Lothar nodded, his gaze immediately going to Letha, then quickly away again. “Of course.”
Lorcan’s eyes narrowed, but he also agreed.
“We’ll take this side.” Evelayn gestured behind them to her left. “Meet back here in a few hours?”
“What are we looking for?” Letha asked.
“Anything.” Lorcan finally spoke up. “Statues, carvings, tomes, tapestries, anything that has survived all these years and can give us a clue as to what he wants.”
“Sounds so simple.” The sarcasm in Tanvir’s voice earned him scathing looks from both Evelayn and Letha. “Well, best of luck, everyone,” he continued on, undeterred. “Our lives apparently depend on this.”
Evelayn squeezed Lorcan’s hand softly. “Ignore him,” she said under her breath. That she’d read his irritation so easily clearly meant he wasn’t concealing his emotions nearly well enough.
“I always do,” he retorted, making sure he sounded as unconcerned as possible.
“It’s quite dark in there,” Ceren commented. Though her voice was steady, Lorcan could scent her underlying fear. He forgot that as Light Draíolon, their eyesight in the dark wasn’t as acute as his.
“I can help,” he offered, lifting his palm and summoning a small shadowflame to hover above his hand. It wasn’t the same as the light they could have produced if they had their power—his flames burned greenish black—but at least it offered a bit of extra illumination.
“Should you be using any power right now?”
Lorcan shot her an imperious look. “I’m fine now. You know any youngling can do as much.”
“If you insist. I’m merely saying you should be careful. I don’t think we should use any more of that water to heal you.”
Nothing had ever made Lorcan feel weaker than having Evelayn question his ability to control his power, even for something as ridiculously simple as summoning a bit of shadowflame to help light their way. But he refused to let her know how deeply her worry cut as she let go of his hand to follow Ceren farther into the depths of the temple.
EVERYTHING IN THE TEMPLE HAD A FINE COATING OF dust, yet it didn’t smell stale. In fact, the air was completely clear and fresh, void of the fog that entrenched the forest surrounding it. Their progress was painstakingly slow, as they searched for any hint of the answer the Spirit Harbinger had promised was there for “those who know how to see.” Even with the help of Lorcan’s shadowflame, Evelayn had to strain to see clearly in the gloom. It wasn’t fully dark in the temple, but it was close.
They were quiet at first, as if afraid speaking would bring the Spirit Harbinger back. The three Draíolon wandered through abandoned hallways and rooms. Some were in nearly perfect condition, while others had entire walls that were collapsed. They were methodical in their search, wiping dust from the stones, inspecting every ceiling, floor, and wall for anything that would indicate what they needed to return. There seemed to be nothing to find, however; the stones were smooth, and the entire structure was barren of any furniture, decorations, or other sign of having ever been inhabited.
“What is this place?” Ceren finally asked, her voice hushed, when they paused for a break in one of the rooms. She sat on a pile of rubble where the wall between two rooms had partially collapsed. “Why build something so massive and leave it completely empty?”
Evelayn paused in her inspection of the opposite wall for any sign of a possible hidden door or storage area. Lorcan was in the hallway, running his hands over the doorframe. A frame for a door that didn’t exist—none of the rooms had any.
“I don’t know,” Evelayn admitted with a shiver. This room had a thin window with no glass, allowing in some of the gray light from the forest surrounding them, as well as a draft of cool air that still held the scent of the Dheagmadra, which were probably circling the temple, waiting for them to emerge.
If the Draíolon even figured out what the Spirit Harbinger wanted, how would they escape the death that awaited them outside? How would they ever reach the White Peak to reclaim Evelayn’s stone and her power? A mounting sense of hopelessness grew heavier with each room they passed through with no answers.
“I’m so sorry, Ceren,” Evelayn said softly, facing the wall.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” her friend protested, but Evelayn suddenly had to blink back tears.
