Page 66 of Hell's Secret Omega

Leuther can’t know the significance of the spot, but he must have sensed it was important. Mezor has no intention of letting him stake his claim here, but it will have to wait.

A well-trod path leads from the cairn into the wild lands. He follows it until he comes upon an open space that’s been cleared and leveled. A shallow pit is laid with tracks leading into a yawning hole in the earth. It’s wide enough for three demons abreast, but not tall enough for Mezor to enter without stooping. No guards are posted. No torches illuminate the black.

It’s Leuther’s tunnel. It looks abandoned—but why?

Inside, it’s silent. The ground slopes quickly, taking him below the pit. It’s completely dark, and he finds his way by touch. After a while the slope eases up, and he encounters the reason for the tunnel’s emptiness: water.

It must be the same flood that swept through the grotto.

The water level rises quickly as the tunnel angles downward. The noise of his passage echoes back at him, ripples slapping the tunnel walls. Then, abruptly, the ground gives way under his feet and he slides into water up to his chest.

Cursing, he drags himself back up the muddy slope to higher ground. If the flood has eroded the tunnel’s integrity he has no choice—he’ll have to use the gate.

He turns back.

Outside, the half-finished tower looms large. Leuther will build one, then another, then a wall between them that can be patrolled by watchers. Soon the wall will encircle an entire piece of the wilds, claiming it for Leuther’s own. A symbol of a new order.

What does it really matter? The wilds of Hell are a home that once was. They don’t belong to the shepherd gods anymore—and they certainly don’t belong to Mezor, who hides in his cave while corruption ravages the land.

But the Court is poison, grown from a twisted seed, and he hates seeing its taint spread. Though the King no longer sits on the throne, his influence still infects his once-followers from afar.

All except Cyrus.

He searches the bond, but he can feel nothing from Cyrus from so far away. His primus scratches at the walls of his mind, anxious to find his mate and make sure he’s safe.

Not my mate, he tells it, but the beast won’t be soothed. Somehow Mezor failed to guard himself—or rather, he foolishly believed hecould, that he wouldn’t be laid bare by Cyrus, with his sweetness and sharp edges and his need. Cyrus welcomed him in—to his nest, to his body. To his very soul. Now Mezor will pay for his arrogance with his heart.

When he finds Cyrus, he’ll take him to the King. Their charade will end. Cyrus will be alone once more.

Alone, but safe.

Mount Hythe looms in the distance as he makes his return. An unusual flicker of light catches his eye. Up the mountain’s flanks run bright threads, pulsing occasionally then going dark. Powerful enough to be seen across the pit, the sight raises goosebumps. Could they be the roots of the world trees, already transforming the corruption of his world into new energy?

As he watches, the lights flare—so bright that for a moment it looks like the mountain is on fire. Then, deep down, an answering flicker comes from the bond. Muted but there.

Whatever’s happening inside the mountain, Cyrus bears witness.

Chapter 38

CYRUS

Cyrus lies stillagainst the rock too tired to move or think. He must fall into unconsciousness, because the next time someone speaks it jolts him awake.

“The water’s rising,” one of the prisoners hisses. There’s splashing and clanking. The chain pulls, jerking him against the rock and igniting fresh fire up his back.

Suddenly he’s angry. “Do something about it, then!”

The chain yanks again and they ignore him.

Cyrus groans.Will I truly drown at the bottom of this filthy hole, alone?

Ekko’s cage is barely twenty feet above his head. He shouldactinstead of wallowing in self-pity. Maybe he deluded himself into believing the King would uphold his end of their bargain—if he entered the Hellspring now he could be doomed to the same fate as General Leuther. If that’s true, he’s the only one who can help himself now—and help Ekko.

Even if it’s not true, he can’t see himself stepping into those waters after what they witnessed.

With stiff, frozen fingers he reaches into the shallow water, where the lock-pick set is still hidden under the leather tongue of his boot. He unrolls it carefully. The thick cloth of its housingis stiff and soaked through. One of the picks drops into the water with a splash as he fumbles with it. He freezes, waiting for someone to take notice. But no one does.

He curls his hand and plucks at the catch on his cuffs. The angle is difficult, pushing his cramped muscles to their limit. His hands tremble. It takes several attempts to even get the pick into the hole. Cyrus takes a deep breath against the panicky frustration that threatens to overtake him.

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