Chapter 15

Cold stone floor. Smooth beneath her fingertips. Pain behind her eyes, lungs burning.

She coughed raggedly, expelling water as her stomach cramped.

“A waste of good water.” The voice was gravelly—grating stones and shifting fault lines.

She rolled onto her side, trembling, fighting the urge to moan or yelp with fright.

The creature sat beside her, legs crossed, hands on its knees. It leaned closer, peering into her face, on the verge of touching her without bridging those last few inches.

“You’re the Lacus,” Sorcha whispered.

She’d heard the stories, as all children had, of a lake guardian made of the bones of the earth, a creature who could give or take away, fortune or misfortune held like a pebble in the palm of one four-fingered hand. A fitting caretaker for something as precious as the Saint.

“And you are either brave or stupid to trespass. Or possibly both. I have not decided.”

Sorcha pushed up on one arm, her clothes clinging to her, her damp surroundings sinking in. It was a cave with a pool of water to her left and a light high on the ceiling. Not daylight. Something magical, something unreal—shimmering suggestion of the sun. There was nothing else in the space except the pool, the light, the creature, and herself.

“I’ve come to ask you for something,” she said, knowing in her heart it was not that simple.

The creature’s face moved, but she could not read the expression—living stone with flat eyes, body language impossible to understand.

“I have nothing for you,” the creature said.

“But you have something for the Saint.”

It hissed and stood abruptly, moving away from her—stones grinding. She moved slowly, carefully, worried that it would pounce on her if she surprised it.

“It’s not yours to take.”

Sorcha pushed back the sleeve on her dress, exposing tattooed skin. “You don’t have a choice. I’ve come to collect him.”

“And if I refuse, Oracle?”

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” The creature turned, pacing. “Nothing means nothing. Something would happen—would come. Nothing is a lie.”

“It’s not my lie. I don’t know what would happen. I would be dead.”

“And with your death, he would walk again.”

Sorcha swallowed, mouth dry despite the water all around them. Kahina Kira had shared very little of what might be required of her. Only those higher up within the Aureum Sanctus knew everything. The others believed and trusted she would do the right thing by them. But it would mean her death. She’d refused to contemplate it until now, forced to see it and embrace it. Or run. Become a traitor to those she’d loved.

“That’s what I’ve been taught.”

“But not what you believe?”

“My belief is unimportant.”

The creature stopped with its back to her, controlled anger almost visible between them, a volcano on the verge of exploding. Sorcha held her breath. There was no escape here. She had no idea where exactly she was or how she might be able to reach the lake shore again. Even then, she would come back empty-handed if she could not convince Lacus to help her.

Do you really want his help? The question threaded through her mind, weaving between her guilt and sense of obligation. Yes! Of course I do, she thought. But even in the privacy of her head, those words felt hollow.

“I walked the earth with him,” Lacus began, his tone bittersweet—no longer avalanches and landslides. “We traveled thousands of miles, and I saw how it all fell before him—trees bending, water ceasing to flow. I saw the sun go dark and the moon fail to rise. The death of everything, even among those he claimed as his own. You would call him back? Give him a place in the world that is finally free of him?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Sorcha whispered.

“Another lie. You are ignoring your choice in favor of something else. There is always a choice.”

“There’s no choice for me.”

The prince would kill her if she failed. He would kill her if she succeeded. If the ritual of the Saint’s rebirth didn’t kill her first.

Lacus turned, coming for her, moving more quickly than she would have thought possible. He reached for her, his stony fingers on her throat—gentle pressure but the promise of a viselike grip.

“Would you like to die here?” The creature’s breath washed across her face—cold water and damp stone. “There is a man on my shore that speaks your name like a lover. He is calling for you. I can hear him even now. I could kill him too.”

Sorcha shook her head. Calling for me? Lover? Adrian’s expressionless face flashed in her mind—his bottomless gaze, the hint of a rarely seen smile. His hands on her body, arms going around her, the solidness of him at her back. The warmth of his stare when he thought she wasn’t aware. The uneasiness she’d caused between himself and his men—his brothers-in-arms.

“If you want me gone, give me the relic and let me go.”She swallowed, the hand around her throat twitching.

