ARC: Sunstone (21 page)

III

Comminor and the other three members of the Umbra pushed onward, even though they were all tired and desperate for a rest.

Comminor had always considered himself a fit man. Although not as young as the rest of them, he swam daily in the palace pool, joined in the training most days, and still led small groups on hunting camps in the outer Embers where the salamanders and turtles grew big enough to wrestle. He had not gained his position as Chief Select through force, but nevertheless a ruler had to portray strength and competence, and he had worked hard to maintain that view of a leader.

Still, in spite of his fitness levels, he was tired, his body longing for rest. Sarra and the Veris couldn’t be too far ahead of them, he thought. They had come upon the body of the young woman called Kytte, obviously injured in the fall from the Cataracta, so he knew he was on the right track. Sarra would have to rest at some point because of the baby. Therefore if he and the Umbra didn’t rest, they would be able to close the gap that much sooner. So he pushed on, threading through the corridors without pause, laying his hands on the rock and feeling the passage of those before him like a murmur through his veins.

Not only a bard and a Select, Comminor was also a Saxum, sensitive to the voice of stone, able to hear the whisper in the rock of past millennia of inhabitants. Just like the faded pictures on the walls, the hum of voices spoke to him, telling him of the rise and fall of civilisations, a whole history laid out beneath his fingertips, with Sarra riding atop those voices like a reed on a river.

He could sense her, and her presence wrapped around him sensuously like smoke, creeping into his pores, his head, until he could think of nothing but her.

“Comminor.”

The voice spoke loudly, a little impatiently, as if it had not been the first time it had called his name. He looked over his shoulder and slowed as he realised the Umbra had stopped outside a small room and were seating themselves on the floor inside.

He walked back to the doorway. “We must keep going.”

“We have to rest for a while,” Viel said. He had dark shadows under his eyes and his shoulders sagged.

Comminor stood with hands on hips. “We must press on. Get up.”

Paronel said nothing, clearly too tired to even reply. Josse also looked exhausted. He raised his head, determination on his face, along with not a little wariness. “No.”

Comminor said nothing. He demanded many things of his followers, and complete obedience was one of them. Usually he would have beaten Josse for that reply, and the man knew it. But this wasn’t the Embers. And nothing would be served by using force at that particular moment.

Instead, he went into the room, gathered some of the dry moss from the back wall, brought it to the exhausted Umbra and lit it with a flame from his hand. The fire crackled merrily in front of them, and he sat down, taking comfort from the warmth.

Josse stared at him, obviously shocked he wasn’t going to be reprimanded. But he said nothing, and the four of them sat silently for a while as their muscles gradually loosened.

“How are we going to get back?” Paronel said suddenly. “How will we make it up the waterfall?”

Comminor said nothing, just stared into the flames.

“You do not think we will return,” Viel said softly. “Smoke and fire.”

“Why?” Josse whispered. “Why is this so important that you would risk the Embers by never returning?”

“I am doing this to save the Embers,” Comminor said. He did not know yet whether he would return, but he had left the city in the care of several other trusted Umbra. He had also left a letter declaring that they pick his successor if he did not return, and leaving instructions for their chosen person to read the
Quercetum
and learn the truth. One way or another, the Embers would continue.

“I do not understand.” Josse’s indignation burned as bright as the fire before them. “We have dedicated our lives to you. Are we so worthless that you would throw our lives away as if they are broken shell?”

Comminor smiled. “It is because you are so valuable to me that I asked you to come with me. This task is more important to the survival of our people than anything you could imagine.”

“I do not believe you.” Paronel looked near to tears, fists clenched with anger. “You wanted Sarra in your bed, and you were angry that she proved you a fool. You want to punish her for having a mind of her own.”

“Part of me does,” he admitted. The words did not come easy. He had never had a confidante and always kept his thoughts to himself. But the only way he was going to get them to come with him was by finally revealing the truth. “But that is not all. The Veris must be stopped, or they will bring about the end of the Embers.”

“How?” Josse looked curious in spite of his resentment, and both the others also gave him inquisitive looks.

“I have been charged with a task,” Comminor said. “I am the last member of the Nox Aves, a group who have connected through the ages with one purpose – to keep our people alive.”

And so he told them about the
Quercetum
, and the history of their ancestors. He told them about the balance of the elements, and the invasion of the Darkwater Lords, and the rise of the Incendi. He told them about the creation of the Embers and explained how it had remained safe for a thousand years, isolating itself from the rest of the world, protected by a line of Chief Select who knew the truth and vowed to protect the city, thus ensuring the survival of their race.

