4. Declan

Chapter four

Declan

T he trail was barely visible beneath overgrown vines and other foliage. Rough, crumbling stones formed a lazy stair that ran straight up the mountain rather than winding back and forth, making the ascent both physically challenging and dangerously steep.

I was halfway up the mountain when I felt the stones solidify under my feet. I kneeled to discover ancient marble steps buried after centuries of disuse, their edges sharp, as if each block had been hewn the day before. I thought it odd that no plants grew across their surface. I peered closer at the first step, brushing away layers of ancient dirt to reveal symbols resembling the script I'd seen on Atikus's rendering of the archway.

As I studied the markings, the owl hopped out of my hood and onto the stone where my fingers traced etched lines. She peeped in rapid succession while hopping and flapping her wings .

I peered after her as she turned and scrambled up the path, peeping all the way.

"What the . . ." was all I got out before she disappeared from view.

I straightened my sore legs and started up the stairs after the owl.

I stopped counting steps after fifty-two, realizing this would be a long climb, but was pleasantly surprised when the path came to an abrupt end at the mouth of a cavern. The sliver in the mountainside looked more like the crack on an egg than any intentional passage. A thick lattice of tangled vines had overgrown the entrance. Without the map and following the stairs, anyone hiking the mountains would likely have passed without ever seeing the opening.

Insistent peeping echoed from within, and a strange, shimmering glow shone faintly through the crack. When I didn't enter immediately, the peeping grew louder and more rapid.

"Yes, dear. I'm coming," I said through a chuckle. "I'm being henpecked by an owl. Ayden would never let me live this down."

Thinking of Ayden made my chest tighten. Our growing attraction had been the most unlikely thing. I was an orphan raised by the priests of magic. Ayden was the Melucian equivalent of a royal, likely a prince. Our paths should have never crossed, much less merged .

And yet, standing outside the cave, listening to my feathery companion, all I could think of was how much Ayden would enjoy the moment—and how much I missed his comforting presence.

"Come on, Dec, mind on the mission," I said, shaking myself free of the memory of Ayden's easy smile and squeezing through the crack.

My pack and bow got stuck as I wedged my body sideways, and it took a few attempts of careful maneuvering to pull everything through. The opening was so thin, I'd expected a tiny grotto consumed by the mystical gate but was stunned when it opened into a wide, well-lit chamber. Bronze braziers mounted on tall stands were scattered throughout, while cerulean flames blazed above each bowl, casting light but no warmth. I walked to one of the basins and marveled at my reflection in the polished metal.

"How old are these things?" I wondered aloud, realizing time had done nothing to mar their perfect finish.

At the far end of the alcove sat a round wooden table. A silver pitcher and three crystal glasses rested on its wooden surface. Inches of thick dust should have covered every inch of the cave, but the crystal appeared to be washed and polished. I lifted the pitcher and stared at the sloshing liquid within, again shocked to see the pitcher full of garnet wine.

Curious, I poured a small amount into one of the glasses. The nutty, hearty aroma of well-aged grapes tickled my nose. Ever the boy causing mischief, fascination conquered caution, and I took a sip.

"Sweet Spirits! That might be the best wine I've ever tasted."

The owl peeped.

I turned to find her standing in front of a large silver arch, the far wall visible through the structure's center. Script covering the silvery face flowed and shimmered. At the apex, a small but unmistakable etching of the Phoenix glowed brighter than any of the lettering.

"That looks like the symbols from the stepping stones."

The owl peeped a few more times and tilted her head.

"Great, now I'm having full conversations with an owl."

I set my glass on the table and moved to inspect the arch. As I traced my fingers across the script, a tingling sensation traveled up my arm, as if the arch was somehow alive. I yanked my hand back, shaking out the odd feeling.

"Holy Spirits, what was that?"

The owl, watching from the side, peeped and craned her neck.

"Fine, but if I fry like a piece of bacon, you're on your own."

She cocked her head, and I swear amusement flickered in her eyes.

I pressed my palm across a section of the writing and held my breath.

Nothing happened .

I stepped back a few paces, scanning the gate again. "Okay, I'm here. How do I make this thing work?"

I walked around to the back, finding no seam or break in the gleaming surface. The script appeared to be a continuation of whatever was etched on the front, and I couldn't find any unusual characters or raised areas that might offer some guidance to the gate's operation.

Frustrated, I stretched my hand through the archway.

Still nothing.

The owl peeped twice.

"I'm trying. I just don't know what to do now." I ran a hand through my hair and banged my fist against the metal. "They sent a flipping Mute on a magical mission. What did they think would happen?"

I stalked back to the table, flopped into a chair, and poured wine into a glass until it nearly overflowed. As I returned the pitcher to the table's center, I realized it was no less full than when I'd first lifted it. I grabbed the pitcher's handle again and filled the other two glasses.

The pitcher remained full of the aromatic liquid.

"Well, bugger me."

I sipped wine, my gaze shifting from the archway to the wine to the owl. She stood unmoving by the silver frame and stared back at me. As I finished the glass, I realized the gnawing hunger I'd felt when we entered the cavern had vanished .