Lacus studied her, strange eyes crawling over her features, a grating rumbling growing from somewhere deep within his body. Then he released her, stepping back with a sound close to a sigh, and nodded.

“A test. A fight. I will give you nothing freely.”

“I understand,” she said.

“The bone is not here.”

Cold overtook Sorcha, chattering through her teeth down to her fingers and toes. If it wasn’t here, where else would they have to travel? Would they be able to find this new place on a map?

“Where is it?”

“I put it where no one would find it, Oracle.” Lacus stared at her—his eyes unreadable, unfathomable—a gaze unlike anything else she’d ever experienced. “Not even those who would want to bring him back.”

“Can you retrieve it?” she asked.

“If you want the relic,” he said, “you have to retrieve it on your own.”

She nodded.

He pointed to the hole in the floor. “Through there.”

“And then what?” she asked.

“You find it.”

“You won’t tell me anything else?”

“Why would I?” he asked. “I don’t share your desire to resurrect the Saint. I will not help you bring about the end of the world.”

“How do you know it will be the end?” Sorcha studied the film of water between his fingers—the nothingness of it and what it promised.

“How do you know it won’t be?” he responded with a shrug.

“I think,” she said, words coming carefully, each one formed with thought and intention, “it will be the end for me.”

Lacus shrugged with the sound of grinding stones, a rumble that echoed through the small cavern and shivered up her spine.

Lacus gestured for her to step forward. He made a ring with a bulky thumb and finger. A sheer, thin film of water shimmered there—caught like a sheen of soap in a wash bucket. “Open your mouth, Oracle,” he rumbled.

Sorcha did as he instructed, fighting to stay in place and not flinch away as he leaned toward her and blew on the film in his fingers. A bubble formed, small and perfect, and heavy with clear water. A shimmer twirled gently in the center—a tiny whirlwind. It broke on her tongue, and cool water filled her mouth, tasting sweet and cold enough to freeze her throat as she swallowed.

“It will last only a little while,” he said. “Your time is limited. Keep your mouth closed, keep this gift of water inside you. If you lose it—if you let new water in—you will drown.”

Sorcha nodded as she bent down and pulled at her skirts, ripping until the underskirts plopped to the floor. The things she’d put on to keep her from freezing were now half-frozen with chilly water trapped between skin and fabric. She took it all off except for the final thin layer of cotton, transparent with water, plastered to her like a second skin. She almost removed that too but stopped. Nakedness didn’t bother her, it never had, but a small twinge of modesty hit her at the base of her spine.

It didn’t matter that Adrian might have seen more than enough in the Mapmaker’s room or that she’d never thought much about walking around nude in her private chambers. She didn’t want Revenant’s eyes on her. Even if the only thing between her flesh and his gaze was a transparent film of cotton, it was better than nothing.

Sorcha nudged the bundle of wet clothes with her foot. She wouldn’t be back for these and didn’t need the creature’s confirmation to know it was true. She would never see this room again. The creature would dispose of them, or maybe they’d stay right there on the floor until they rotted. But either way, she wouldn’t be back for them.

But there were other clothes. There was a trunk full of them in a tent on the shore.

A gift.

A bribe.

Another way to bind her to the Empire of the White Snake and Prince Eine.

The cool taste of water still filled her mouth as she contemplated the opening in the cave floor. She would leap, drop into the depths, and swim until she found what she needed. Not wanted. She had no desire for it. She needed it to keep living, needed it like breath and blood.

Sorcha lifted a foot, hovering over the opening, heart pounding.

“How guilty will you feel when millions are dead?”

Lacus’s voice stopped her, low this time, a soft shushing of falling pebbles. It didn’t matter what she wanted or how she would feel when it was all said and done. Her desires had no part in any of this. The journey was not hers to choose. She could only hope that she survived it all once it was over.

Without answering, she dropped into the water. It was warm—as warm as bath water. Sorcha fell like a leaf from a tree, drifting in slow motion. Down and down into the sparkling depths. All around, the water was clear, but nothing was visible. Far overhead, the surface rippled and light shone down in beams. She sank through shimmering and dancing light, the thin cotton of her chemise rippling around her.

It was impossible to know how much distance she’d covered. It felt like an age had passed—an eternity spent contemplating the way water bent the light. Then the view beneath her began to change.