“So there is a Surface?” Paronel spoke in a hushed whisper.

“Yes,” Comminor said.

The three of them stared at him, and he could only guess what they were thinking. Since they had heard of the Veris, there had been rumours about the other world, but everyone had assumed they were only that – rumours, and the Veris’s tales were just stories told to make their dreary lives more exciting.

Viel leaned forward. “What is up there?”

“We do not know.” Comminor warmed his hands and stared into the fire. That was one piece of information he was not prepared to share. “But we cannot risk the Incendi finding out about the existence of the Embers. If they know, they will come to destroy us, and I have vowed not to let that happen. I have dedicated my life to ensuring the Embers remains isolated, and I do not intend to stop now.”

They all thought on that. Paronel drew her blanket around her shoulders and leaned her cheek on her arms. Comminor thought she slept, but when he looked closer, her eyes were open as she stared at the fire.

“You should have told us you did not think we would return when you asked us to come with you,” Viel said.

“I did not know about the Cataracta,” Comminor pointed out. “And nothing is certain. That much I have learned over the years.”

“What do you intend to do when you catch them?” Josse’s anger appeared to have faded.

“Persuade them to come back.”

“And if they will not?”

Comminor met his gaze. He knew the answer, but did not want to put it into words, and the others fell silent.

For a short while, they rested. Comminor lay back and closed his eyes.
Just for a moment…
The cool stone seeped into his muscles, calming them, and even though the floor was hard, his body relaxed, and he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

He opened his eyes, and Sarra stood before him. She was large with child, and one hand rested on her sizeable bump. She wore a long blue tunic of a rare fine material she would not have had access to in the Embers, and a gold circlet set with gems. He recognised the circlet – it was in the palace vault. He had given it to her – she was his woman. His heart swelled.

Her other hand rested on the bark of a tree. Comminor tipped his head back and looked up at the branches. He had never seen anything like it before in the Embers, but he knew what it was. An oak tree.
The
oak tree. The Arbor.

Its leaves shook a little in the early morning breeze, almost as if it were beckoning him closer. He hesitated, then reached out a hand and rested it on the trunk. To his shock, the bark was warm, and beneath his fingers beat a slow, steady pulse.

“Can you feel it?” Sarra asked him.

He nodded, turning his gaze back to her. She smiled, her eyes filled with such love that it warmed his heart.

“I have something for you,” he said, and unfurled his hand. A small flame danced there, and he offered it to her.

Sarra’s smile slowly faded. “It burns,” she said. “It burns because of you.”

Against his will, the flame lengthened and above it, a leaf caught light. Alarmed, Comminor reached out to take it in his hand, but beside it another burst, then another. He went around the tree, trying to extinguish all the flames, but he could not move quickly enough. A chain of flames spread around the branches, leaves curling and crisping; soon twigs were catching light and then whole branches burst into flame.

The heat drove him back, and he held his arms up to his face as the fire spread down the trunk and soon the whole tree was burning. And now it was crying, its heart-wrenching sobs filling the air, tearing at his heart.

Then, to his shock, he saw that Sarra still stood beneath the branches, unmoving. Burning leaves fell onto her hair, setting it aflame, and her clothes caught light, enveloping her in a halo of orange. Comminor tried to get to her but the heat was too intense, and in the end all he could do was watch as her skin bubbled and blackened, and she collapsed to the floor, filling the air with the smell of roasted flesh.

The tree roared, burning fiercely, and he fell to his knees, tears running down his face. Sarra’s voice continued to whisper in his ears, haunting him.
It burns because of you.

“No!”

He opened his eyes, aware he had spoken out loud, and sat up. He was back in the small stone room, the fire nearly dead, and the others were sitting up and rubbing their eyes, awoken by his cry.

“Sorry.” He ran his hands through his hair. “A dream.”

“What did you dream about?” Josse took out his water bottle and had a mouthful. They all looked curiously at the Chief Select.

He shook his head, unable to voice the horror. Was it an omen? Was the Arbor trying to tell him he was going to be the downfall of his people? Or was it just a dream born out of his fear that he couldn’t fulfil his role as protector of the Embers?

He pushed himself to his feet. “We should get going.”

