But now she knew better. Shygon worshipers. That’s what they were at the prison in Lands End. And the inmates were vessels to be sacrificed eventually. To the god of dragons. For what reason, she could only suspect. But there was a reason Neredyn was grateful that the dragons had been eradicated. The Dreads of the Skies had plagued the lands too long, and what few had bonded with humans had caused destruction and terror wherever they had gone.
So Addie steeled herself for the cold that she was used to and kept putting one foot before the other, head high, and in her mind, she chanted a prayer to Vala, hoping the goddess of life would remain with her.
As the tunnels grew darker, Linniue stepped past her, the bucket in her hand, the fine lady actually taking the chore Addie normally did. It was clear that to her it wasn’t ordinary water, that it was something so vital she didn’t entrust anyone else with it. At least not now that she had retrieved the bucket from Addie.
“Where are we going?” Addie kept her voice steady, interested, without letting show the desperate need to figure out if she was going to get out of there alive.
Whatever Armand had planned to get Joshua out of Eedwood, Addie hoped he was going to do it soon. That if she didn’t return, he wouldn’t wait to save the future of Sives.
“You’ll see, my faithful servant,” Linniue said with a smile. “We are almost there.”
Addie watched her step as the path wound into the depths under Eedwood castle, trying to keep track of where she was, to mark the turns in case she needed to run… Not that she was in any shape to run. It was an endless walk through the darkness, each new breath filling her lungs with more icy air than the one before. But at least the faint, blue light grew brighter as they finally slowed.
Linniue’s skirts fanned out to the side as they stepped into a circular open space where in a gigantic stone bowl, a slow, flickering, faint-blue flame was burning.
“Dragon fire,” Linniue whispered, her eyes lighting up like a child’s as she admired the deadly flame.
Addie knew dragon fire from legends, from the balls of flame that the Dreads of the Skies had spat upon their enemies. But this—
She stepped forward on her own accord, joining Linniue in her marveling. “It’s—”
“Beautiful,” Linniue finished for Addie.
Horrifying had been the word Addie would have chosen, but she nodded anyway, hair shifting over her carved shoulder, and she sucked in a breath through her teeth. “What does it do?” she asked instead.
Linniue eyed her with a smile of anticipation. “It is our bridge to the one god of dragons. Shygon, the Bestower of Power.”
Addie shuddered at the mention of the name. She knew that it was said that Shygon gifted strength and power—but for a price. The price of blood and life.
“You are so lucky, Addie,” Linniue set the bucket down near the altar in front of the flame and reached for Addie’s hands as if she were reaching for a friend. “Your sacrifice will gift my son eternal greatness.”
Addie’s heart raced. So that was the plan. One life—her life—sacrificed for the power of another.
Suddenly the pain in her back no longer mattered. She needed to get out of there, or she’d end up on that altar. Was that blood on there?
Dark stains and streaks decorated the rough stone, making her guess she wasn’t the first one to be brought down here.
Time. She needed time.
“How does it work?” Her voice was a meek sound in the dome-like chamber that rose around the flame, light spreading into the two other corridors that led away from it.
Linniue’s smile spread wider. “Since this is the last time you’ll be asking questions, I’ll be generous and grant you your answers.” She squeezed Addie’s hands, eyes shining with something that Addie could only name madness. Linniue was mad. “Even if I let you live, the spell I put on you will make sure you won’t speak a word about it, ever.”
Addie nodded, in her mind clinging to the assumption that the spell couldn’t be complete without Dragon Water. She had drunk normal water as Linniue had chanted the words. Not Dragon Water.
“My son is almost ready for his big day. The future king of Sives.” Pride filled her eyes as she tugged Addie forward. “While your life slowly fades, he will gain strength, power, bestowed by the god of dragons. Your blood will be the medium to bring his power to life.”
Words. They didn’t make sense.
“Why me? Why now?”
Linniue pulled her closer to the altar, swaying backward as if she was inviting Addie to dance. “You have fulfilled your task, bringing the water that bound my son to my will for the past year. The girl doing it before you met her fate the day before you arrived.”
Addie suppressed a gasp. So that had been it from the beginning? She had been brought here to serve and then die?
“What an honor, Lady Linniue,” Addie said, every inch of her body screaming at the flat-out lie.
But that was what she was supposed to act like, wasn’t it? Like a smitten slave. “It’s an honor to die for him.”
Addie’s eyes darted to the corridors behind Linniue, both of them dark holes that no one could tell where they led. But did it matter? Anywhere that was away from her was good.
With a quick glance over her injured shoulder, she measured the distance to the guard behind her. Three long strides. If she was quick, she’d make it to the other side of the altar before he’d be able to react. But then, one well-thrown blade could easily bring her down. Even the touch of a hand on her back probably would. Too raw the tissue, too fresh the wounds.
So Addie played for the only factor she could influence—time. Even if time would be her certain death if she stayed in the freezing cold with her rag-dress much longer.
But even that would not be granted to her. For Linniue nodded at the guard, who approached them and shoved Addie forward to the broad side of the altar while Linniue led her by one hand as if in a procession.
With horrified eyes, Addie noted that there were shackles hooked into both ends of the stone. Two that would fit around her wrists and two that would fit around her ankles. She twitched, aching to do anything but stand and watch as her own life was being offered to a god of destruction and terror. A god of creatures that had no regard for human life. Shygon, the god that should have been forgotten.
Armand’s arm and sword were a reassuring presence at Gandrett’s side as she groped her way along the wall, Nehelon’s knife in one hand. There were three figures by the light down at what seemed to be the end of the tunnel, and this time, she would approach slowly enough to make sure she saw their faces.
The cold grew with every step, making it harder to remain so still. But she was so close to finishing her mission, so close to figuring out those last details, that she couldn’t stop now.
So she took one icy breath after the other and moved forward until voices made her yield.
Not voices. But one particular voice she had heard before in a dream. A whisper, speaking in the language Neredyn had forgotten. Or should have forgotten. For some odd reason, the words the icy air carried toward her made sense. A summoning of the god of dragons, the offer of a vessel in Shygon’s name.
Armand tensed beside her as they witnessed what they had been suspecting: someone was praying to the god of dragons, and as far as Gandrett knew, that included blood sacrifice.