A rocky floor began to take shape, the texture similar to the rocky shore above, blurred with distance but coming into focus. It wasn’t a flat bottom, not littered with rocks and plants, not the bottom she would have expected to find buried beneath a sea of water.

It was a city.

Elaborate spires and domes took shape below her—arched windows and graceful buildings. There were streets, narrow and wide, overgrown with water plants of blue and green, and splashes of purple flowers. The buildings were a similar color, a mottled blue and green, smooth as glass and reflective. If the water could be drained and the sun brought to this shadowy blue place, the city could have been inhabited in a few days, bustling before the water had fully run away.

Sorcha pressed her lips tight, terrified of letting any water in, knowing she would never be able to reach the surface before her breath ran out. She looked up at the towers rising around her, her view all spires and distant sunshine.

They were passing her now, all curved and beautiful lines, flowing flowers, and animals carved into the blue-green surfaces. But these flora and fauna belonged to another time and place. A few were familiar, but others were new and foreign; strange snarling faces and shapes. They were the creatures of myths and legends.

Down and down she went, shadows gathering as she dropped into the heart of the city. But even here, between the tall buildings, there was a little light. A faint glow emanated from the stones, as if they were lit from within, shielding an iridescent flame.

The road she stood on would have been wide enough for several carts and horses. It swayed and moved with water plants now, the vegetation coming up to her knees. Delicate purple flowers on pale stalks waved in the gentle current, variegated leaves brushing against her bare legs.

Sorcha pushed forward and the plants parted for her, swaying and dipping away. A flash of movement caught her attention, and she turned, searching slowly. A huge domed building topped with a reaching spire, half-hidden by the buildings and rooflines, was immediately to her right. That had to be where the relic was.

She never would have imagined that there would be so many sacred places left to decay, never intended to be found.

The Saint hidden with the hope there would be no resurrection.

Not right now, she thought. Sorcha needed to find the relic without letting herself get distracted by worry or doubt. Or too much curiosity about this place. But her mind overflowed with questions. Everything she’d ever thought she’d known. None of it was as it seemed.

Pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she held on to the hint of sweetness from the water Lacus had given her. For a moment, her thoughts drifted to Adrian, the Wolf who had been calling to her like a lover. But as monstrous as he behaved, he showed gentleness with her. She didn’t have time for that right now either.

Sorcha pushed off the ground, reaching and pulling herself forward, turning the corner of a building and coming out into a much wider boulevard. The temple was at the end, massive and imposing. The road rose up to meet it, with wide stairs leading to a set of open double doors. They were covered in plant life, and a faint glow came from within.

Pausing, Sorcha looked around, studying the way she’d come. The buildings were empty, slowly crumbling, but glass was still in the windows and shut doors. The houses and shops reached up and up, several stories tall. The slow decay made her wonder how long it had been here. How long had it been submerged?

In the shadows between two buildings, she caught movement again. Her heart dropped, skin tingling, and a cry of surprise lodged in her throat.

There was nothing. Only waving water weeds, light filtering down from above, the buzzing silence filling her ears. She shoved down the scream and swam toward the open doors of the temple, throwing glances behind her as she did.

Reaching the stairs, she kicked off them, half walking, half swimming as she passed over the threshold. With one last glance at the city behind her, she went inside, disappearing into the greenish glow.

* * *

The interior of the temple was imposing—grander than the one she’d grown up in and loved in the Golden Citadel. Overhead, the dome arched in perfect pale marble, pillars of the same stone all around, and more arched corridors led off the main room. There were no paintings or murals here, only the same pale stone making up the floors, walls, and ceiling.

At the peak of the dome, the cause of the glow was apparent. A mass of large glowing eels writhed together, swirling and twisting, their incandescent skin the palest green. There were maybe fifty, maybe a hundred. It was impossible to count as they moved, slithering and twining as if they were one organism.

The movement she’d caught outside could have been an eel, one of these large creatures, or it could have been something else. She’d assumed she was alone down here, but she’d been wrong. She didn’t want to think about that right now though. She needed the relic, needed to bring it to the surface, and time was pressing down on her like an impending storm.