This time they didn’t argue but rose with him and packed away their blankets. He shouldered his bag and walked to the doorway, raising his hand and producing a flame to light the way. He tried not to think of how the leaves had caught light when he had done that standing beneath the Arbor. It was just a dream, not a portent. It meant nothing.

They walked again for what felt like hours, threading through passages and caves, each as quiet and empty as the last, long since abandoned and left to the mosses, and spiders and insects that scurried away as their feet scuffed on loose stones and dirt.

Comminor continued to run his fingers along the walls, following Sarra’s echo. Why he could feel her presence so clearly, he did not know. From the first moment he saw her, he had felt a special connection to her, but he could not have said why or put it into words.

The passageway opened up into a large room, the floor filled with cooled and folded sheets of rock. His fingers tingled and, heart pounding, he walked up the rising pathway and exited the doorway at the end.

The others came to stand beside him, mouths open as they looked down at the enormous cavern and the gigantic pyramid at the other end. The sheer scale of the place made him dizzy, and the faded pictures on the walls showed the history of the elementals he had read about in the
Quercetum
since he was a young man.

But in spite of the wondrous view, it was not this that drew his attention. That was captured by the sight of a figure standing in the huge doorway of the pyramid, looking up at him.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Sarra turned and disappeared into the pyramid.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I

Horada knelt on the rocky floor, head bowed, trying to control her shaking and failing miserably.

Sweat ran down her face and back, and her clothing stuck to her skin uncomfortably. In front of her, the magma pit swirled and spat occasional globs of burning rock at the path on which she knelt. So far none had landed on her, but she watched them bubble and hiss on the rock and knew it was only a matter of time.

In the pit, the giant firebird flapped its wings lazily, surveying her. She kept her eyes lowered, but could still see its scarlet form, could feel its glowing red eyes fixed on her.

The King of the Incendi. She could not believe she knelt before him. If only she could take a sword and thrust it into his heart and end this once and for all. But unfortunately she didn’t have a sword. And even if she did, she wasn’t sure he had a heart, or not one that could be hurt by a blade. He seemed made of fire, and although he appeared to have form, he had materialised from the liquid rock as if by magic.

Her wrists were chained to rock on either side, her arms stretched out, her knees hurt but she could not rise. She was totally at his mercy and wondered if at any moment she would feel the fire wash over her, burning flesh from bone and taking away her life in one brief burst of pain.

As if hearing her thoughts, the firebird moved towards her with a sweep of its wings, pausing just in front of her. He lowered his head, and a fiery tongue emerged to flick past her cheek. The heat made fresh sweat run down her neck, and she swayed with exhaustion.

“Water,” said the King, and beside her one of the elementals brought in a bucket and tipped it straight over her head. The liquid evaporated almost immediately, but not before the wetness brought her to her senses like a sharp slap. She gasped and shook her head, droplets flying off and meeting the rock with a hiss.

The firebird lowered its head to look into her eyes. “Hello, Horada.”

She moistened her lips. How did he know her name? His scarlet orbs, brilliant as rubies, hot as a forge, burned into her. “What do you want?”

His tongue curled out and then back. “You.”

Her heart raced. She tried to look away from his stare, but found she couldn’t, as if he was hypnotising her, keeping her entranced. “You cannot have me,” she whispered, aware even as she said the words how feeble they sounded.

The tongue flicked in and out. “We will see.” He sounded amused.

For the first time, indignation rose inside her. “You can do what you like to my body,” she said firmly. “But you will never control my mind.”

“That sounds like both an offer and a challenge,” Pyra said.

Horada swallowed down the fear rising within her at the thought of what torture he could put her through, and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “Take it whatever way you wish. You do not frighten me.”

The firebird swept in a circle. “You have a very high opinion of yourself. Let me summarise my intentions by saying that by the end of our conversation, you will have submitted yourself to me willingly. Your body and your mind will be mine, to do with whatever I wish.” His tongue flicked out. “I have a lot of ideas.”

“Never,” Horada whispered. “You cannot make me do anything I do not want to do.” But she could not stop herself shaking. Could he control her mind – make her do things against her will? But he said she would submit willingly. That would never happen.

The King turned and breathed out a long, scarlet flame. Steam rose from it to form a white wall. On this screen, a picture began to form.

It took her a while to recognise the person. She could not understand how the picture was moving – she had seen painting and tapestries, but never a picture where the figures moved. It was as if Pyra had transported them to the scene, even though she could still feel the rock beneath her knees and the heat from his sour breath.

