Page 78 of From the Myths of Kings

“I don’t think the sirens went extinct,” Tezrus theorized. A trail of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, staining his colorless lips like wine. “I don’t think they betrayed the Four Kinsmen at all. I think they helped enchant the Relics at the end of the war, but something went wrong in the end.”

“The Four Kinsmen betrayed the sirens,” Saoirse breathed. “They were the ones who destroyed Anthemoessa, weren’t they?” Her eyes went glassy and unfocused, half from exhaustion and half from the shock of Tezrus’s theory. “But why?”

In her heart, Saoirse knew that was what her mother had discovered in Cira’s ancient letters. A secret history that not even the Elders knew. The mystery of those letters was why she’d been kept alive all these years, why the Order had tortured and imprisoned her instead of delivering the killing blow. Eleyera was the only one who had read Cira’s secret account. She was the only one alive who knew the whole story.

“That is what you must find out, Saoirse. Now that Selussa has three out of four Relics, you need to uncover the truth about what happened before it is too late. Before history repeats itself. You must save your mother and learn the truth.”

“You are going to help me find the truth,” she amended. “We’re going to uncover it together. You’ll fill your own scrolls with the truth and generations to come will study your texts instead of the Order’s.” Her tears fell upon the purple robes, each droplet darkening the fabric like ink. “Just stay with me.”

Tezrus shook his head sadly. “You need to finish this journey for me, child. I will join my mother and father in the earth. My soul will sing on through the stone, just like my parents and their ancestors before them. I’ve been running from death for so long, but I’ve finally come home.”

A body-shuddering cough rattled from Tezrus’s mouth as he fought to stay conscious. Flecks of blood speckled the front of his robes as he gasped for air. Saoirse tried to process what he was saying, but a thick wave of grief overwhelmed her. He looked so impossibly frail in his billowing robes, a shadow of the vitalized man she’d met in the oasis not long ago.

Saoirse could hardly see through her tears as she watched Tezrus uncork the vial of Selussa’s blood with trembling hands. An acrid scent filled her nose as the fumes from the vial wafted toward her. She could’ve sworn a wisp of smoke drifted out of the obsidian flask. Tezrus held the vial to his bloodstained cheek, catching a few drops within. The mixture of blood let out an otherworldly hiss.

“There is no escaping the Under Kingdom, I’m afraid. Grivur’s guards are already searching for us in this labyrinth. Larken probably created a new entrance point into the Garden of Gods to avoid entering through the warded gates. These chambers will be swarming with underguards, and you’ll all be executed within the hour. There is no other way out except by venturing beyond the Under Kingdom. A place not even King Grivur and his guards can access.”

Saoirse’s hands stilled at his temple. She stuttered out, “Tezrus, what are you talking about?”

“You remember what I said at the beginning of this trial? I wasn’t lying. Ancient stone-singer folklore says that the fabric between worlds is thinnest where Bloodstone runs through the earth. You can tear open a gateway into the Underworld by soaking the quartz in real blood.”

“How?”

“The legends say that the blood of a dying innocent and the blood of a god can open a gateway between the divine planes. A Blood Gate, they call it. Use my blood to tear open a hole between realms and escape from the Under Kingdom.”

“How do you know it will work? What makes you think that pouring some blood over a bed of crystals will open a portal into the Underworld?”

Despite all the impossible myths she’d seen come to life, Saoirse struggled to believe it would work. Magical artifacts and ancient creatures were one thing. Entering a mythical realm was entirely different.

Tezrus smiled faintly. “I think that’s how the sirens did it. How they imprisoned Selussa all those years ago. They banished her into a purgatory-like prison within the Underworld by tearing open a hole in the fabric between realms. They made a bargain with her, just like you once did. To seal their bargain, Selussa gave them her blood?the blood of a god?and they turned on her. The sirens used Selussa’s own blood to open the gateway and banish their queen for eternity. That must be why she hates her people so much.”

“But they would need the blood of a dying innocent too. Whose blood did they use in combination with Selussa’s?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. But opening a Blood Gate using Selussa’s own bargaining chip was an ingenious idea. She would be sealed in an isolated state of imprisonment, completely alone. She could not escape by making a tear in the fabric between worlds.”

“Because she didn’t have the blood of a dying innocent,” Saoirse breathed. “You need both to open a Blood Gate. She was utterly trapped.”

Selussa’s own distant words fluttered in her mind: I have always struggled to believe promises from the mouths of sirens. If you make this vow, you cannot break it.

All the pieces clicked into place. The sirens must’ve bargained with Selussa. They broke their bargain to banish her from this plane of existence.

Saoirse turned toward Tezrus, a sense of awe in her voice as she said, “You’re brilliant.”

The more she thought of it, the more his theory made sense. The Sea Witch had a bizarre obsession with blood. Selussa had once told her that blood was more valuable than gold, that it could unlock doors and seal promises. After all, she’d been imprisoned in the Fretum for a hundred years using blood magic, sealed behind a barrier that was only opened after Saoirse had offered her own blood during their bargain. When Selussa had been defeated the first time, she’d been sealed behind more than just a slab of stone and an enchantment of blood. She’d been sealed behind an uncrossable divine veil until the Order of Elders finally freed her. It stood to reason they could unlock a door to the Underworld using the same blood magic.

Tezrus smiled weakly at her. “That is another reason why I must die, Saoirse. You need the blood of a dying innocent. If Hasana heals me, then you won’t be able to use it to open a Blood Gate.” He let out another sickening cough, more flecks of blood dotting his robes. He pressed the corked vial in her palm. That familiar thrum of power pulsed against her skin. It felt wrong that Tezrus’s blood mingled with the blood of an evil witch.

“Tezrus…” she trailed off, voice threaded with emotion. His sacrifice was too great a cost.

“I’m an old man, child.” He placed a time-weathered hand on her cheek and wiped her tears. “I’ve lived a full life. There is still much more life to be had for you and your friends. I want you to live a life that is peaceful and abundant. One where our kingdoms do not see each other as rivals. One where souls are no longer taken in the Stone Circle decade after decade. I meant what I said when we left the oasis together: I’m done running. I lived in fear for twenty years, wasting them away in the desert. Here at the end of my days, I finally have the chance to redeem myself.”

His breaths became more and more shallow. Tremors suddenly racked his body, but Saoirse held him tight as he thrashed. After the wave of spasms momentarily receded, Tezrus blinked up at her with pain-glazed eyes.

“You t-told me once that?” he broke off with a chest-heaving cough. “t-that you wanted to remake the world.” He squeezed her hands between his palms. “Promise me you will.”

“I promise,” Saoirse vowed, her vision blurring with tears. “I will remake the world.”

Tezrus nodded, his head lolling back against her arm. He closed his eyes and braced himself for death. Tremors rippled through his frail body every few minutes, but they gradually lessened into a few twitches in his fingertips.

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