Page 108 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“Thank fates, someone we can understand,” he speaks softly.

“But can we trust him?”

“We don’t have to trust him to get information from him. Would you rather fight through their armies?” The brutes who dragged us here hover in the background, waiting.

I sigh. “I suppose we do not have much other choice.”

Slowly, we move past the guard, side by side.

The man who waits is ancient. I cannot guess how old—his hollowed cheeks, sparse white hair, and age-spotted scalp suggest he lives far beyond his mortal kind. But it’s his eyes that are the most unsettling, his irises reminding me of a murky swamp. At first, I wonder if he can even see, but the way his pupils bore into me, I’m sure he can.

He bows again. “We have prayed for the kal’ana to arrive, and here you are.” His accent is thick and harsh, but Tyree is right. It is a relief to have someone who speaks our language.

That’s the second time he’s used that term. I open my mouth to ask what this kal’ana is.

“Where are we?” Tyree cuts in, skipping pleasantries.

The man smiles, showing off gray, decayed teeth. He seems unfazed by Tyree’s brusque manner. “You are inside the gates of the Temple of Light, and you are safe here.”

“Yes, but which realm?” Tyree pushes.

“You are in Udrel.”

30

Atticus

The metal cuffs dig into my ankles and wrists as the guards usher me along the corridor, the chains scraping stone. They rushed into my cage this morning as I was drifting off after a night of mentally playing through escape scenarios. With seven swords pressed against my body, I had little choice but to lie still while they affixed them.

It’s as if they knew what I had planned.

At least the journey to my execution is picturesque. Morning rays highlight drops from last night’s rain on the petals and leaves of a nearby garden, where small children chase birds. This humble side of the palace is different from the ostentatious one I saw yesterday. More peaceful, even with fifteen guards at my side.

“Up!” The guard prods my back with his gauntlet, directing me toward yet another set of stairs to the top floor. Whatever Cheral has planned, it will happen up there. “Faster!”

“It’s not easy, you know.” I take my time—much to their annoyance—but, really, I’m straining against the chains with each step. I’ve had years of practice escaping similar binds in training. Whatever this metal is, it will not break, and it bites.

Heavy doors wait ahead, with more guards on either side.

My adrenaline rushes with my anxiety as they usher me inside.

It’s the same sitting room as yesterday. There are no children or wives today, though. There is only King Cheral, sitting in his customary white chair. This is far too nice a room for an execution. But I did behead a lord in my own throne room, so who am I to judge?

“Our guest seems on edge this morning.” King Cheral takes a long sip from his mug. “Did you not sleep well?”

“My sleep was delightful. Thank you for asking,” I lie.

“The guards said you seemed restless. Are the accommodations not to your satisfaction?”

I snort. Is that what the guards said … I would be foolish to think the king doesn’t know about my visitor. He likely has his conjurer spying on me through the rodents.

“Come,” he beckons, waving me toward him. “Enjoy a morning tea.”

“Tea.”

“Yes. That is what we call it. Is that not what Islorians call it?”

What is this new game he plays, trying to lull me into a false sense of safety?

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