It was her brother, Orsin. He lay on his back on a sheet of rock, eyes half-lidded while in front of him danced a woman clothed in sheer layers of gauze. Around them, golden coins and ornaments glistened, and she could not mistake that look of lust in his eyes. She had seen it before late in the evening when, in his cups, he had grabbed one of the serving wenches before leading her off to one of the pallets where the household slept and sliding under the blankets with her. The dancer draped her gown across him and let the silky fabric trail across his face, and he arched his back in ecstasy.

“You are seducing him,” she whispered, once again unable to tear her gaze away.

“Orsin was already halfway to being my follower,” Pyra said scornfully. “He has been attracted to fire since he was a child, and none of you recognised it. His family have never tried to understand him, nor find his strengths. You also dismiss him as a fool, but he has power you could never dream of. Power that I now possess.”

In spite of the heat, Horada went cold. Orsin was a follower of the Incendi?

“I do not believe it,” she said, fighting against the tears that threatened to form. “He may not be religious, but he would not betray the Arbor or his people.”

“You deny he is a slave to his senses?”

Orsin loved good food, fine ale and pretty women. There was no denying it. “That does not make him a traitor,” she said.

“He is soundly connected to the physical world, which is what I desire. He is the perfect container for my spirit, and through him I shall conquer Anguis and all its people.”

The firebird reared up, scattering flecks of magma across the room, and spread its wings, fire leaping from the ends. Horada cowered before it, squealing as boiling sparks landed on her skin. She shook them off but they left tiny blisters, and she sobbed, holding up her hands in defence.

“Stop, please stop.”

“Then join with me.” He lowered back into the magma. “The pain will be but momentary, and then we shall be one. I can show you bliss such as you have never experienced before, and you shall live forever!”

Horada leaned forward, head bowed, fingers digging into the hard rock. “No.”

“You think you can refuse me?” The King laughed, his searing breath blasting her so she nearly fainted.

“I will not,” she said, although her bottom lip trembled and she continued to shake.

“If you will not do it for Orsin, then do it for your other brother.” Pyra beat his wings, and the scene on the sheet of steam cleared and was replaced by another.

This time she saw Julen. He was walking through the forest, the greenery painted with sunlight from the shafts that filtered down through the canopy of trees. It was difficult to see him as he wore clothes that blended with the colour of the trees, although she knew it was more than that because even his face and hands seemed to match the colours of the undergrowth. He was camouflaging himself, using his special talent to hide as he moved quickly, glancing occasionally over his shoulder.

“Clever,” Pyra said. “What a wonderful gift that is. Amazing we can see him at all.”

Horada said nothing. She watched as Julen reached the edge of a line of trees and dropped to his haunches. Ahead of him was a rockface darkened by the entrance to a cave. He had reached the mountainside, she realised. He was coming to find her.

Even as her heart leapt, she saw the two Incendi figures in the cave’s shadows. They lay in wait, aware of his presence, ready to ambush him the moment he entered.

“Hmm,” said Pyra. “They are waiting for my command. Do I tell them to move forward, or do I hold them back?”

Horada bit her lip and turned her gaze to the King. “Please. Do not harm him.”

Flames ran down the elemental’s form, glistening in gold and scarlet. “Then join with me.”

Tears finally ran down her face. To save her brother, she would have to throw herself into the magma and join with the Incendi. But that would be the end of the Arbor, she knew it instinctively. In another age, another era, Tahir was nearby, and so presumably was the girl he spoke of, the girl from his future. They were coming together, about to join in location if not in time, and with the Apex formed, their destruction would be inevitable.

“I cannot.” She lifted her chin, not ashamed to show her tears.

The King did not wait. Clearing the picture, he let another one form. This time of her mother, leaning close to the neck of the horse she rode, fleeing through the countryside at full pace. Her hair had escaped her usual tight knot and it trailed behind her like a pennant, snapping in the breeze. Trees and fields flashed by, cows and sheep a blur of colour. She glanced over her shoulder, and to Horada’s alarm, fear lit her mother’s face. She had never seen her mother scared before.

“Procella fears being caught by Hunfrith,” Pyra said. “He wants her, in all the ways a man can want a woman. She knows he is stronger than her. She can remember that moment your father first bested her in mock combat – that moment of humiliation and fear that she could not hold her own. She will experience that tenfold with Hunfrith. Your father loved her, but Hunfrith will use her body with no sign of the tenderness that Chonrad felt towards her. Hunfrith will abuse her, rape her, then give her to his men to use in any way they wish. Do you want that for your mother?”