“Yes, I do. I failed my parents, I failed my kingdom. And I failed you. Because of me, you’re trapped in here instead of at home with Quinlen and your younglings. And I don’t know how—”
“Ev.” Ceren cut her off. “Stop.”
Evelayn sensed Ceren rising and coming to where she stood, still turned to the wall. “I chose to follow you. I chose to stay. You can’t blame yourself.” Ceren put an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her tightly. “And you didn’t fail any of us.”
Evelayn inhaled slowly, trying to rein in her emotions. She didn’t want Lorcan to hear her crying and think her any weaker than he most likely already did.
“But I did—I have. Ten years ago I couldn’t even protect myself, let alone my kingdom. And look at what’s happened to all of us because of that—because of me.”
“Ev, you were poisoned. No one would have been able to defend themselves if that had happened to them.”
You were poisoned. Evelayn’s head jerked up suddenly. “Lorcan,” she called out, knowing he couldn’t help but overhear them with his acute hearing.
The king of Dorjhalon stepped into the doorway, as much a mess as she was, with his ripped, bloody tunic and pants, his dirt-streaked face and hair—and yet everything inside her tightened at the sight of him. She didn’t want to admit it, but there was something building between them.
“Who poisoned me?” It was the one detail she hadn’t remembered until that moment.
Lorcan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”
“I have to know.”
He sighed with a grimace and said, “The only Draíolon who had access to your drinks that night.”
Evelayn thought for a moment and then: “Tanvir,” she breathed, her stomach caving in as if he’d punched her. “No. He wouldn’t have … would he?” Tanvir had done much to deceive and manipulate her … but to poison her? On the night she made her Oath of Intent to Bind herself to him?
Lorcan remained silent, but his expression said it all.
“How? How did he even know to do it—or where to get it?”
“My mother. I sent her a message to have him do it so I could fulfill Máthair Damhán’s demands.”
“He knew? What you were going to do to me?” An awful weakness hit her, making her legs tremble and her heart constrict. “But … he fought you. He was so upset. It was all an act?”
Lorcan took a step toward her, but she lifted her hand, palm extended, and he halted again, his mouth twisting. She couldn’t bear to have him near her, not right then.
“I didn’t expect him to fight me,” he said. “But I do think he truly cared for you, and that he felt guilty for what he’d done. And no, he didn’t know I was going to take your stone. No one did.”
Evelayn stared at him, so many conflicting emotions roiling through her body that she wanted to scream and cry all at once. He’d said something that night to Tanvir about being one to talk about oath breaking. Now she understood. Tanvir had made an oath to love her, to protect her, for her to be as his right arm, flesh of his flesh. And the same night he’d poured poison in her cup and let her drink it, enabling Lorcan to take everything from her.
Ceren suddenly cleared her throat, reminding Evelayn that she was there. “I think maybe you should rest for a minute. I’ll keep going and you can catch up.”
Evelayn barely acknowledged Ceren’s less-than-subtle attempt to give them privacy. Even after she left, Lorcan remained motionless and silent, waiting.
“Why did you do it?” Evelayn couldn’t help but ask. “Why did you make me think he’d died?”
His gaze was unwavering, but a flash of chagrin cros
sed his face. “I didn’t really have a chance to think it through. He attacked me, remember. Perhaps what you should be asking is why, when I could have actually killed him, I chose not to.”
Evelayn wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that question. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Binding herself to Lorcan, going on this quest to retrieve her stone, now finding herself trapped in a long-forgotten temple with a new threat from the Spirit Harbinger pressing in on them, while bloodthirsty creatures circled the crumbling stone walls … The weight of it all felt suddenly unbearable. She jumped to her feet and strode to the window, staring out at the gray forest, into the swirling mist.
“Is there no day or night here?” she demanded angrily. “How do we know when our time is up if the light never changes?”
There was a long silence before Lorcan spoke again, much closer than she’d expected.
“Why did you do it? Why risk yourself to save me?”