She searched the room, thinking the relic would be in a place of honor, like her own temple, but no. The stone creature had no respect for the Saint. He no longer revered or worshipped him. The relic would be somewhere else. Hidden.

Arches led off the main room, shooting off into darkness, leading to places she could only imagine. She glanced up at the eels. In the silence, water muffling everything, the eel’s movement was eerie.

She chose an opening at random and swam down a long hall, the faint light of the eels following. Reaching a smaller chamber with three more arches—three new choices—she paused. Two were full of an inky darkness. The one in the middle appeared to be lighter. Would it be eels or something else? But going into the complete night of the other tunnels felt too much like walking into a tomb.

The current was stronger coming out of the tunnel she’d chosen. Sorcha kept one hand on the wall to her right, following the twists and turns. A light began to grow—a rippling golden glow—and when she turned the corner, gripping the edge of the stone, the relic came into view.

The chamber was small, a barely widened space at the end of the corridor, as bare as the rest of the temple had been. An ulna and radius attached to one giant hand lay in a long alcove. It shone with an inner light, rubies throwing off crimson sparks, the gilding polished to perfection. It was enormous, and Sorcha’s stomach dropped. How would she navigate the tunnels and bring it to the surface?

If she could reach it. The current was stronger here, becoming a force she’d not expected. It was as if the water didn’t want her to reach the relic.

Closing her eyes, Sorcha tried to calm her mind and silence the doubt. She would reach it and bring it to the surface. And then? The next one and the next, until the Saint was whole. Her chest tightened. The taste of the sweet water was fading. And the bone, the relic—Saint—called to her. It was a wordless seduction, the feeling that part of her very soul lay within the marrow and the Saint could make her whole again.

Sorcha fought to reach the bone, fighting the current, desperate to drag it to the surface. But the force of the water was too powerful, and the pressure—the need—to breathe was becoming overwhelming.

Time was swimming away from her, faster than the current but just as forceful. She’d die down here, trapped beneath the stones, lungs full of water. She wasn’t ready to die. But if she went back up for air, would she be able to get back down? Would Lacus help her again or leave it to her to figure out another way down?

Fight for me.

Me who? Herself? The Saint? And beneath that, curled in on itself, writhing like the eels in the temple behind her, another thought: fight for Adrian.

Sorcha pushed off the wall, arms outstretched, pushing against the water. The relic was within reach, so close that her fingers brushed against the gilded bone. It was warm as the water around her, warm as if it lived.

Pressure was building in her chest, the need to breathe overshadowing all other thought. The current caught her, twisting her away and back the way she’d come, knocking her into a wall. Skull connected with stone and then an elbow, and pain spiked through her. A bubbling cry escaped her lungs—the air getting trapped along the ceiling—as the current carried her away from the Saint.

* * *

Twisting and trying to orient herself, Sorcha bumped into another wall, panic clouding all thought, the pressure in her head bursting. The golden glow vanished, leaving her in darkness and desperate to figure out which way was up and out. Another corridor, another wall, and then the fast-moving water began to slow.

How far was the chamber with the three entrances? She’d counted corners as she’d searched farther for the relic. But now she couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered. She had no idea how far the current had pushed her before finally slowing.

Sorcha gripped the wall, continuing to follow it. A faint sweetness still lingered in the back of her throat. Relief flooded through her. Her breath had been knocked from her, but somehow, she’d managed not to let any lake water in. But despite that, there was no way she would be able to go back the way she’d come. The relic was impossible to reach.

Left and left again, she followed the wall, hoping she would reach the main area of the temple. A pale greenish light was growing ahead of her, and she moved faster. Please let this be it. She kicked forward, pulling with her arms, and rounded another corner.

An eel came into view, shooting through the water. Its eyes focused on her, mouth open and widening as it approached. Sorcha kicked off the wall, pushing herself back up the narrow passage, desperate not to feel those sharp, yellow teeth sinking into her flesh.

Sorcha was too afraid to turn her back to it as it barreled forward. Afraid the moment she did, it would strike. She would rather face it—rather know when she would die—and not be struck down as she fled. Sorcha studied, terrified of what would happen next. It had terrible teeth jutting from its mouth like thorns and its skin glowing faintly. Its bite would puncture flesh, reach bone, and crush her here in this place where she would never be found. Her skin tingled with expectation.

