Page 39 of Lera of Lunos
“Where?” My voice sounds too calm to be mine, my thoughts racing so quickly that it’s an effort to slow down long enough to form words. “Where is Ferno’s most populated place right now? If Griorgi does strike this evening, where would he do it? What’s the beating heart of this city?”
“The Red Temple,” Tye and Xane say together, exchanging rabid glares.
“It’s a tribute to Blaze’s fire,” Xane pushes on, a growing haze in his voice that’s reminiscent of Autumn’s academic musing. Except the female fights with her words, while Xane seems to huddle behind them. “Its gold-tiled western-facing steps and towers catch the sunset each evening and look like they’ve caught on fire. Those of us with a fire affinity feel the power strongest there, likely due to the ancient magic that—”
“The main bonfire is by the Red Temple,” Tye says, cutting off the prince. “That’s where all the drinking and merriment will be happening even now, on what the city considers Samhain Eve.” He draws his sword, baring his teeth at Xane. “Let’s move, Highness. In case you might be of use.”
With the approaching sunset, the streets are even busier than I remember, many revelers already starting to celebrate. Deep drums boom from dozens of fires licking the dimming sky, while fiddles strike tuning chords as if exchanging the latest gossip. The scent of smoked meats and spiced hot cider fills the air—the latter unlikely meant for children, given the intoxicating fumes.
My heart speeds in rhythm to the music, my breaths even only thanks to Coal’s training. I take in the Red Temple’s peak, still far from us. Too far. Masked children and rowdy youths rush about the crowded streets, seeing little on their path. Vulnerable. These children, these fae, all so unprepared for the horrors Griorgi is about to unleash.
I curse, tripping on the hem of my dress and discarded strings of red and orange flags, while Tye pushes aside a pair of boys wanting to try their wooden swords against his steel. Even with Tye leading the way and Viper’s quint bringing up the rear—trapping Xane in the middle lest he should try to bolt—we can only move so fast. Only do so much to outpace the setting sun.
The crowds are shoulder to shoulder by the time we reach the temple, its steps filled with bards and priests, while a great bonfire crackles in a westside clearing. I stop, bracing my hands on my silk-covered thighs as my eyes follow the sun lowering toward the temple’s peak, the gilded steps indeed blazing like flames. The drums and fiddles come together now, heralding the sunset’s flaming climax.
Ta-da-da dum, dum. Ta-da-da dum.The musical march calls from all sides.Ta-da-da dum, dum. Ta-da-da dum.
A priest on the top step starts a countdown, his red robes glowing as the sun creeps toward the horizon. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven—”
The air beside the priest ripples, thickening. Gripping my attention, if not yet that of the revelers. We were right. Stars. We were right. Dread and relief seize my stomach in turn.
“Six,” says a voice that is not the priest’s. Not fae at all.
I grab Tye’s arm, my fingers digging into his muscles as two qoru step from the Gloom to desecrate the temple’s beauty. Their mottled gray skin, webbed legs, and lidless eyes send sick terror careening through me. Their mouths are open in rictus grins, sharp teeth bared hungrily.
For a second, the crowd does nothing, thinking it all but a new twist in the evening’s ceremony, cheering for the high quality of the newcomers’ costumes. Then reality starts to seep in, to kindle the fear. The crowd marks the priest’s frozen confusion. The stalled countdown. The smell of rotten flesh carried on the wind. Murmurs turn to exclamations, which turn to a rumble of rising screams. The music finally falters when two more beings step through the thickened air—one as large as River, the other smaller, with Xane’s strawberry-blond hair.
A flash of a knife steals the sunset’s glory as Griorgi slashes the king of Blaze’s throat, sending the bleeding corpse rolling down the temple steps.
30
Lera
Xane screams.
Beside me, Tye’s sword whispers free of its scabbard.
The panicked crowd around us parts like a great sea, the revelers trampling over each other in a desperate shove to get away. In no more than five heartbeats, the lane between Griorgi, standing at the top of the temple steps, the dead king bleeding at the bottom, and Xane, trembling ten paces away, is clear.
Mullen leaps toward the steps, toward his fallen king, only to be flicked aside by Griorgi’s magic like a bug striking a window.
“Ironic, isn’t it, Xane?” Griorgi says to the prince, now so pale he must hold on to one of Viper’s quint mates just to avoid falling. “You expend such effort contriving ways to hide the truth from your sire, and now it’s all for naught. Don’t feeltoohumiliated though. Klarissa is still dancing along the border, negotiating with a corpse.”
An unintelligible choking sound emerging from Xane’s throat makes me pity him for a moment, not that it does the male any good.
Griorgi beckons the prince toward him. “Now then, colt. Let us discuss your options. Namely, would you rather spare your court pain and bloodshed by acknowledging me as your liege, or shall we accomplish the same end with the encouragement of my allies?”
The two qoru, standing at ease until now, suddenly straighten and step forward to flank the Slait king.
Everything inside me focuses, my pulse and breath steadying as the field of battle unfurls before me. If Griorgi is here, River and the others can’t be far. And there are better things for us to be doing than watching the king break Xane’s resolve.
I grab Viper’s wrist. “Tell Klarissa to engage,” I whisper into his ear, moving to Tye without waiting for a response. Whether or not Griorgi manages to pull Xane—and therefore all of Blaze—over to his side, the true turn of battle rides on the portal that the bastard must still be opening. And where there is a portal, there will be River. The others too, if Griorgi is using them as leverage. The war is coming, whether I’m dressed for it or not.
Understanding my silent question, Tye holds out a hand, mouthing,“Gloom.”
The moment our fingers touch, I feel the pull, my body stepping through the invisible veil between the worlds of light and darkness. As the Gloom focuses around me, my hand tightens around Tye’s. Even after weeks of transitions, the initial moments of entering the dimness are still disorienting. Add in the blood rushing through my ears, and for a moment, I can’t work out why the pounding drums and ringing screams have suddenly cut off. Why, instead of looking up at the temple’s bloodstained steps, I now stare at the inner walls of its towering nave, the rows of pews and the great altar somehow having made it into the Gloom. All of it—even the stained-glass windows, which I imagine would normally beam at this time of day—is covered with glowing blue moss.
I’ve never seen the like. The thick, velvety parasite is everywhere. Wrapping around pillars, hanging in uneven patches along the walls, growing so thickly around the altar that the heavy stonework is barely visible beneath the blue carpet. Thick as the moss is, it seems to be moving, the tendrils shifting in a nonexistent breeze. Feeding on the grand influx of magic filling the space.
