Page 73 of From the Myths of Kings

A horrifying thought formed in Rook’s mind. “What if Sloane was playing us all along? What if she knew this would happen? What if this was all part of Grivur’s game?”

Hasana shook her head, eyeing the gleaming planes of crystal warily. “I don’t think Sloane knew about this. Perhaps Grivur grew suspicious and deemed it best not to disclose everything about the final trial to her. She may have convinced him to host the third game in the Garden of Gods, but perhaps he planned more without her knowledge. Sloane is as desperate to escape the Under Kingdom as we are. She would’ve warned us this would happen if she knew.”

Rook cast his gaze about the chamber, trying to ignore the rising panic that had begun tingling in his fingertips. If Sloane had made good on her promise and slipped through the gates with Tezrus, the old man could feasibly use his stone-singing abilities to find them in the labyrinth. From what little Rook understood of stone-singing magic, Tezrus could detect changes in rock and sense new crystal formations in the earth like a Healer identifying infection in the body. Maybe he’d be able to leverage his magic and follow the trail of diamonds that had erupted through the Garden of Gods like wildfire. If he hadn’t burned up all his magic searching for the Terradrin Relic, of course.

“We should try to find them,” Hasana said decidedly. “We shouldn’t stay idle, waiting for them to find us.”

Rook nodded wearily and raked a hand through his hair. Some of the adrenaline had worn off, giving way to the pain he’d been trying desperately to ignore. He couldn’t remember when the wound in his abdomen had started throbbing again. His skin had been gloriously free of fever for the past several days, but that creeping flush of festering heat had begun to worm its way back through his flesh. He could feel the wound flickering back to life like a fire that refused to be tamped out, reminding him that death was still on his heels even if it had been temporarily warded away.

Hasana noticed his sudden silence, her perceptive Healer’s eyes immediately scanning him for signs of injury and illness. She strode over to him, brow furrowed. “Let me see.”

Rook obediently lifted the hem of his shirt. Hasana inspected his abdomen, eyes turning molten with magic as she surveyed the wound. Her glowing palms gilded the crystal walls with warmth, making its citrine surface turn a honey-colored hue. Refracted light patterned the floor with geometric slices of gold. He closed his eyes as Hasana placed her hands against his stinging flesh. The familiar wave of her magic poured into his skin, sinking through sinew and bone, targeting the poison in his blood. Hasana’s ministrations would never fully mend the wound, but he could feel her magic temporarily dulling the fever and soothing his inflamed skin.

As Rook absorbed the magic, he was reminded of another walk with Hasana. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d found him that morning in the hanging gardens of Bezhad. They’d wandered through the lush gardens for an hour, speaking of her dying father and the overwhelming responsibility of a kingdom on her shoulders.

He’d been bitter and sullen in Bezhad, a prisoner to his grief. At the time, his preoccupation with Raven and Saoirse’s separate betrayals had distracted him from what was standing right in front of him.

Hasana’s distant words drifted through his memory: If you want to weather this storm, you need to let others help you. Now, they found themselves wandering through a different kind of garden, one with sharp edges and death lurking under a sparkling crust of diamond. And yet, he felt freer than he had in the hanging gardens, released from the shackles of his suffocating pain. There was a bitter irony in knowing that even as a prisoner in the Under Kingdom, Rook had somehow become liberated from the mental cage he’d been trapped behind for the past eight years.

Hasana lifted her palms from his abdomen, the light glowing in her veins receding like dying embers. He felt infinitely better, but the lingering shadow of Selussa’s knife was still lodged in his skin. Deep in his bones, Rook knew the fever would return with a vengeance. For some reason, he got the sense his wound would not be so easily tempered next time. He had repelled fate for long enough and the threads of death were coming for him, pulling tighter each time Hasana temporarily healed him.

“Thank you,” he rasped. “For everything.” He hoped Hasana knew he was thanking her for far more than a simple healing session. He didn’t deserve her kindness or her faith. He didn’t deserve the second chance at life she’d so graciously given him. He could spend a lifetime trying to pay back the debts he owed and never repay her generosity.

More of her previous words returned to him: Being merciless is what allowed our ancestors to become tyrants. She’d defended his honor even when he was acting like a miserable wretch. She’d believed in his ability to break the cycle of his ancestors even when he couldn’t believe it himself. Her unwavering compassion was a deeper assurance than even Eros or Veila had ever offered him. It went beyond fraternal loyalty or blood; it was genuine friendship.