Evelayn stared out into the fog, her neck growing hot. She felt him drawing even nearer to her, and for some reason she didn’t stop him. “You saved me first. I owed you a life debt.”
“I don’t believe you.” It was a low whisper, from directly behind where she stood, still staring resolutely at the thickening fog. Her heart beat in her throat and deep in her abdomen. When his fingers skimmed the back of her neck, moving her hair to expose the skin, she shivered.
“Why not?” she tried to sound unaffected, but the words came out with a tremble.
“Because.” His warm breath brushed her exposed skin, sending another heated shiver through her body. “I can scent your lie.”
Neither of them moved; Evelayn could barely breathe for the pounding of her heart. It seemed as though Lorcan was everywhere—the heat of his body emanating mere inches from hers, and the pine-and-frost scent she’d come to know so well filling her senses, now laced with the deeper musk that meant he was as deeply affected by her as she was by him.
“Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this.” The words were a hoarse murmur, setting her body aflame. It took all her self-control to remain still, to keep her back to him, even as her heart beat so hard against the cage of her ribs that it stole her breath.
“I … I don’t know what you mean,” she managed.
“Liar.” He took her shoulders in his hands and gently turned her to face him.
She stared at his chest, knowing his silver eyes would be her undoing.
“Evelayn, please,” Lorcan rasped, “look at me.”
Finally, she did as he asked, her gaze traveling up his body to his throat, his strong chin, his full lips and aquiline nose, at last meeting his eyes—and was shocked to see what looked like grief in their silver depths.
He lifted one hand and softly brushed her hair back from her cheek. They stared at each other, neither moving toward the other. Finally, he murmured, “I want you, Evelayn. So much, I can barely stand it. But I don’t want to ask anything of you that you aren’t willing to give.” He let his thumb trail hesitantly across her lip, sending a shock wave of desire through her body.
“You want me?” she asked unsteadily.
“All of you,” he confirmed, his eyes dropping to her mouth. “Body, heart, and soul.”
Yet he still didn’t kiss her.
“But …”
“But,” he continued, at her prompting, “you’ve been hurt—badly. And I am largely to blame for it. So I understand if you can’t ever forgive me, if you can’t look past that and—”
She cut him off by pressing her fingers to his lips. “I … I do care for you.” Evelayn let her hand fall to his chest, where she could feel his heart beating against her palm.
There was a sudden burst of the most exquisite brightness in his scent. It nearly made her want to cry when she realized it was hope—something she’d never seen or scented on him before.
Lorcan cupped her face, his thumb tracing the corner of her mouth as he slowly, slowly leaned toward her. Inch by inch, giving her ample time to stop him, to turn away. Instead, she lifted her chin, raising her face to his. His lips finally brushed hers and sent a jolt through her body as if lightning and ice had met and exploded in her veins. She grabbed his tunic with both hands, curling her fingers into the fabric to pull him closer. His arms came around her, but he was very careful, holding her as though afraid she could break—or might still decide to push him away.
“Please,” she groaned, her lips moving against his with her plea. The ache inside—the sudden insatiable need to get closer to him—was nearly unbearable.
Lorcan let loose a deep, guttural growl, and finally pressed her to him, his hands clutching her back. His lips moved on hers, a shockingly tender kiss that stripped away his bravado, his power, the facade that he presented to the world, and left him more vulnerable and open than she ever dreamed possible. And that ache morphed into something more, growing stronger but also different, melding into a need to not only care for him and to want him, but to shield him somehow …
And then it hit her, as he ran his fingers down her spine, and his mouth parted over hers, growing more insistent. She wanted to love this fierce, powerful king of Dorjhalon—to whom she was Bound—who had never known true love in his entire existence.
Lorcan claimed to want her body, heart, and soul, and though she was frightened, she believed him. And somehow, despite everything, she wanted all of him, as well. This male who kissed her with such strength and yet such gentleness, who touched her body as if he’d never held anything more precious.
