My throat is dry, tasting of déjà vu.
With every shuffling step I take, history repeats itself. Yet again, here I am—sand slipping into my boots and sun stinging my skin. At least this time, the end is in sight.
I trudge toward the rocky path, desperately wishing this Trial took place in the welcoming field of poppies beside it. The sun has tiptoed across the sky, sneaking up on the horizon. Not only have I been tasked with finding the first queen’s coveted crown, but I’m also racing against time itself.
I pick up my sluggish pace, spinning the steel ring around my thumb.
If Father could see me now…
A pang of my heart hits me hard in the chest. Not the typical sadness that seizes me when I think of him and the death he met, but the type of hurt that tends to accompany truth. Because he’s not my father.
The words sound cruel, even from where they echo in my skull. And in most ways, it’s unfair of me to think that. I have been unwanted in this kingdom from the moment I was born. But not to the man who found me on his doorstep after losing a wife and child of his own. I became his everything. And maybe that is all you need to earn the title of “father.”
It’s only when gravel crunches beneath my boots that I realize I’ve stepped into the Sanctuary of Souls. Clearing my thoughts and gathering my vigilance, I head down the wide path that eventually leads to Dor. My pace quickens without the sand to slow me, leaving a wall of stones on each side.
The sheath strapped to my thigh has grown hot in the sun, but habit has me resting a hand on the hilt of my dagger. It’s eerily quiet on the stony path, putting me on edge. Bandits have claimed this land, stolen it from the souls themselves. And I know firsthand how cutthroat they can be.
I scan the towering stones beside me, looking for any sign of movement. Worry quickly creeps its way into my thoughts, doubt following soon after. I haven’t the slightest idea which cave hidden among the rocks contains the lonely queen within it. “So I’ll have to search all of them,” I mutter under my breath.
The sun has dipped behind a cluster of looming boulders, and I’m left oddly cold without its consistent comfort. My tired gaze stumbles over the sight of a cave to my left. Pace quickening, I head for the gaping entrance.
I’m swallowed in darkness after several slow steps beneath the arching stone. My hands grope for the wall, palms flat against cool rock in an attempt to guide. Jagged creases of stone slice at my skin to spring blood from thin cuts.
I bite my tongue against the stinging pain and accompanying stickiness that now coats my palm. Forcing myself to focus on feeling what I cannot see, I drop to my knees. My hands roam over the cold floor of the cave, searching for any sort of clue.
“What the hell am I doing?” I whisper, already losing my patience. Father may have trained me to be hyper observant, but the key to my “Psychic” ability is sight. And that is precisely what I am missing at the moment.
As I crawl farther into the cave, darkness weighs down on me like a smothering blanket. I blink, unable to fathom the nothingness in front of me. After several minutes of fumbling fingers, panting breaths, and nothing to show for it, I turn and head for the ring of light at the tunnel’s opening.
I stumble out of the cave, nearly blinded by the setting sunlight. Sucking in a deep breath, I rest shaking hands on my knees. It is only then that I allow myself to acknowledge how terrified I had been. The absence of light is the absence of knowledge. I have no idea what it is that awaits me in these caves, and that is a foolishness I fear.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm. After a long, steadying moment, I set off again down the path. My mind races to conjure up a plan that helps me see within the caves. But I hardly have the time to build a fire, let alone scrounge up the wood for it. I shake my head at nothing but my circumstance, angered that the only tool at my disposal is a dagger.
Again and again, I’ve been set up for failure.
It is that bitter thought alone that has me charging into the next cave.
This one is taller, allowing me to maintain my straight spine as I step farther into the blackness. With one hand dragging along the wall beside me, I extend the other in the hopes of finding—
My palm collides with a stubbornly solid wall.
I let out a grunt of pain, shaking out my wrist. With an aching hand, I search the slab of stone before concluding that I’ve truly met a dead end. I can’t say I’m not thrilled to be leaving the cave, but when I’m bathed in sunlight once again, it’s a struggle to force my feet down the path.
The next two caves I venture into follow the same disappointing routine. I stumble inside, run my hands along the walls and floors, panic in the small space, and eventually give up to scramble back toward the rapidly setting sun.
Now I stand at the mouth of the next taunting cave, mustering my courage. A golden ray stretches across the stone floor, as though the sun itself is pointing a finger. I follow the beam’s path, my heart stuttering at what lies glinting within it.