Tears streamed down Horada’s cheeks. Her chains clanged as she moved her hands to dash them away. “No. Please…”

“Then join with me.”

She closed her eyes.
Forgive me, Mother…
“I cannot.”

Pyra roared, making her eyes snap open again. He cleared the scene. This time, the new picture puzzled her. It looked like a view of somewhere in the mountains, with more magma bubbling redder than blood. She blinked, trying to focus on the figure in the centre. He lay stretched out on a rock, arms and feet spread and tied, and he was naked. Fire elementals crawled over him, and his skin blistered, renewed and blistered again, accompanied by his cries of pain.

It was her father.

Horada’s jaw dropped. Horror filled her. “Father?” She turned furious eyes to the King. “Now I know you lie. He is dead. I saw his body and buried it afterwards.”

“But this is not his body,” said the King. “This is his soul.”

Horada stared. Since the beginning of time, scholars had debated the presence of a soul and whether it lived on when the body gave up its life. Current thought was that, like with trees, when the physical body died its energy returned to the ground and brought life to the new shoots in a circle that never ended. The existence of a person’s mind, of their very being, outside of the body was not thought to exist.

And yet here was her father, his face clearly distinguishable, captured by the Incendi and kept to be tortured for all eternity.

Bile rose inside her and she vomited onto the ground.

The King lowered himself in the magma so he could look into her face. “Join with me,” he whispered, “and I will end your father’s suffering. I will return his spirit to the Arbor so he can rest in peace.”

A fire elemental climbed onto Chonrad and stretched out along him, lying like a lover atop her partner’s form. He screamed as the fire ate into him, arching his back in a spasm of pain.

“Stop,” Horada whispered, curling up, her forehead almost resting on the ground. “Please, make it stop.”

“Join with me…” His insidious voice crept over her like a warm blanket, promising an end to the suffering, an end to the pain.

She pushed herself up to her hands and knees. She would do it. She didn’t care about the Arbor and Anguis, about the end of the world. She just wanted the pain to cease.

Ahead of her, the picture of her father evaporated, the steam dissipating as she crawled forward and Pyra sensed his victory.

And then she stopped. In the remnants of the mist, a final faint picture remained.

The hourglass filled, turned, filled again.

Timekeeper…

She caught her breath. The hourglass vanished. The King continued to stare at her – he hadn’t seen the image. It hadn’t been sent by him.

Cinereo?

He was still with her. And he was trying to tell her to keep her faith.

It didn’t matter what Pyra had shown her. Whether the images were true or not – there was nothing she could do about it now. Her brothers, her mother, her father’s poor soul, if there was such a thing, which she doubted – she was not responsible for their freedom or whether they lived or died. She had to trust that the Arbor would protect them too, that its love would keep them safe and bring them through this time of trial.

All that mattered was keeping the Arbor alive. She remembered her father telling her that. If the people loved the tree and worked with it to maintain Anguis, the tree would protect them and love them back, and the cycle would be complete.

She sat on her heels and tipped back her head. Too exhausted to stand, too tired to speak, she just looked up at the Incendi king and let him read the truth in her eyes.

II

Catena placed her palms on the stone wall and closed her eyes.

She didn’t think she would ever get used to the sensation of communicating with the rock. Why had she never noticed it before? She had lived in a castle and usually rested one hand on the wall as she ascended or descended the spiral staircase to the battlements. Wouldn’t she have noticed if she had this peculiar talent?

Demitto had suggested it was because the castle had been built from cut stones, whereas these caves were carved into the mountainside and thus still connected with the earth. That made some sort of sense. And anyway, she wondered if she had been ignoring her instincts all along. One reason she had worked so hard to become Chief of the Guard was because she loved the castle. As a child, she had spent hours walking around the battlements, talking to the guards. They had indulged her because it could be a lonely job, and she had listened to their grumbles as they patrolled in all weathers. But she had loved being way up high above everyone else, being able to look down upon the town, watching people go about their business as if she were a bird flying high in the clouds. And she had loved the feel of the stone beneath her fingertips, imagining all the people who must have touched it before her, and what stories it could have told, if it had been able to talk. Had she been communicating with it then, in some small way?

Her mind was wandering, and she brought it back to the present, trying to concentrate on Tahir’s location. The rock warmed beneath her hand, but still her brain struggled to focus.

