Page 40 of Lera of Lunos
As my eyes rove over the dim, cavernous hall from our shadowed hideout at the edge, it takes me a moment to register what I’m seeing, but then my heart leaps into my throat. Only Tye’s hand on my arm keeps me from sprinting across the dull marble floor.
At the far end of the room, Shade and Coal kneel beside each other, bodies heavy with exhaustion. I see no immediate restraints, but the glazed pain in their eyes fills in the gaps—some dark power of Griorgi’s keeps them and their magic caged. As do the half dozen qoru surrounding them, using blades and boots to clear moss-free patches for themselves. Wearing little beyond boots, loincloths, and sword belts, the qoru are taking no chances with the moss burning their exposed gray skin.
In the open space before the raised sanctuary and its altar, River crouches before an elaborate design painted in harsh, dark-red strokes on the stone floor.Blood, my mind whispers. A warped version of a seven-pointed star, about the width of a barn door, with too many dashes and swirls and carefully painted symbols for me to track. With a quick slice of his knife, River adds another gash to his already-bleeding forearm. The blood catches on his dark metal cuff before overflowing and continuing down to the floor.
My throat burns with acid and tears. Even in the perverted light of the Gloom, River looks too pale. Ill. Dark bags hang under his eyes, and his hair is matted to his forehead and temples. Such a far cry from the clean, upright commander I’m used to that I can barely believe it’s him. A thin stream of blood trickles from his cut limb, that intricate seven-pointed painting soaking it up hungrily. Evil wafts from the rune, as stomach-turning as the qoru’s stench. I’ve no notion of how River can bear to stand there, when not even the moss comes near. An island of bare stone in a blue velvet sea.
“Can you move no faster?” a familiar, deathly voice demands from an invisible place just above the rune, where the portal to Mors is brewing into existence. Jawrar.
“I could. So long as you little mind the qoru coming through in pieces,” River says, his steady tone strong enough to fool most beings. But not me. Not Tye either, who releases a small, protective growl. River lifts his face, his eyes widening for a moment at the sight of us, before lowering it again quickly. “Plus, I’m not doing anything drastic until my father returns.”
Just as the cool hilt of a blade touches my palm, Tye sliding me a spare sword, Jawrar and four more qoru step through thick nothingness into the nave. The emperor strides past River with an annoyed huff.
For a moment, his gleaming blood-red eyes are all I can see. Then the mottled gray skin stretching over misshapen bones. The jewel-encrusted sash, joined now by a ruby-studded sword belt that looks eerily similar to Griorgi’s. The emperor’s sharp teeth clack and he sniffs the air. The hair on the back of my neck rises.
“Good thing the stars sent us a snack while we wait,” he says. He snaps his fingers at his accompanying henchmen, who break into a run toward Tye and me immediately, while their disciplined companions maintain their previous stations.
Tye raises a large shield around us but it’s too late. I gasp as the Mors nightmares rip the protection to shreds without so much as tripping. They are used to such magics from the slaves they keep.
My males’ voices rise in warning, as does my own leaping heart. Raising the sword Tye gave me, I hold the tip between me and the approaching beasts. Force myself to inhale. Judge the speed of approach, the stench that somehow grows even more pungent. Four steps. Three. One. Lunging forward just as the first of the qoru enters my range, I swing for its thin, veiny neck.
My sword slices the air, an extension of my arm after all of Coal’s drills. For a moment, I think it’s someone else inside my body, stepping and swinging and closing in for the kill. I’m as surprised as the qoru is when the sharp edge of my blade bites into its flesh. Hits bone.
Black liquid flows from the wound, the stench making my stomach turn. In my side vision, I see two more qoru rushing up. I yank back my sword, cursing when the blade remains stuck in the bone. My heart races, my arms heaving with all my might.
A fist jams into my gut, stopping my breath. Beside me, a trio of qoru take Tye to his knees.
I pull desperately on the sword, which finally slides free of the dead body just as a pair of gray arms clamps around my waist. The qoru’s wet breath skitters over the back of my neck, the sound of its clicking teeth like nails on slate. Switching my hold on the sword, I aim the blade behind me, mapping its path in my mind’s eye.
A second pair of qoru hands is on me before I can finish the blow, long gray fingers gripping my sword hand. A moment later, pain explodes in my wrist, the crack of bone and my own scream sounding too dull in the Gloom.
“Lera!” Shade’s voice reaches me through the haze of pain. Before I can scream again, Shade stands, his yellow eyes flashing wildly.
“No!” River shouts.
Coal grabs for Shade and misses, his sluggish movements sending a different brand of agony through me.
Ignoring the males’ warnings, Shade leaps into the air toward me and—
And slams into nothingness. The very air shimmers with a momentary blackness, slamming the male back toward Coal. Shade falls into a crumpled heap on the floor, his body arching in a horrid spasm. A trickle of blood pours from his mouth, the overgrown moss stretching toward it hungrily until Coal sweeps it back with his boot, knocking over a pew in the process.
I sob.
Jawrar inhales deeply, smacking his lipless mouth as if savoring a delicate wine, while Shade whimpers, his body shifting from wolf to male and back again, over and over.
A knife edge presses against the far edge of my throat, preparing to slice. I close my eyes, unable to watch my males lose another quint mate.
“Keep her alive,” Jawrar says, a smile in his croaking voice. “Griorgi’s spawn will become useless too early otherwise.”
The knife lifts away.
A deep laugh that could have been River’s fills the room as Griorgi steps into the Gloom with Xane. Tossing the prince onto the floor beside the altar, Griorgi watches him flop about like a fish, recoiling from the burning moss until he finally collects himself enough to rise into a kneeling position.
“I’m starting to understand the appeal of your persuasion methods, Jawrar,” the king says. “Establishing a hierarchy amidst the cattle might be a messy business, but it does pay dividends.”
“Yes. It does.” Tearing his gaze away from Shade’s suffering, Jawrar turns his attention to Griorgi. “Once we unite and you add the lesser fae and mortals into your stable, you will discover the benefits you’ve long been denied. Even the dumber beasts can have utility or pleasures to offer, when motivated correctly. Now, let’s bring the others through and get this done.”
“Of course.” Striding up to the rune beside River, Griorgi slices his own wrist, using the blood to make a correction to the drawing. At once, the air above the rune turns into liquid night, stretching up slowly into a pitch-black archway that sends waves of terror through every fiber of my being.