I drop to my knees beside the scattered silver strands, eyes wide as I take in the pieces of a girl I left behind. Blood coats each sliver of severed hair, dulling the silver braid beneath. Tears prick my eyes for the version of me that still lingers in this cave where Kai held the broken shards of me together.
So much hurt had lived within the strands of something so unsuspecting. And when I could no longer handle the weight of blood coating my hair, my very body and being, I begged my captor to free me of it.
The one person meant to be my undoing saved me from it.
I gather the scattered pieces, ignoring the feel of dried blood that paints them. It feels symbolic in a way, like gripping a tangible moment in time. My gaze lifts to the small cave curved around me. The crypt is not here, but it feels like a tomb, nonetheless.
I gently lay the long pieces of my past self back onto the stone floor, leaving them to rest.
The sun has abandoned me for the night.
I squint in the growing shadows, only to be met with the yawning darkness of a cave before me. A shiver skitters down my spine when I take a step inside. My eyes widen in a futile attempt to see while my hands reach for something solid in this place of nothingness.
My palms find a wall, and I cling to it with each shaking step. The sound of my quick breaths echoes around me, accompanied only by the pounding of my heart.
This cave feels different. Unwelcoming. Occupied.
My mind reels, picturing every menacing thing that could be a single step away. Trying to calm my unhelpful thoughts, I crouch to the floor. But it’s not stone I find beneath my palms, but packed dirt. I suck in a surprised breath, feeling hope bloom in my chest.
This could be it.
I continue my slow crawl, hands dragging through the dirt in front of me. The air is thick and damp in my lungs as I force myself deeper into the cave. Reaching to my right, I find the wall now far closer than it had been when I entered. Panic swells in my chest as I turn to my left, nearly cracking my skull against the rock.
It’s as though the stone is shrinking in on me.
My breaths grow shallow in the narrow place. All I can feel is the grimy dirt clinging to my hands and knees, see nothing but a thick blackness blanketing my eyes. I hear nothing but my thundering heart and—
A soft squeak echoes above me.
My breath catches. My body stills.
Something rustles over my head, forcing me to clamp a dirty hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound. My whole body shakes in anticipation of meeting what it is that dwells in this cave with me. I can’t move freely in the cramped space, and that alone terrifies me into stillness.
A flutter of wings sounds beside my head. I jerk away instinctually, slamming the side of my temple against a jagged wall. The dirty palm pressed to my mouth falls away as I let out a yelp of pain.
I feel the first bead of blood roll down my face when all hell breaks loose above me.
A symphony of screeches echoes off the walls. I feel dazed, unable to determine up from down or fear from confusion. My head aches as a flurry of wings rain down on my crumpled frame.
I think I may be screaming.
Bats—hundreds of them. The creatures rush past me, claws tearing at my skin from the ends of leathery wings that beat against my body. They feel far larger than they should be, pelting me persistently with a strength I doubted they could possess.
Amid the terror and chaos, I manage to pull my dagger from its sheath. My palms are sweaty, eyes squeezed shut in the already smothering darkness. The scream that rips from my throat is rabid, the accompanying swipe of my dagger even more so. I slice wildly through the air, managing to hit several of the bloodthirsty beasts. Their screeches mingle with the pounding heartbeat in my ears.
Fear and pain course through me to create a daunting concoction of desperation. I can see nothing, but I feel the demons that dwell in this darkness. They swarm around me as I blindly brandish my blade. Countless cuts sting my skin, blood bubbling to the surface with nauseating quickness.
Another bat meets the wrath of my dagger and careens to the ground with a soft thud. I don’t know what to do, or how to breathe, or if I ever will again. Terror grips me tightly, squeezing tears from my eyes and screams from my throat until—
They dart past my head.
Like a gust of wind, there one moment and gone the next, the swarm of bats rush out of the cave. I’m panting, turning toward the mouth of the tunnel as I tuck my dagger back into its sheath. I can barely make out the outlines of their huge bodies as they fly into the night.
With palms pressed into the dirt behind me, I shuffle back several feet, attempting to put distance between me and the creatures beyond the cave’s mouth. The night sky awaiting me looks bright compared to the darkness within this swallowing stone. My eyes strain, body scrambling back, back, back—
The dirt caves in beneath me.