"Wine that never runs out and satisfies hunger? What is this place?"

The owl peeped a few times.

I grinned at my tiny companion. "I'm all ears if you have any new ideas. Sitting here with a good wine is the best I've got at the moment."

I raised the glass in salute, then took another long sip.

She swiveled her head left, then right, cocked it at me, then turned and darted through the gateway. As she crossed through, a veil of shimmering light flared into existence, covering the arch's interior and wobbling like quicksilver in a bowl. The owl vanished as the last of her tail feathers crossed the veil. A second later, the glistening light winked out, leaving me open-mouthed, my glass frozen halfway to my lips.

"What the—"

I tossed back the last of the wine, unwilling to waste a drop, rose, and approached the archway.

"Fine. Stupid gate. Take this ."

Gathering my courage, I marched through the gate and smacked into the wall on the other side, tumbling backward and tripping over my feet onto the floor. Despite being alone in a deserted cavern, embarrassment colored my cheeks.

I stood and retreated for another glass of wine to soothe my wounded pride and sore backside. The arch stared back, an upturned grin mocking my failures .

As I drained the last of my third glass, my arm prickled. I glanced down and watched in amazement as the cuts and scrapes I'd received from the many limbs and thorns on our journey knitted closed and vanished. Before I could process what was happening, my arm was completely healed.

I reached down and poked at the fresh skin where sores and scabs should've been, feeling no pain, feeling nothing but the firmness of healthy flesh.

I pushed back from the table and flexed, bent backward to stretch my back, then squatted a few times, testing my legs.

Nothing ached. My soreness was gone.

"Damn, I wish Keelan could see this. He'd lose his mind."

Thinking of my brother, I briefly wondered how their team was faring in their hunt for the kidnapped Healer. By my reckoning, they should be down the mountain and entering Kingdom territory.

My relationship with Keelan was complicated.

I loved and admired him—at times, almost worshiping his strength and steadfastness. At the same time, it was impossible to see my brother's success—and the adoration of the Melucian people that came with it—and not feel a pang of envy. Keelan's Gift of Truthreading helped him rise to become the most famous Guardsman in the country, while I grappled for simple acceptance in a society that prized magic's touch over nearly every other virtue.

I thought back to our time in the Rangers' headquarters, at the heated words that spilled from my lips, at the horrified—and saddened—look in the eyes of both Keelan and Atikus upon hearing them.

I'd been so angry, so wounded; but not at them, at the world and magic and the stupid Phoenix. I'd been furious with the Spirits and whatever had decided to curse me, to abandon me, to leave me without even the simplest of Gifted talents.

Years of repressed frustration flooded out at the sight of my brother and adopted father, at how easily they conversed and how beautifully they loved one another.

I knew they loved me, too.

In my heart, I knew.

But my mind still simmered with the infectious bile of jealousy, and I'd lashed out, intent on making each of them feel the pain I bore each day.

Now guilt gnawed at my gut where envy once feasted.

I rubbed my eyes, wishing I could erase those words.

"Why am I so stupid? So careless?"

Despite what I'd said, both Keelan and Atikus had embraced me on the mountain. They'd wrapped their arms around me, pulled me close, and shared their undying love.

We were family. We always would be .

And that gave me hope.

I slumped back in the chair and stared at the archway, cold and silent, yet gleaming against the darkness of the cavern's roughly hewn wall.

The owl had yet to return.

"Can she even come back? Will I be able to return?" I wondered aloud. "Will I see Ayden again?"

That last thought cast a pall of misery across my heart. We'd just found each other, found our burgeoning love, and here I was, wondering if our eyes would ever meet again.

I reached for the wine once more.

A thought struck as I began to refill my glass.

I stepped across the cavern to my pack and grabbed one of my waterskins. I dumped out its contents by the cave's entrance, then walked back to the table, where I carefully filled it with wine.

"There's nothing like having a liquid Healer in your pack," I mused.

As I was returning the pitcher to the table, the veil shimmered again, and the owl hopped through. Her tiny brow furrowed as she scurried to grip my pant leg in her beak, tugging in the direction of the archway.

"Little one, it won't let me through. I don't know how to make it work."

She let go, peeped a few times, then resumed her tugging .

I barked a laugh. "All right, I'm coming. I'm not sure what for, but I'm coming."

I kneeled and scratched the owl's head, and she gave me an affectionate nuzzle in return. Then she pulled free and mounted my arm to perch on my shoulder. I strode back to the entrance, slung my pack over my other shoulder, and walked to stand before the arch. I wasn't sure why I'd grabbed my pack—nothing had worked thus far—but the owl was so insistent, so sure .

I felt the gate willing us forward.

The wall-bouncing incident had taught me caution, so I stepped slowly this time. I held out an arm and the owl skittered down to perch on my wrist. As soon as she crossed the arch's threshold, she—and my arm—disappeared. I could still feel her talons gripping through my shirt, but she was no longer in the cavern. I sucked in a breath, inched forward until the last of me passed through the archway.