Page 75 of From the Myths of Kings

“That was the last time you’ll ever have to see his face. Once we find the Relic and free my mother, we’ll escape from the Under Kingdom and you’ll never have to set foot here again. The world will be yours.”

For the first time since capture, Saoirse felt that elusive ember of hope being stoked back to life in her heart. They were so close to freedom she could almost taste it.

The tunnel opened into a new cave, this one lit by torches of undying flame. The clusters of organic crystals had returned, but this time no unsettling reflections leered back at Saoirse. Shadows crept along the quartz walls, appearing misshapen as the torchlight danced along the geometric latticework. Paired with the blue-tinged crystal walls and the chilled air, it felt like she’d stepped into a chamber of ice. It smelled like decaying flowers and rotting fish.

Saoirse’s eyes caught on a shock of white in the corner of the room. She crept closer, brows furrowing as the mound of color gradually sharpened into a limp body. Her hand darted to her mouth. It was a woman.

A sheet of bone-white hair covered her face, but the rich velvet gown gave her identity away. The fine hairs on the nape of Saoirse’s neck stood on edge. Cracks of confusion snapped along the mental barrier in her mind, buckling like heavy footsteps against the frozen surface of a pond.

“What?”

She moved the woman’s blood-soaked hair from her face. The blood was rust-colored and old, making her hair stiff. She struggled to comprehend what she was looking at. Like the vague wisps of a dream forgotten in the light of day, her mind sluggishly took in Sloane’s lifeless body without fully understanding. Her skin was already pale in life, but she appeared completely ashen and leached of all color.

Saoirse’s eyes snapped over to where the other Sloane was standing.

“What?” she stuttered again, slowly piecing the sickening scene together. She looked back down at the broken woman on the ground, her milky-white eyes unseeing and lifeless. A trickle of dried blood leaked from the corner of her crimson-painted lips. There was no warmth in her skin, no receding flush of color.

Her wounds weren’t fresh. In fact, they appeared to be days old.

Saoirse watched as the Sloane who’d saved her from the chamber of mirrors began to grin. Pearlescent teeth sharpened and elongated between her full lips. Her pale hair lengthened to her waist, the roots turning black. It poured down her white lengths like ink spilled across a fresh sheet of ivory parchment. Her white lashes turned kohl black to match her hair. The center of her star-bright eyes imploded like a hole ripped in the heavens, a flush of black swallowing her eyes whole.

The Sea Witch unfurled her clawed fingers. A shard of glimmering moonstone sat in her palm, roughly the size of a sword pommel. The Terradrin Relic glowed with ethereal light.

Selussa had finally come.

32

SAOIRSE

Adull ringing began in Saoirse’s ears as she stared at the grinning Sea Witch.

No. No. No.

Every heartbeat clattered painfully behind her ribs. Her tongue suddenly tasted of ash and the already-chilled temperature in the room dropped below freezing. The back of her neck prickled.

“Sweet little Mer,” Selussa hissed. “You didn’t really think you could collect the third Relic before I did, did you?”

“How?” Saoirse’s voice faltered. Emotion thickened in her throat as she realized the truth of what happened.

Selussa had murdered Sloane.

Sloane who was so desperate for freedom that she’d risked everything to aid them in their escape. Sloane who had courageously disobeyed her father and faced his wrath. She was gone now. Her skin had been commandeered by the Sea Witch, a disguise to be used momentarily and then cast aside.

“We’ve been here so many times now, I didn’t think you’d be this surprised,” Selussa chuckled. “Really, I thought you would’ve guessed at my game. But you never were predictable, were you, love? You’ve never failed to be utterly stubborn and staunchly willful, ignoring all the lethal signs in favor of fragile hope.”

“Where is Tezrus?” Saoirse demanded. The old man was supposed to have gone into the Garden of Gods with Sloane to look for the Moonstone Shard. Here was Selussa with the Terradrin Relic in hand, but where was the old stone-singer?

“Tezrus’s magic rooted out the Moonstone Shard easily enough. It was buried in a thick tract of other moonstone, just where he’d hidden it twenty years ago. He heard its call and followed the sound like a hound on a scent. After we located the Relic, I left him for dead.”

Dead? Saoirse felt dizzy. Her heart lurched as she thought of the old man and his kind eyes. It was her fault. She should’ve been there to protect him. He’d left the Soundless Oasis and sacrificed everything to join them on the hunt for the Relics, and in the end, he’d died alone deep within the Garden of Gods.

“How long were you posing as Sloane?” Saoirse choked out. “How long were you wearing her flesh like a cloak?” Searing anger quickly ate away her shock. Her hands fisted at her sides as her hatred for the Sea Witch flared to life. Selussa had stolen both Sloane and Tezrus’s lives in a callous stride.

“A week or so. I’ll admit that when I arrived on Terradrin’s shores, I wasn’t entirely sure how to find the Relic. I knew you were sailing up the coast in your pitiful little merchant ship and I had to act fast. Fortunately, my beast stalled your progress and bought me a little more time. I would’ve sent more after you if your little dragon hadn’t come along.” A flicker of annoyance flashed in her dark eyes as she spoke of Kaja. She waved a flippant hand, nails flashing in the torchlight.

A week? Selussa had been parading around as Sloane for days? Nausea roiled in her stomach. Every secret meeting flashed in her mind. The tribute’s banquet. The stolen whispers in the cell block, instructing them on how to survive the trials. Their hug in the chamber of mirrors.

It had all been Selussa.

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