Page 16 of A Reign of Malice
She takes most of the weight of the painting, and together, we set it carefully on the floor, keeping it leaned against the wall a few feet away.
There are carvings in the stone. Some of them are the same as the runes outside, but around them, there’s a long rectangle. I tilt my head, trying to understand what I’m seeing when Clara chuckles.
“There’s the door we’ve been looking for,” she says, pointing to a smaller circle on the right. “That’s the handle.”
“That’s a drawing. Not a door. It has to mean something else.” At least, I hope so because there’s no way to open this, and I don’t know enough about runes to understand what the symbols mean—or how to use them.
Clara shakes her head. “Oh, this is a door. There’s no doubt about it. We just don’t have the key. Not yet anyway.”
“What do you mean?” I practically plead as my heart races. The need to get beyond this wall grows the longer we stand here. Pinpricks of energy seep into my skin, calling me forward, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to press myself against the wall.
Clara crosses her arms, staring intently at the glowing designs. “I’ve read about this.”
I snap my gaze to her. “When? Where? What do you know?”
Her brows knit together, frustration flitting across her face. “I don’t remember exactly. It was something I came across in my spare time when I was researching Alcaris’s older texts—something about magic bound by sacrifice.” She exhales loudly, stepping back. “I need to find that book.”
“Then do it.” I turn back to the markings, my fingers hovering just above them. “Maybe I can…”
A weightless sensation overtakes me—a hollowness spreading through my chest. My vision falters, the world around me spinning, breaking apart like shards of shattered glass.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the pain to stop.
When I open them again, I’m not in the hallway with Clara anymore.
I’m in a cave. Well, I think I am.
My body is shimmering, and if I look close enough, it’s as if I’m transparent.
Holy shit, have I somehow projected myself somewhere? Or did I die?
I press my hands over my arms. There’s still a solidness to my form. I’m not a ghost, so that’s good. But I’m not sure if my spirit being forced out of my body is any better.
And I’m not alone.
A heavy dampness clings to the air, thick with the scent of earth, rock, and something else—something sharp, metallic.
Blood.
I stay in the shadows, my breath shallow as I scan the cavernous space. Stalactites hang from the ceiling like jagged teeth, and a faint trickle of water echoes through the silence.
Then, a pair of eyes—bright, piercing blue—snap upward, locking onto me.
A shudder rolls down my spine.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he says, his voice low, rough—haunted.
I swallow hard. “Where ishere?”
“My own personal hell.”
Besides his eyes, I can’t see much. The long tangle of hair and thick beard obscure most of his face, and the dim lighting does little to reveal more, but one thing I don’t miss are the chains binding him.
Thick, blackened iron shackles bolt him to the rock wall, wrapping around his wrists with what I assume to be some sort of enchanted steel. He’s trapped in a trench—water up to his waist, forming a circular pit around him, as if meant to cage him there forever.
Something in my chest clenches painfully.
I take a single step forward, my foot barely skimming the slick stone. The air around me presses in, forcing me to my knees, and it’s as if my heart is being shattered into a million tiny pieces before coming back together.