Part of the problem was having the emissary standing so close to her. Her skin prickled at his nearness, the memory of his brief kiss still fresh in her mind. Why had he kissed her? She hadn’t picked up on any feelings of desire from him before. He usually radiated irritation and frustration rather than attraction.

His touch had completely taken her by surprise, and she didn’t like being surprised in such a way. Not one bit. She could not understand him. One moment he was so irreverent and carefree, making light of the Arbor and their predicament, and the next he became all mysterious and gave the impression there was far more to him than met the eye. How was she to react to that? She didn’t know where she stood with him, and she certainly had no interest in him as a mate.

She opened her eyes and glanced aside at him. He stood with one hand on his hip, head bowed as he waited for her to tell them which way to go. It had become so hot in the caves, he had finally removed the linen undertunic, and now his bronzed skin gleamed in the light of the flame dancing on his open palm, his sculpted muscles an exemplary display of masculinity. She knew if she touched them, they would be as hard as the rock beneath her fingers…

He looked up, meeting her gaze, and Catena’s eyes widened.
Arbor’s roots
. She looked back at the rock, her cheeks flaming. She was
not
going to let the man get to her like this! He had probably kissed her on purpose to make a point, although she could not think what the point was at that moment. Maybe to keep her interested so she didn’t run off and leave him. His claustrophobia had been obvious, and she had comforted him more than once when his breathing became irregular. Well, no more! He could hyperventilate himself to oblivion as far as she cared from now on.

She formed an image of Tahir in her mind, forced herself to concentrate and immediately felt the ripple of connection brush across her nerve endings like a feather across her skin.

“This way,” she said, and headed off to the right.

Demitto said nothing, but he was only a foot behind her, with Atavus a foot behind him, and when she stopped suddenly, he bumped hard into her. She swatted at him and scowled, although he wouldn’t be able to see it in the semi-darkness.

“Sorry.” He rested a hand on her hip so he could lean close to murmur in her ear. “Can you feel him?”

“Yes.” She twitched her hips but his hand remained there, warm even through her breeches. “Demitto…”

“How far?”

She pushed her irritation aside. She had to focus on the Prince now – he was all that mattered. “Not far. Maybe one or two passages. And he is locked in.”

Demitto nodded, took her hand, pulled her and the dog into an adjacent empty room and pushed the door almost closed. “We will wait here until the guards go past,” he said. Reluctance flickering across his face, he closed his palm, extinguishing the flame.

They were plunged into darkness, and Catena felt his arm snake around her, his hand gripping hers as they both fought to retain their sense of balance. Atavus pressed against their legs, also clearly unsettled. It felt as if she had jumped into a vat of thick honey, and someone had placed a blanket over her head, extinguishing the light. The warm, humid air smothered her, and she wasn’t surprised to hear Demitto’s breathing speed up. In spite of her promise to herself to let him suffer, she tightened her hand and rubbed his arm, instinctively wanting to comfort.

Clearly they were in the area where the Incendi kept prisoners, perhaps before the elementals took over their bodies. Cries and screams echoed occasionally along the corridors, and further along someone gave great, heart-rending sobs that brought tears to her eyes.

“We cannot leave these people here,” she whispered, leaning her cheek against his shoulder, suddenly glad of his presence. “It is too awful to speak of.”

“I know.” His hand rested on her back. “But our first priority is rescuing Tahir. Maybe later we can come back for the others. But if we do not take him to Heartwood, then everything is lost.”

She lifted her head to look up at him. A light sprang into being further along the corridor – from what she couldn’t be sure – but she could just make out the glitter of his eyes. “I do not understand why it has to be him. I know the Arbor needs a sacrifice. But can you not just let us disappear and find someone else?”

His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her damp skin. “I wish I could, but I have sworn I will bring him there at all costs, and I must keep my promise. The very world depends on it.”

“Why?”

He moved to look out of the grille in the door, then came back to stand close to her. Closer than was necessary, she thought with some irritation. But when he linked their fingers and she pressed her thumb against his wrist, she could feel his pulse racing, and so she didn’t complain.

He leaned on the rock above her head, his cheek so close to hers that she could feel the roughness of his bristles. “I do not fully understand it all, Catena. But I will try to explain. Certain events in time are fixed, like towns in Anguis. You can take any road you like from one town to another, but all roads lead from town to town. Does that make any sense?”