“I found it!” Ceren’s shout shattered the stolen moment, and they abruptly broke apart.
She dashed back into the room a moment later, her eyes wide, seemingly too excited to notice how flustered they were as she announced, “I found the answer!”
CEREN WANDERED DEEPER INTO THE TEMPLE, GIVING Evelayn and Lorcan the time alone that they so obviously needed. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about Evelayn Binding herself to him … but Ceren was also learning there was much more to Lorcan than she’d originally thought. The longer she spent with him—and with him and Evelayn together—the more she wondered if perhaps there was a possibility of a happy future for them—provided they all survived this ill-fated journey.
Even just the brief memory of what she’d left behind—a flash of Quinlen’s face, and Saoirse’s downy-soft hair, and Clive’s mischievous giggle—hit her like a punch to the gut. Ceren had to force the thought of her family far, far away, or else she would break down entirely. She missed them more fiercely than she thought possible, so much that it was an actual physical pain laced with the fear that she would never see them again.
“Focus,” she commanded herself, inhaling slowly and blowing the air back out through her mouth to regain control of her quickly escalating emotions. Find the answer, and maybe you will get back home to them.
The first three rooms they’d searched had been of normal size and completely empty. But as Ceren continued down the dim hallway, she saw a much wider doorway at the end of it and felt a faint tug, as if something was beckoning her inside. Her heart rate sped up as she hesitantly walked toward it, ignoring the other smaller rooms to her left and right.
The chamber was massive, she realized when she drew close enough, and there seemed to be a faint glow emanating from within. After their experience with the glowing water earlier that day, Ceren was suddenly nervous. But they had found no answers yet, and the pull that bade her enter the room grew stronger the closer she got. Something in there was calling to her … and something inside her responded.
Taking a deep breath, she walked in and her mouth parted in awe. It was a circular chamber, the walls made entirely of carvings: scenes of celebration and scenes of death and violence. Some of the figures were familiar—they looked like Draíolon—and some were unfamiliar, creatures and beings she’d never seen before. The room was again barren of any furniture or other items, but in the center, there was a stone structure that looked like a well. Parts o
f it were broken as if an explosion had blasted through it. That faint glow she’d noticed came from the depths of the well.
Hesitantly, Ceren moved toward it. Did it hold more of the Water of Life? That would certainly explain the glow, and it made sense for a well to have water in it. But when she drew close enough, she bent over to glance down and had to quickly back up again, her heart thumping. It was deep. So deep she hadn’t been able to see the bottom—just an abyss of darkness, broken only by the strange glow that somehow shone through the darkness without dispelling it.
Ceren turned back to the carvings, inspecting them more closely. They were remarkably detailed. A few on the wall farthest from the doorway were caved in. Something had happened in this room. Maybe all of the rooms. It almost seemed as if …
And that’s when she realized what she was looking at. Ceren slowly turned in a circle, her eyes growing wider and wider. And then she spun and dashed back the way she’d come, shouting, “I found it!”
She rounded the corner to the room where Evelayn and Lorcan stood only a few feet apart. Ceren ignored the obvious signs that she’d interrupted a private moment to announce, “I found the answer!”
“Where? What is it?” Lorcan was quicker than Evelayn to regain his composure.
“I’ll show you.”
They followed her into the chamber and she gestured at the walls.
“The carvings?” Evelayn sounded confused.
“I thought that’s all they were at first, too. But step back. Look at them as a whole.”
Ceren waited while Evelayn and Lorcan slowly turned in a circle, taking in the entire room—all except the section that was broken.
“It’s a story.” Evelayn’s eyes were wide.
“I think it’s more than a story,” Lorcan commented quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“I think it’s a depiction of history. Of how the Ancients stole the original power from this temple.” He pointed at the well. “From right there.”
Their entire group was gathered in the round chamber, trying to piece together all the elements of the carvings and the history they detailed.