The eel struck her, but not with its mouth, with the side of its head, shoving her out of the way and bouncing her off the wall. It slithered past her so quickly she didn’t have time to process it. She was left swirling in its wake, bumping off the floor and scraping a knee. In her mouth, the sweetness was gone, vanished, and the warm water of the lake, tasting faintly of vegetation and stone, filled her.

The eel receded, taking its glow with it, leaving her in darkness.

* * *

Sorcha fumbled against the wall—rough stone beneath fingertips—pressure building and pounding through her head. It pushed her forward, drove her with racing heartbeats and the urge to breathe, shoving her into the darkness.

Something began to murmur in the back of her mind, a whisper she could almost understand. In the nonsense, a golden thread wove through it all, familiar and warm. A promise waiting to be fulfilled. She swam on, concentrating on her arms and legs, propelling herself through the water.

Without the sweet water, would she make it to the surface? Did she have enough strength in her legs? Enough oxygen in her screaming lungs? She wanted fresh air and sunshine, to leave the water behind and never return. She wanted the shore. She wanted Adrian.

The darkness seemed endless. Sorcha would never make it out—never leave. The sun would never rise again, the stars all winked out of the sky. It crushed her, compacting her bones and wearing her down until nothing but fear remained. A small inner voice began to whisper, drowning out the one below it, further down. This one was a shade of her own, controlling, tempting, offering.

This could be all over. You could stop here—in this place—now. You can make this choice for yourself, the only one you can. What would it matter? Die now or later? Die on your own terms or at another’s choosing? That’s what you believe is going to happen, don’t you? That’s what you’ve admitted to yourself up there in the sun.

Stop now.

Sorcha followed the wall, fighting against the voice, screaming to silence what was becoming a forest fire in her mind. She kept fighting forward, knowing that at any moment, she would no longer have the strength.

Spots appeared before her eyes, vision blurring. But through the blur, a glow appeared. Her eyes were playing tricks on her, the dark spots in her vision fading, the light expanding in the water to engulf her. With a shock, she realized an eel was ahead, the one that had swam past her earlier.

The creature moved languidly, not noticing or caring she was behind it, gliding through the water. And its tail was within grasping range. She didn’t think twice. Refused to second-guess herself. Closing the distance between them, she grasped the eel by the tail with both hands, locking her grip and gritting her teeth.

The eel jerked and twisted in surprise. It flicked its tail, trying to dislodge the annoyance, but she held on tight. She could not let go now. She would never reach the surface if she did. The eel wriggled forward, building up speed, dragging her behind it. It bounced off the walls, Sorcha hitting one and then another, bruises building and beginning to ache.

There was no way to know which direction the eel was moving. She had no idea if it would take her farther into the maze or out. She hoped it would be out, out into the high-domed room, out beyond the doors where she could fight her way to the surface. But the walls all looked the same, the intersections unfamiliar.

She had not prayed to the Saint since her city had been razed to the ground. She had not prayed to him since she’d seen her family kill themselves—slit wrists and throats, blood pooling beneath their cooling bodies. She had watched them one by one, blood flowing over the altar, soaking into the hem of her dress. No prayers, no pleas, her heart silent even as she’d placed her hands on the relics in the Traveling City.

Now, she prayed. She begged that the Saint would carry her through this. She prayed the eel would take her in the direction she needed to go, through the darkness and into the light, into the room with the wriggling, writhing knot of eels, until she could go up and up and pull air into her lungs.

Please, she asked, repeating it. Please.

There was nothing else she could add—nothing more important. It was nothing like the formal chants, nothing like the words she’d memorized from the scriptures. Not organized or filled with piety and reverence. The word was raw, torn from the ache expanding at the center of her being, coming from the hollowness of her bones.

Please, please, please.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the way the single word flowed through her mind and body. One word would have to be enough. When she opened her eyes, the eel was dragging her into the huge domed room, swimming through the open double doors of the building and out onto the boulevard covered in waving water plants.

Pain throbbed in her throat and lungs, every muscle aching. The eel twisted, spun in a circle, thrashing until Sorcha released it. She hung for a moment in the water plants, suspended within the drowned city, aching and dying by the second.

Then she remembered to kick toward the surface.