Page 95 of Crown of Iron
A tall menacing figure stands at the end of the corridor, his dark eyes trained on us. I war with my frazzled nerves, pushing past them to let my anger take precedence. I hold my dagger in front of me and say, “Do it. Release your gift and I swear to the Statera I will use it to burn you alive, Kyron.”
He licks his lips and his nostrils flare. “I'm here to help. I can get you out of here.”
With a humorless laugh, I say, “You're fucking unbelievable. Do you think for a moment that I trust you?”
“What other choice do you have?”
None. We’re out of options and minutes away from fighting for our lives against warriors blessed with an onslaught of powers. It’s impossible for me to control them all and defend my father. This is a gamble I can't take, but our chances for survival are better if Kyron is my only worry.
I grip my dagger, turning my knuckles white, and carefully closethe space between us. He doesn't move as I press the tip of the blade to the pulsating vein on the side of his neck. “If you betray meagain,I will slit your throat.”
“Our war will come, but not this day, Raelle,” he says, remaining the epitome of calm
This is it. This is where we stand from here forward. He’s not my ally, my friend, my lover. He is the prince who stands on the opposite side of what I believe in, and one day, we will face each other with our armies behind us. This is what he has chosen to turn our parah bond into. A war.
“We are running out of time, Raelle. You’re going to have to trust him,” Papa says.
I pull my stare from Kyron and glance at Papa, searching for any sign he is under duress. Despite his haggard appearance, he’s resolute. He trusts the Stigian prince to lead us to safety and wants me to do the same.
“All right,” I say, lowering my dagger.
With a curt nod, Kyron leads the way, and I fall in line with him, my blade ready. We maneuver through multiple passageways and down two sets of stairs. The corridors narrow and mold and dust linger in the air. I wonder if he is taking us to another dungeon until we arrive at an ornate gate at the end of a dirt tunnel. Like he has done this a hundred times before, he wiggles a rock out of the wall, revealing a rusted key. He slips it into the lock, opens the gate, and lets us pass before securing it.
Voices echo from the way we came, shouting orders to search high and low for me and my father.
“Shit,” I hiss.
“Hurry,” Kyron says, guiding us further into the passage.
Small round lights along the path illuminate the ground and the crypts aligning each side. Stone images of the dead adorn the tops of their final resting place, and I recognize many of the stoic faces of past Pliris kings and queens staring at us.
“Where are you taking us?” I ask, studying the engravings as we pass.
Kyron doesn't answer but stops before a crypt and shoves at the lid protecting the dead body inside. What is he doing? I can't crawl inside a casket with a dead body. Not only is it revolting, but disrespectful. My hand darts out to stop him, but the stone budges and slides away as if on a hinge.
“This passage will take you to the border,” he says.
I lean forward, dreading what I’ll find inside the tomb. But it's empty. Well, almost. A weathered ladder reaches down into a pitch-black hole. My gaze darts back to Kyron. “How can we trust you?”
“You can't, but you can trust your instincts. It's the last tunnel used to smuggle the Cyffreds out of Stigian. You saw it on the map that night in the tavern.”
The beat of heavy footsteps ricochets off the dirt walls, followed by the rattling of the gate. I push Papa toward the crypt, and Kyron helps him over the side and onto the first rung of the ladder.
Keys jingle at the gate, and I pivot to look the way we came. We only have seconds left.
“Raelle,” Kyron says, pulling on my arm.
I yank it away and hurry into the coffin. My foot reaches the top of the ladder, and Kyron places his hand on top of mine. “I'm sorry. If there was another way, I?—”
“Don't. An apology won't heal the damage you've done. Make no mistake, you are my enemy, and I will fight for your ruin.”
He combs an unruly strand of hair out of his eyes and says, “I don't regret it.”
“And that’s why I’ll always hate you, Kyron.”
This is our last moment together. We should be exchanging vows of our devotion and our need for the other. We should say heartfelt goodbyes, but he made his choice and forced me into mine. Nothing can remain between us but animosity.
The warm caress of his power brushes against me, and a flame forms in the center of his palm. “You will need it down there.”
