Page 58 of Fate Promised

Juri rotated underneath her, taking all the impact for them as his back slammed into the ground. She bounced off his chest and air whooshed from her lungs, but she didn’t hit anything other than warm, solid vulk. He rolled, placing her gently on the ground. “Triska, are you all right? Talk to me.”

She sucked in air and clawed at her chest. It still burned like someone had stabbed her with a hot poker. She gasped and choked. “What happened?”

Juri twisted, peering up the stairs. A dark figure stood at the top, arms outstretched, his black robes whirling around him. “We need to stop Hoyt. Koschei, help Triska.” He roared and bounded forward.

Koschei stepped away from Arrow and raced to her side. Juri leaped for the staircase as a green flash rent the air. The staircase—their only way back to Ulterra—vanished, but a swirling black mass, like a thick cloud, circled in a tight vortex where it once stood.

Juri flew through the now-empty air and landed in a crouch, staring upward. “He’s gone, but what is that?”

Koschei raised his hands. Purple-tinged lightning streaked from his palms, and his eyes had turned a light eerie color. With one whoosh, he flung his arm at the whorls of black. Purple lightning snapped, and magic sizzled, scenting the air with ozone. Wind whipped around them, and a low boom shook the ground. The dark cloud exploded, and all the black drifted away. Koschei sagged, panting. “I don’t know how he opened the old junction, but no necromancer is going to have control of it. This is my domain.”

Juri stared up at the sky, his eyes turning red. “Can Hoyt return? Can he get down here?”

“No. My blast destroyed his spell which was keeping the connection between Ulterra and Peklo open.” He pointed at a faint, lavender cloud which shimmered where the stairs had appeared. “It’s sealed shut from this side. Hoyt can’t return.”

Juri strode back to her side. “Where’s Fergal? Hoyt hit her with magic hard, she needs healing.” He knelt at her side. “How are you feeling?”

The pain in her chest was fading, and she sat up, finally drawing in a full breath. The stench of rotten eggs hit her full in the face. She coughed, and her eyes watered. Koschei dropped to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. His hand lit up, warming her skin where he touched it. The lingering pain faded away.

Staring at Koschei, she said, “Your magic is back.”

Koschei raised his hands. “So it appears.” He studied her. “A bolt hit you that should have killed you.”

Triska reached up and pulled out the necklace from under her shirt. It glowed red. “It hit this.”

Koschei leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

“A special ring.”

“A magic ring? It probably saved your life.”

Triska cradled the ring in her palm. Of course, it had. She’d always said it was a good luck charm. She and Juri locked gazes. “A special ring, anyway.”

Triska got her feet under her and stood. Juri put his arm around her. “Are you sure you feel all right?”

She nodded but leaned against him anyway, wanting to be close.

They stood at the base of a staircase inside a garden of sorts. A wiry grayish purple plant with long drooping leaves that looked more like bean pods than foliage, enclosed the space. Vicious thorns jutted out from its branches, promising pain to any who came too close. Almost hidden by the purple, thorned hedges, gates opened out of the courtyard into the wider expanse of Peklo. Beyond, a hint of red sand and the dark sea was visible, winking between the ornate bars of the gates.

Triska spun around. The grounds swept up to the back of a grand palace built of bone-white marble. Wide, curved stairs led to a small portico, and Arrow waddled from a copse of trees in front of it, Fergal still in his mouth.

Juri turned to Koschei. “Can you call the staircase so we can return?”

Koschei shook his head. “No. I’m no longer a guardian. I can’t call forth the crossing place any longer.”

Triska’s stomach dropped. They were stuck here?

Juri jerked his chin toward the palace. “This place yours? Can we make it secure?” His claws were still out, and his head swiveled left and right as he surveyed the grounds.

Koschei snorted. “Of course. My beautiful palace can take care of us.”

Triska scarcely noticed the swept, reddish ground filled with lush trees as they jogged to the palace. Koschei strode up the steps to the immense carved door with his crest in the center. He positioned his hand in the middle of the crest, and the door parted with a whisper of air.

A chilly air breathed out of the opening, and the interior was dark and silent. As they entered, water dripped off them onto the marble floor. The palace towered before them, with high arching ceilings. Opulent red rugs stretched ahead to beckon them forward. Large paintings in gold frames lined the walls, each one of landscapes, all foreign and strange. They hung between couplings of tall narrow windows, which were paired together to give the impression the two were one large window. Koschei stopped, studying his surroundings for a long moment.

Arrow spat Fergal out into a crumple on the floor, then shook, spraying water everywhere. Triska leaped forward and grabbed Fergal’s arm, helping him to his feet. “You all right?”

He stood, clutching the Herskala bowl in one hand. In his other, he held the dark sack he’d kept it in. Carefully, he wrapped the bowl back up, then placed it at his feet. He swatted at the dirt and saliva on his cloak. “I can run as fast as a damn sea dragon who barely knows how to walk without falling. There was no need to be carried like a kitten.”

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