Chapter 32 - Calliope

The catacombs smell of fear and damp stone. Hundreds of bodies press around me as we descend into the darkness, the rough-hewn steps slick with condensation beneath our feet. Children whimper, their voices echoing strangely off the ancient walls. Old women clutch talismans, lips moving in silent prayer.

I help where I can, steadying the elderly, comforting frightened children. My chains drag against the stone with each step, but in this chaos, no one seems to notice. They see only what they want to see: a healer, a helper, one of their own. Not their queen. Not their doom incarnate, the witch they have hated for so long.

The guilt sits heavy in my stomach like lead.

Somewhere far above, someone screams, the sound muffled by layers of earth and stone. The crowd surges forward, panic rippling through them like wind through wheat. A child stumbles beside me, and I catch her before she can fall, lifting her into my arms.

"Careful, little one," I murmur, though my voice shakes. "The stone is treacherous here."

"Will the dragons eat us?" she whispers, her small hands fisting in my rough peasant's dress.

I swallow hard. "No, sweetling. The king will protect us."

The lie tastes like ash on my tongue.

We reach the first chamber—a vast cavern carved from the living rock, its ceiling lost in shadow. Torches flicker in iron brackets along the walls, their green flames casting everything in a sickly glow. The royal tomb lies deeper still, but these outer chambers will serve well enough as shelter.

As I set the child down and turn away, no longer able to look, a familiar figure materializes from the shadows. My heart stutters in my chest.

"Quite a crowd," Linus says softly, appearing at my elbow. He's dressed in the common clothes he’s always worn, rough wool and leather, but there's something regal in the way he holds himself tonight. Perhaps confidence in his plan has bolstered him. "You've done well."

I force myself not to flinch at his sudden presence. "These people need protection."

"Indeed." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Though I wonder if they know what kind of protection they're really getting."

More refugees stream past us, their faces drawn with fear. Guards direct them into the side chambers, their voices echoing off the stone. I spot others among the crowd—men and women who move too precisely, whose eyes are too sharp. Rebels, disguised as refugees, slipping in with the masses. I think I can spot Lyra moving through a group of elderly civilians, slipping into the shadows not far from us.

"How many?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

"Enough." Linus glances upward as another dragon's cry penetrates the earth. "The king's forces will be occupied with the attack. By the time they realize what's happening down here …" He trails off.

“You mean to kill him tonight,” I confirm, though the words make me feel ill. I can’t understand why, even now.

“We’ll move up through the castle,” Linus agrees, leaning close enough that his low voice is near my ear. I shudder. “Destroy all who should oppose us. Find him up on the towers, whenever he lands to rest. He’ll be weakened from battle. We’ll end this for good.”

“The guards,” I mutter. “The servants. Must they die for your glorious new world, too?”

"Only those who resist." He turns to me fully now, and in the greenish torchlight, his face looks almost demonic in its mania. "Though I imagine many will. They're loyal to him, after all.”

I think of Darian, of the servants who've shown me kindness, of the guards who stand watch through the night. "They're just doing their duty."

"Their duty." He spits the word like poison. "Was it duty that made them follow him as he burned villages? As he murdered children in their beds? As he stole you from your home?"

His voice has changed, I realize vaguely, not quite comprehending it in the din of conversation, weeping, screaming, all around us.

"You hate him," I say softly. "Not just his rule—him. Personally."

Something flashes in his eyes—something dark and ancient and terrible. Years of hatred I will never understand, not really. "You have no idea."

A commotion near the entrance draws our attention. More refugees pour in, these bearing wounds, their clothes stained with blood. The beasts must be getting closer to the castle.

Linus draws me deeper into the shadows, away from the torchlight. His grip on my arm is painfully tight.

"When it begins," he says, voice barely above a whisper, "stay out of the way. I don't want you caught in the crossfire."

All he does is lie. I wonder how it feels to live that way. “You don’t want me to intervene.”

His smile turns sharp. "I want you to have time to run from this place. Once he’s dead, you’ll have but a narrow window to get away from here before his enemies seek your blood in turn. You know it.”

My stomach lurches. "And my chains?”

"Our mage is hidden somewhere in the bowels of this place along with us. She will free you the moment he’s dead." He shrugs, the gesture almost elegant.

I think of Essenborn burning, of Lyra's family, of all the lives Arvoren has destroyed in his quest for power. But I also think of him last night, vulnerable in sleep, haunted by the ghosts of his own losses.

"Would you show him mercy?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "If he surrendered?"

Linus laughs, the sound sharp as breaking glass.

"Mercy? For the Tyrant King?" His voice drops lower, something raw and personal bleeding through. "No. I want him to suffer as I have suffered. I want him to watch everything he loves burn before I take his head."

The intensity of his hatred startles me.

"Who are you?" I whisper. "Really?"

I don’t mean to ask; it just slips out.

Truthfully, it is because I no longer believe, on some level, that Linus is human.

He studies me for a long moment, head tilted slightly. "Someone who understands the price of tyranny better than most."

Before I can press further, horns blare from above—a signal that the outer walls are under attack.

The crowd surges again, panic rising. Through the confusion, I see more of Linus's men moving into position, weapons appearing from beneath cloaks.

"It's starting," he says, satisfaction dripping from every word. "The dragons will keep him occupied while we—"

"While you what?" My voice sounds strange to my own ears. "Murder him in his own home? Is that justice, or just revenge?"

His eyes flash. "Is there a difference?"

"There should be."

"Such noble sentiments." He reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The gesture is almost tender, but his touch is cold as ice. "You could have been a great queen, you know. If only you'd been given to a better king."

I jerk away from his touch. "And you think you know what makes a better king?"

Something shifts in his stance, in his bearing. “No more, Calliope. No more.”

I chew my lip hard, until I can taste blood in my mouth.

“I’ll destroy you if you betray me,” I promise. I mean it. “I’ll tear you apart.”

Linus only nods briskly, consumed by what he came here to do. When he pushes away into the crowd, swallowed by shadows, I watch until he’s gone for good.