.” I threw myself into his arms and burrowed into his chest, drinking in his wild, woodsy scent.

“Ardaric, here, I believe.” He laughed and ruffled my hair. “And you’re Amalla, and because some things never change, I came to find you before you got into trouble.” He frowned over my shoulder at the deep ravine that had no bottom, then at the stone clutched in my hand. “That’s a keystone.”

“They’re everywhere.” I swept my hand across the sandy ground. “Thousands. Millions.”

“Is that our answer, then? The keystone is the weapon we need to kill Corvus?”

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