A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

On the other side, the mine opens into a massive, open space. The ceiling soars high above, visible thanks to dull daylight reaching in from the gap in the wall. The sound of rushing water pulls our attention to one end where a waterfall pours down rock and flows into a stream. Aside from the cauldron of common bats that hang from the crevices high above, there are no signs of Nulling beasts. Kienen and the other Ybarisans are already stooping to splash their faces.

“Radomir has spoken truth so far,” Telor admits.

“Yes, in this, he has proven his worth.”

“I am sure Neilina found him worthy too,” Abarrane reminds me before dismounting and leading her horse to water.

“Find a spot to refresh your horse and yourselves if needed, and then move out of the way for others!” My voice booms through the cave as I follow my own orders, smoothing a palm over my stallion as he bows.

Radomir finds me there. “Have you ever been this close to the rift?”

“Aside from the actual crossing above? No, I cannot say I have.” Certainly not this deep.

“Come.” He beckons me with a nod, picking a path through where the water is shallow.

I follow, the stream ice-cold against my leather boots, Abarrane’s eyes boring on my back. I cast a hand, telling her to remain where she is, as we move toward the gaping chasm ahead.

“This has been one of my favorite places to visit for years.”

“The rift?” I am not one to fear heights, but standing at its brink has always reminded me how insignificant we all are. Even approaching it makes my legs wobbly.

“The glance of daylight.” He looks up. “We are so deep here that it is filtered. It does not burn us. Until days ago, this was the most I’d seen in centuries.”

I edge in closer, to get a better view above to where—so very high up—a faded blue sky peeks. It must be mid-afternoon by now.

The stone gives way beneath my foot.

Before my heart has time to leap into my throat, an arm seizes mine and yanks me back to safety.

“My thanks,” I offer through an exhale.

“I have seen more than one fall into the void to catch a glimpse.” He slides off his helm, revealing his grotesque face. “Who knows if they’ve ever found the bottom.”

All around, in every direction, is jagged stone where Aminadav’s fury carved through. “I’d ask if you regretted your choice to turn on your own kind all those years ago, but I feel as though your bargain with Queen Neilina has already given me your answer.” He was willing to do anything to lift his curse.

“I did what I needed to survive. Yes, some of those things are unforgivable. Some will always be seen as a betrayal.” His black eyes land on me. “I know what you think of my kind, and I do not blame you. But many could argue you and Romeria have also done something unforgivable in order to survive.”

“I will not have our decisions for the realm be questioned by a sapling.” I snap. “We did what we needed to for everyone in Islor. Do not mistake that for selfish gain. And do not forget, for you to survive, you need us.”

“Regardless, soon your realm will be crawling with beasts, the likes of which we have not seen in two thousand years. Many will not listen to your reasons. Many will still see you as the enemy of Islor.”

He is not wrong in this. “That is a burden I am willing to carry, if it means the slaughter of both mortals and immortals for blood ends.” It might also mean the end of any hope to reclaim my throne. But that is a problem for another day.

Radomir observes the soldiers crowding around the stream, the delineation between sapling and Ybarisan and Islorian fading as they all search for a space. “Allow me to show you something that may be of interest to you first. This way.”

I feel the legionaries’ watchful gazes on me as I follow Radomir away from the gaping hole, toward the opposite side. Several have nocked arrows in their grips.

Radomir chuckles. “They do not need to fear me. Dragging kings into corners to trap and feed is beneath me. I will even wait here if it will appease them. I merely wanted to show you this, seeing as you and your queen are so entwined with these nymphs and casters.” He gestures toward the alcove.

“Fates. What is this doing in Soldor?” I approach the four pillars and the engraved stone ahead, the telltale nymph scripture unmistakable. It looks identical to the nymphaeum in Cirilea. “I thought ours was the only one.”

“This one does not see Hudem’s light shine upon it.”

“No, I guess not. So then, what is it for?”

“I was hoping you would know.”

“I do not.” Would Gesine?

“I’m sure it will reveal its purpose soon enough. But we would be wise to move on, as the path ahead narrows and I think our luck with visitors may run out soon.” Radomir saunters away, granting me a moment alone to ponder how much we still don’t know about these nymphs and their capabilities.

I leave with Soldor’s nymphaeum at my back, worry lingering for what could be ahead.





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE




ROMERIA


Cirilea’s nymphaeum is empty tonight.

Releasing my hold of my affinities and my grip of Jarek’s and Pan’s arms, I step away from the stone wall, allowing myself to breathe in the cool air and acclimate myself to the expansive royal garden. An odd sense of déjà vu hangs thick in my memory, of the night I first entered this world, so long ago.

Beside me, Jarek grinds his molars.

“Do you need a minute to adjust?” I ask pointedly. The morels I swallowed an hour ago will mask my Ybarisan scent, and Jarek has crossed that threshold in Ulysede a dozen times to build up his tolerance, but who knows what passing through this stone does to an Islorian immortal’s cravings.

“No. Let’s get this over with.”

I nod toward the blade in his hand. “You should probably put that away. No one walks around the royal garden with their sword drawn.”

“I do,” he retorts, but slides it back into its scabbard before charging out onto the path, his eyes scouring our surroundings. In his double-breasted suit and with his long hair flowing freely, Jarek blends in more than I thought possible. Of course, beneath that cloak and finery is a lethal form strapped with a dozen daggers of various shapes and sizes.

“You know, you make a pretty nobleman, Lord Barwin.”

His gaze drags down the moss green dress beneath my cloak before settling on my new face—my new old face. But he says nothing in response.

Pan hangs back four steps behind us as instructed, dressed in simple wool breeches and jacket. Appropriate attire for a tributary trying to blend in. As Gesine promised, the glowing symbol on his hand has all but vanished beneath whatever masking trick she used. Her abilities seem endless. “Whose face are you using, anyway?”

Jarek shoots a warning glare over his shoulder. He gave Pan strict instructions not to speak, but he should have known that wouldn’t last long.

“Sorry, Lady Barwin.” Pan drops his voice to a whisper. “Whose face is that?”

I smile. “A girl I used to know.”

“A mortal girl? ’Cause she’s real pretty. If she’s a mortal girl, you think I could meet her some—”

“Stop talking,” Jarek barks, his head on a swivel as he looks for any threat.