“The Striga elders don’t gather until midnight,” says Lincoln. “So, we’ve a few hours to kill, anyway. Might as well spend it here.”
I link his fingers in mine. “We’ve got them on high alert, and that’s always the best start.”
Lincoln gives my hand a squeeze. “I can feel the sphincters tightening from here.”
Despite the doom and gloom, I can’t help but chuckle. One great thing about Lincoln, no matter how tough things get, he can always make me grin. “Thanks, Lincoln. I needed a smile.”
He kisses the top of my head. “And I needed your smile, too.”
Chapter Eleven
Lincoln and I ride in a Viking-style long-ship headed for Striga. Our cargo for this journey is a very self-pitying Connor along with a handful of stoic Rixa guards.
Thankfully, it’s a very long boat and Connor has decided to hold his self-pity party in the last row. Lincoln and I stand up front by the dragon-headed prow. Worry presses in on my temples like a vice. I glance at the Looking Glass my wrist. Maxon is still seated against the wall of his prison box. His eyes are firmly closed. Hildy’s still protecting him. But that won’t last for long.
Try to take your mind off it, Myla. Working yourself into a frenzy will not help Maxon. Focusing on the task at hand will.
I force myself to look down and watch the outer hull of our enchanted vessel. Below me, the wood glistens with angelfire as it’s magically propelled along the Incaenda Way, a magma river that connects all of Antrum’s distant houses and lands. The combined light of the angelfire and magma dances across the blackened cave walls. Normally, this sight is a calming one.
Not tonight. The red-hot magma only calls to mind the fires of Hell, and churns up more worry about Maxon.
At last, our boat pulls over to a nondescript stone dock in a rather ordinary stretch of grey cavern. You wouldn’t know this was an entrance to the land of Striga, but that’s the point. If Antrum stays under air-tight security, then Striga’s stuck a perfect vacuum. They have every reason to be cautious, of course. Their magic comes from Lucifer’s crown, a power source that half the after-realms would love to steal. Unlike his orb, Lucifer’s crown is a source of good magic. Striga casters recharge their powers by touching objects—or more powerfully, their own hands—to its surface.
A drumroll of footsteps interrupts my thoughts. A dozen Striga dignitaries step along the stone dock to where our long-ship is tied off. The men wear purple tunics with the Striga pentagram on the front. The ladies look pale and ghostly in their long purple gowns.
The Earl and Duchess of Striga lead the group. Their faces are understanding and kind; I appreciate their wordless support right now. The Earl pauses at the end of the dock, sets his feet shoulder-width apart, and grips his fist behind his back. His long grey dreads fall almost to his waist.
“The Elders are ready for you, Your Majesties.”
“Thank you, Lucas.” Lincoln’s voice is strong and confident as he grips the Earl’s hand within his own.
Lincoln and I follow the group to a Pulpitum transfer platform, which is a round metal disk set into the cavern floor. Connor slogs along behind us, his chains rattling with every step.
The Earl activates the platform. The metal circle glows with a lavender hue.
“It’s just you three from here on,” says Lucas. “Elder’s orders. Will you be alright?”
Good question. The Elder’s Chamber is something few thrax ever get to see. “What’s their Chamber like?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t know.” Lucas shrugs. “Receiving an audience is rare. Although, my father was called inside once. He said it was dark.” The Earl smiles gently. His father was notorious for being a man of few words.
Lincoln sets his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“Anything for you two.” Lucas nods toward Connor. “He won’t cause you any trouble?”
Connor rattles his chains. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. These are enchanted. Now, let’s get this over with.”
Lucas’s eyes widen with shock. “How can you speak to them in this manner, after what they’ve been through?”
“And what is that, precisely?” Connor asks with a sneer. “I’m the one who’s been locked in solitary confinement like a criminal.”
“No one told you what happened?” I ask.
“I’ve had no visitors since you imprisoned me, if that’s what you mean.” Connor’s cheeks burn red with rage. “Not even Octavia came to see me off.” He starts pacing the Pulpitum like a caged animal. “Now, more things have happened and no one tells the old king? Shameful!”
“This isn’t the time for one of your rages,” says Lincoln.
Connor stops his pacing. “You’re still not going to tell me what happened?”
“No, Father. We’re getting this over with as soon as possible.”
“Start the Pulpitum, Lucas,” I say firmly. “We’ll take it from here.”