Page 312 of Heat of the Everflame

“I must insist, Your Majesty. Only Montios Descended may go beyond this point.”

“But I’m not a Montios Descended.”

“Go on,” Luther urged. “I’ll stay with your mother.” He flashed a teasingly suspicious stare at the little girl. “You look very dangerous. You won’t hurt us, will you?”

She giggled and shook her head emphatically.

I eyed the adults who accompanied her. “You give your word they’ll be safe here?”

They bowed their heads low, which I had no choice but to take as their agreement.

My mother lagged behind, studying the corridor and its entrance with rapt concentration. The thought of leaving her and Luther alone had me wondering if it was the Montios Descended I should really be worried about.

“Mother?” I called out.

Her gaze snapped to me. “Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. We’ll be fine.” She hurried over, pulling me into an awkward embrace, then hissing in my ear. “Pay close attention. Even the other Descended don’t know what goes on here. Look for maps that show their cities or any sign of weapons stockpiles. And see if you can find any other way in or out.”

I jerked back sharply. Was she trying to assign me aGuardiansmission?

I pried her arms off before she could spot my disgust. I’d learned my lesson about turning information over to the rebels. I wouldn’t be doing it again—not even for her.

I walked beside the elderly woman and the little girl while the other Descended fell into a line in our trail. We continued in silence down the corridor until it ended in a slab of solid rock.

The woman placed her palm against it. At her touch, a series of lines surfaced as if being carved from within. A doorway appeared with the Montios sigil etched into its face then slid away, opening a path for us to enter.

We continued on, and the corridor opened up to a brightly lit atrium. The high ceiling looked to be glass, but from the brisk bite in the air, I suspected it was cast from solid ice. It was a clever, staggered design that left snow lightly gathered onits surface—to conceal it from view, I guessed—while allowing sunlight to diffuse through in a muted glow.

The atrium was scattered with towering stone columns, and firelit torches threw dancing swirls of amber across the walls. At the center of the room, a crystal-clear statue of the goddess Montios loomed tall, with candles in clear jars lining the steps leading up to its stone base.

It was a simple place, lacking the garish opulence of Lumnos, but there was a serene beauty to it all the same. I sensed innately that this was a place of reflection, a haven for tranquility and thought. Though Descended wove their way through the columns in small groups, the whispers of their robes carried further than their voices.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.

“I’m pleased you like it,” the woman answered.

I startled at her voice—strong and steady, unafraid to disturb the sanctity of the quiet.

“You... talk,” I said, a little stupidly.

She smiled. “Yes, I do.” Her head lowered. “Welcome to Montios, Your Majesty.”

Behind her, the other Descended bowed their heads again. I returned the gesture, feeling a mix of relief and disquiet at their politeness. There wasn’t a single scowl, sneer, or suspicious glare among them. I didn’t receive this kind of warm welcome from my own subjects, let alone those of a foreign realm I was in uninvited.

The woman turned to the child and gave her a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Thank you, Maybell. Service is a virtue, and you served your people well.”

The girl beamed proudly for a moment, then quickly wiped the expression away and lowered her chin. “Let us seek virtue in all things,” she said softly, the words sounding automatic.

“Will you serve us once more and fetch your father to remove Her Majesty’s chains?”

“Yes, Councilor Hepta.” The girl threw a shy smile at me before scurrying off down a nearby hall.

The woman—Hepta—beckoned me to follow. As a group, we strode across the heart of the soaring atrium. I cringed at the loud screech of my shackles as they dragged across the stone floor.

“Why do your people not speak to outsiders?” I asked.

“Blessed Mother Montios made these mountains her home because she believed being isolated and spending time in silence enhances the mind and opens us to higher truths. We carry on those same teachings today.”

I quickly bit back my own terse thoughts. What good was ahigher truthif you kept it secret from everyone else?

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