Hasana’s eyes?now returned to their usual golden brown?met his own. She twined their fingers together gently, a platonic gesture that spoke more than words. As she squeezed his hands, Rook knew she understood the deeper meaning behind his thanks. He pulled her into a hug, tears pricking in his eyes.

“After we get out of here, we’ll free Noora and Adresin and the rest of the rebels,” he promised. “And then you’ll lead all of Revelore to freedom.”

31

SAOIRSE

After she had successfully passed through the garden gates, the invisible wards passing over her with a strange thrumming, Saoirse braced herself for the cavern to collapse into chaos in much the same way it had moments after Hasana and Rook had entered.

Instead of fragments of crystal exploding out of the floor, the cold garden of gemstones was utterly still as Neia joined her in the cave. Saoirse ached for a sword. Her hand instinctively went to her waist, but she found no reassuring pommel beneath her fingers. After she’d abandoned her outer clothes deep within the flooded tunnels with Rook, she’d been given a simple tunic and leathers to wear for the final trial. Without any means to protect herself, she felt incredibly vulnerable and exposed as the gleaming shards of crystal hung menacingly over their heads, waiting to drop like melted icicles in the sun. Saoirse exchanged a wary look with Neia. Already, their feeble plan had veered off course and the trial had only just started.

“Let’s go,” Neia maintained. “We’ll find Rook and Hasana and continue with the plan. Our separation is only a minor setback.”

Saoirse chewed on the inside of her mouth anxiously. Despite Neia’s confidence, she couldn’t shake the feeling the final trial’s turbulent commencement was an omen of things to come. She turned away from the opening of the Garden of Gods and trailed after Neia as she rounded a sparkling crystal stalactite. She prayed Sloane and Tezrus would soon follow, but she didn’t dare stop to look over her shoulder.

The stone chamber had been completely rearranged, with new growths of crystal and panels of cloudy diamond creating walls and obstructions in the middle of the regular path. Some tunnels appeared completely blocked off by translucent sheets of impenetrable quartz. Were Rook and Hasana just on the other side, fighting for a way out? Saoirse’s pulse roared in her ears as she stared at each glittering barricade, wondering if they were trapped within a dazzling cage of crystal just beyond reach. Were they screaming? Were the stone walls absorbing their cries for help? Her heart twisted painfully in her chest at the morbid thought.

No, she told herself. They’re all right. Both were resourceful and even if they were trapped somewhere, Tezrus would be able to pinpoint their location within the Garden of Gods using his stone-singing abilities. Saoirse shoved her worries back behind the fortress in her mind. She imagined a crystalline exterior forming over her rising emotions, sealing them into submission just like the sheets of gemstone surrounding them. If she couldn’t remain detached from her anxiety, one compulsive decision could jeopardize the plan.

Chips of agate jutted out from the walls like unfurling flower petals. Bands of color shot through the stone, appearing to move like rippling water as they passed by. The lace-like edges that scattered and swirled through the rock looked like freshly tilled earth. The various shades of green reminded Saoirse of clinging moss, further reinforcing the cave’s namesake. But despite its obvious splendor, the Garden of Gods felt austere and cold, a mere imitation of the life and greenery found on the surface world.

“This is the chamber of agate,” Neia confirmed. “There should be a left turn up ahead.” True to Sloane’s description from the night before, the path split off into three directions, each tunnel brimming with shining crystals of various colors. They took the left path and entered the amethyst tunnels.

Saoirse’s breath caught in her throat. The walls were carpeted in deep purple, each jagged edge of amethyst glittering with violet fractals that appeared infinite. Every inch of the tunnel was lined with geodes, small shards pointing inward toward the center of the passageway. It was beautiful and suffocating all at once, the ceiling and walls seeming to close in on them. After several minutes of walking, the amethyst tunnel opened into an adjoining chamber cloaked in shadow. The moment they slipped out of the tight corridor of quartz, the knot of fear loosened in Saoirse’s chest, and it felt easier to breathe.

If she remembered correctly, they needed to turn left once more. She caught sight of the next tunnel and stepped forward. The earth buckled underneath her foot, and suddenly she was falling.

“Saoirse!”

She slipped into the earth, her body going weightless as the floor collapsed out from under her. She clawed at the sides of the crevice as Neia reached from above, hands flailing wildly. Her fingernails split as she dug them into the collapsing floor, panic flaring to life as she continued falling through the narrow fissure.

“Saoirse!” Neia screamed again.

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