She frowned. “Not really.”

“From what I can understand, some moments in our history have already been written. The Arbor can see its past, its present and its future, and those moments of the Apex are unmoveable. Everything we do and say is leading to those events.”

“I do not like the feeling that I have no say in what happens in my life.”

“I think it is up to us how we travel from town to town. We can walk, or take a slow horse and cart, or ride a fast horse to get there in a day. But the towns – the events – are fixed.”

It was difficult to concentrate with his mouth only inches from hers, but she forced herself to think. “So what is the problem? If events are fixed, then obviously we will escape and Tahir will complete his destiny.”

His lips brushed her cheek so lightly she couldn’t be sure if he had done it on purpose or not. “The problem is that somehow the Incendi have found a way to travel along the timelines, and they are doing their best to sabotage the Apex. Is it possible? We are not sure, but we cannot jeopardise our future by being arrogant enough to assume everything will just work itself out. The Nox Aves have given me the task of escorting Tahir and you to Heartwood, and I have to do everything in my power to try to make that happen.”

The hairs rose on Catena’s neck at the feel of his warm breath on her skin. She raised a hand to rest on his chest, her breathing also growing faster at the feel of his damp skin.

Then his words registered and she frowned. “Wait… ‘Tahir and you’?”

He went still. “What?”

“You said ‘Tahir and you’. You mean just the Prince, surely? Why does it matter whether I get to Heartwood or not?”

He hesitated, and that brief moment of pause told her it had not been a mistake.

“Me?” she whispered. “Why me? What do I have to do with the Apex?”

His hand brushed her back. “I am sorry, but I cannot tell you.”

She drew back sharply. “What do you mean? You are so arrogant! You think you are so important keeping all this knowledge to yourself.”

“Catena, hush.”

“Do not hush me!”

“I cannot tell you, because if I do, they could torture you to get the information.”

She thumped his chest with her fist. “Do not be so infuriating! If I am to play a part in the Apex, I deserve to know.”

He caught her wrists. “We will all play a part in the Arbor’s future. You and I and Tahir.”

Fury welled up inside her, born out of frustration and fear that the Incendi might be trying to hunt her down as well as the Prince. “Am I to be sacrificed too? Is that it? If my life is to come to an end, I should be told!”

“Seriously, you must keep your voice down.”

Panic flooded her. “Am I to die with the Prince? Is that my destiny?”

“Catena…” Demitto pulled her to him and before she could vent any more frustration, he tightened his arms around her and kissed her.

Shocked, angry and scared, she struggled, trying to slap him, to push him away, but he was far too strong for her.

Tears poured down her cheeks, and as she ceased to fight him, so his arms relaxed, turning into a caress more than a restraint, his hand moving up to cup the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. Her hands splayed on his chest, moved up to his shoulders, crept around his neck.

When he finally lifted his head, she remained in the circle of his arms, all rebellion vanquished.

“Why?” she whispered.

He stroked her cheek. “I cannot tell you, Catena.”

“No. I mean why did you kiss me?”

He gave a little chuckle. “To keep you quiet.”

She looked up into the glitter of his eyes. “Is that the only reason?”

He kissed her nose. “No.”

“I…” Her voice trailed off at the sound of voices in the corridor. She pulled back, heart beginning to pound again.

Silently, they drew their swords and took up a place on either side of the door, Demitto with one hand holding Atavus’s collar. He touched a finger to his lips, and Catena nodded.

Demitto took a breath and yelled, “Guard!”

The feet outside stopped, and the two guards came into the cell. “What…?”

Before they could utter another word, Catena and Demitto swung as one, and Atavus leapt forward. The dog’s jaws closed around the guard’s arm, stopping him from swinging his blade. Demitto thrust his sword up under his armpit, almost to the hilt in his ribcage. Catena’s blade neatly lopped off the head of the second, and it rolled onto the floor as he fell to his knees, then slowly forward onto his stomach.

They looked down at the fallen bodies.

“Nice,” Demitto said.

She blew out a breath, blood racing around her body. Suddenly she felt a whole lot better.

He grinned at her. “Ready?”

She nodded. They were going to dress themselves in the guards’ attire, and then try to get into Tahir’s cell. It was a risky plan, but the only way they could think of to get close to him. And at that moment, watching Demitto’s eyes glitter in the low light and remembering his lips on hers, she felt as if together they could conquer the world.

“All right, let’s do it.”