Wood snaps loudly before my scream drowns out the sound. I fall through what feels to be a decaying trapdoor, arms flailing as clumps of dirt and splintering pieces of wood plummet with me.
My back slams against something solid, my head following shortly after. I groan, unable to stop my body from rolling off the object and onto the ground beside it. Cool stone meets my cheek as I lie there on my aching ribs, panting and numb with pain.
My palms press into the uneven rock as I struggle to lift myself into a sitting position. Blood leaks from the many slices I’ve earned, making me acutely aware of each sticky path staining my skin. I lean against the large something I fell onto, back aching nearly as much as my head.
I open my eyes and—
No, my eyes are open. They have been this whole time.
Now they dart around the darkness, wide with panic. The blackness that stares back is so thick that I thought it belonged to the back of my eyelids. For a single, blissful moment, I had forgotten the fear that gripped me. Forgotten how suffocatingly dark it is.
This is the complete and utter absence of light. And for all I know, the presence of something far more terrifying.
I scramble to my feet, fear spurring my aching body into action. My hands fumble blindly, hoping to collide with that solid something in the center of this cavern. Empty air slips between my shaking fingers.
I’m panting now, claustrophobic in this space I cannot see.
I don’t remember falling far, but with my head throbbing this persistently, I’m not sure what to think. With a trembling step, I manage to stumble into that large expanse of what I now realize to be smooth wood. My hands flatten atop it to steady myself, but slow recognition has them running down the long length of it.
Head spinning and palms sweating, I feel each intricate groove of wood outlining the rectangle box.
My heart stutters in my chest, breath catching in my throat.
It’s a coffin.
It’s her coffin.
The first queen, Mareena of Dor, lies beside me.
I’ve found the crypt—fallen into it, really—and I am very much not alone. A chill skitters down my spine at the thought, feeling a sudden eeriness twine around my stiff body. The shadows seem to slither around me, like a snake assessing its prey before choking the life from it. I now understand why the bandits never dared look for her—they are smart enough not to disturb the dead.
Because Death protects his own.
My hands wander over the coffin, searching for some sort of opening. The lid is latched tightly enough to withstand my shoves against it. Fumbling for my dagger, I manage to wedge the blade beneath its stubborn lid.
Blood trickles from my temple and nearly every patch of exposed skin. My head aches so fiercely that I’m sure my vision would be swimming if given the opportunity to see a damn thing. Mustering what is left of my strength, I push down on the hilt of my dagger until a loud crack echoes through the crypt.
I’ve just broken into the queen’s coffin.
I stand there for a long moment, gripped with terror and the anticipation of something even worse. But it is only my own quivering breaths that fill the space as I curl trembling hands around the lid and throw the creaking wood open.
I shut my eyes, as if to convince myself that this stifling darkness is my choice. As if I have control over this petrifying situation.
Splayed, shaking fingers reach for what lies before me.
I know what I’ll find within the cushioned box. So when my skin brushes against the cold length of a bone, it’s not shock that has me gasping. It’s regret.
This was a human. This was a woman who lived and loved and was left to rot. The dead deserve more than respect from the living. They deserve peace. And I’ve disturbed her rest to steal what rightfully belongs to her.
Something eerily vast fills the space behind me, chilling enough to pebble bare flesh. I’ve never felt Death so tangibly, and yet, I recognize his presence all the same. The cold breath on my neck can only belong to the Death I have nearly met so many times before.
Terror sinks its teeth into my very soul.
I need to get out of here. But not without that crown.
Panicking, I run my hands up what is left of the once-beautiful queen. Decaying bones flake beneath my swift fingers and crumble against my touch. I choke on my next breath, forcing my hands to climb higher still.
Pelvis. Spine. Ribs.
It’s been decades since the body was placed in this crypt, and now there is nothing left of her. The very essence of what she once was crumbles in my hands, fragile in death. My fingers meet her skull, fractured and caved in with the weight of time. I bite my tongue and continue up, up, up—
Something cold meets the tips of my fingers.
I can just make out the raised jewels and jagged points beneath the caking of dirt.
A smile pulls at my cracked lips. I may not be able to see what it is I’ve found, but I know this symbol of power by feel alone.
With a steadying breath, I pull that coveted crown from the queen’s body.
