He ducked through the fissure. It was short, ending in a nook that had tunnels branching off in every direction. Here, the walls were flawlessly smooth, the ceilings carved into archways. These were part of Ildja’s palace. He’d stumbled into the Mountain of Fire—he could see it, a red shimmer at the end of one of the tunnels. There were voices on the other side, faint even though the distance wasn’t far.
He followed the voices, the firelight, the tug on the line between himself and whatever he was moving toward that kept reeling him closer.
CHAPTER 26
LIRA
One tunnel led to another, and another, winding and twisting, finally spitting me out into a lofty, hollowed-out space, as big as ten great halls put together and as hot as a kiln. I walked along a rocky ledge coated in ice that should have melted in the heat—there must have been magic here, sustaining it. High above me was the volcano’s crater. Far below was a boiling cauldron of liquid fire.
This was the Frozen Sun, a volcano in the heart of a glacier. The doorway between Iseneld and the death realms Ildja reigned over. And I was standing in the middle of it.
Smoke swirled along the outskirts of the fire, veiling what lay beyond. The Mist—where the Destroyers dragged the souls deemed unworthy of joining their kin in the endless meadows of Skjorlog Felth. Where souls would be tortured, devoured slowly by the serpent-goddess.
From the depths of the Mist, a voice spoke, blazing like it was born of the spewing fire. “Have you come to capture me, soul-reader?”
“I brought you a gift, Ildja. Show yourself so I can present you with it.” I ran my hand over the crystal key and it pooled like wax in my palm, shapeless, before transforming back into a blade.
“Did you think it would be so easy, mortal child? Cross an island, climb a glacier, cage a goddess. With my own ice dagger, no less, forged in this very mountain.”
I held the dagger up, examining its bluish-white sheen, its glassy texture. Not crystal, as I’d assumed—unmelting ice, like the sheet beneath my feet.
Laughter curled around me, reeking of sulfur. “Did you learn nothing from the story of the Fallen Ones?” Ildja asked. “Gods cannot be trusted. Veronis did not tell you everything.”
What was I meant to do with the dagger? How did I bury it in Ildja’s heart, as Veronis had instructed, if she wouldn’t manifest into a body I could stab?
I squinted at the fire, the heart of Iseneld.
The core of Ildja’s realms, the gate between the world of the living and the nightmares of the dead. The heart . . . of Ildja herself.
bury it in the heart of ildja.
I squeezed the dagger, staring into the crater. It couldn’t be as simple as tossing the key in the fire. With gods, nothing was ever what it seemed. Veronis had said to bury it, but how could something be buried if it burned? To bury a blade required either dirt or flesh.
There was no dirt here. No flesh but mine.
“Your mother only delayed the inevitable,” the voice in the Mist said. “You were always meant to be a sacrifice. Destroying the key in my fire will break the lock on Veronis’s cell, but the prison-realm does not let its prisoners out without an exchange. To free Veronis, one who shares his blood must take his place. You.”
Ice and snow and fire blurred around me.
Bloody fates.
Veronis had misled me all along. He was never going to bring Reyker back or reunite us in the otherworlds. To free him, I didn’t just have to die—I had to damn my soul, to become an eternal prisoner. I could never see any of the people I loved again, even in death. Separated forever, as Aillira and Veronis had been.
It wasn’t fair. I could accept dying, but this? This was a fate worse than death.
But if I didn’t go through with it, there would be no gods to rise against Gwylor and Ildja, and they would continue to bolster Draki. Glasnith would fall. Garreth would die. And other countries would follow, conquered by the Dragon as he built his empire.
“Such a dilemma,” Ildja said.
“No.” I stepped up to the edge of the crater. “It really isn’t.”
What was one life, one soul, compared to thousands?
The blade was meant to be buried in a heart, so I turned the dagger on myself, its tip pressed beneath my breastbone. I wondered how fast a body could fall. Would I be dead before I hit the fire, or would I burn alive? Would my sacrifice be enough to turn the tide of this war, or might Draki win anyway? Was I about to die for nothing?
Had Quinlan died for nothing?
With a deep breath, I let the uncertainty fade. The rest was out of my control, but this choice was mine. I had made it once before, leaping off a cliff to save myself from becoming Draki’s slave. I could make it again, to give Glasnith and Iseneld a chance.
Hanging my toes over the crater, I positioned my arms, elbows out, angling the blade so it would pierce my heart. I leaned forward, preparing to thrust the dagger and let myself fall.
I hesitated.
The ice beneath me trembled, shifting suddenly, like a rug being yanked out from under my feet.
Laughter crackled around me, Ildja’s mirth searing my ears.
I stumbled backward, and something heavy slammed into me, knocking me sideways. I fell hard against the ice and skidded, the dagger slipping from my grasp. It spun across the frozen floor, close to the lip of the crater.
The key. My one chance.
With a cry, I dove for the dagger. I would grab it and leap into the crater, stab myself on the way down, before Ildja could stop me. My knees bent, preparing to jump. My fingers grazed the dagger’s hilt.
A hand wrapped around my ankle, jerking me backward. The dagger slid over the edge and was gone.
No.
Just like Quinlan was gone.
No.
I screamed, clawing at the ice as if I could still catch the dagger, as if all hope wasn’t lost, but the hand that held me wouldn’t let go. I turned to confront whoever Ildja had sent to ruin this for me, my fists balled, ready for a fight.
The breath froze in my lungs.
Reyker was crouched on the ice, one hand around my ankle. Staring at me like I was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.
For a moment, I believed it was him. The skoldar on my wrist came to life, tingling with warmth. I almost reached for him, almost threw my arms around him.
But I knew better. I’d failed, and Veronis was punishing me. The throb of my skoldar was just a clever new part of this trick.
“Get away from me.” I scooted back, putting space between me and Not-Reyker.
“Lira?”
“Don’t say my name.”