Azkiel side-eyes me, and I shut my jaw quickly, then huff out a breath as my eyes travel the various statues of him, and I quickly discern that one is made entirely of gold. I roll my eyes up, then shake my head.
I let out a tense breath as we climb the steps, praying Ari is inside. I place my hand against the door, sliding my fingers over the greenish-gray metal, engraved with inscriptions in the old language.
“Uncover one’s face upon entering,” Azkiel reads, the permanent smile on his features feeding my desire to punch him in the face again. “For here we enter the residence of the great Azkiel.”
I grimace, then push the door inward before he can read anymore of the tributes to him. The metal grinds in my ears, as the doors scrape fragments of stone across the ground. A musty odor hits the back of my throat, and I cough against the dryness of the air.
Light filters through what is left of the roof, illuminating a cracked statue of Azkiel. I always thought they made him look taller than he is at around six-feet-ten, but as he towers over us, it’s obvious that they are very accurate depictions of the cruel, handsome god.
My throat burns when I try to clear it as the air sinks into every crevice of my lungs, making me cough again. I venture deeper, listening to the distant crash of waves against the cliffs and rocks, which signals we must be closer to the edge of the island than I thought.
Azkiel shakes his head. “They’re not here.”
“What do we do now?” I ask, desperation clawing at the edges of my mind.
His gaze rolls over me, the intensity burning into my shadows. After a minute, he nods to himself, but doesn’t share whatever he deciphered. “We stop here for the night.”
“Why? We have to keep looking.”
“We wait,” he reiterates. “They can only perform the sacrifice here.”
Drake grimaces at his back, and I sigh, dread threading every thought. “What is that?” I ask as a large chamber room comes into view, the walls crumbling into a pile around what is left of a wooden door.
Azkiel’s footsteps echo as he slowly walks over the ancient, stone ground toward the entrance. Carefully, he swings the deteriorating door, then glances back at us. “The Preparation Chamber.”
I tilt my head as a light reflects from a shattered mirror. Drake steps closer, his arm brushing against mine. Death’s gaze snaps to the lack of distance between us, then back to my face.
“For sacrifices,” I deduce, my heel hitting a rock.
Normally, such things wouldn’t bother me. I’ve always had a fascination with death, but physically being here, sensing the violent energy around me, has my mind swirling. I touch my forehead, the skin searing hot against the back of my hand.
Azkiel’s brows knit together, his eyes taking shape under the light of the moon. What’s wrong?”
My powers curl out from my core, swirling like a tornado in my lungs. A breath escapes me, and I close my eyes to ground myself. But the darkness, the lack of water, and the dry air overwhelm my senses. “Nothing. We’ll stay. If you say this is where they will try to perform the sacrifice, then I’m not leaving.”
THIRTY-THREECalista
I peer into the darkness, wondering what’s taking the elders so long. Surely, they should have brought Ari here by now.
I shuffle my position on a jagged stretch of temple wall, hidden behind thickets of brambles and vines.
A part of me wonders if my father is involved. He’s not the most moral of men, but he loves his daughter. Surely he wouldn’t allow this.
The more death I witness, the closer I feel to finding comfort in the darkness. It’s harder to find empathy, and I can’t help but wonder if the powers in my veins are taking over. In a way, I understand Azkiel’s apathy toward death. He’s likely witnessed hundreds upon thousands of people die. I’ve come so close to the permanence of death a few times since being here that the lure of it has become a melody, calling me.
Drake’s footsteps come to a halt behind me, and I flinch, as if he might somehow hear my thoughts.
His labored breaths sound in my ears as he climbs over the wall, then positions himself next to me. “Hey Wildflower,” he whispers, and I almost smile. I watch as he places his hands on his knees, then lets out a long sigh. “Now that we have a moment away from him, I have to ask—”
“What you saw that night was nothing,” I say before he can finish the sentence, because I refuse to relive the shame of knowing how close I let him get.
He turns his darkening stare toward the forest. “I just worry about you.”
“I worry about you. You shouldn’t be here. Azkiel won’t hurt me, but he will kill you.”
“I’m not running away, and I’m keeping my distance from him.” He fumbles his fingers, then says, “Death has taken an interest in you. Be careful.”
I swallow thickly. “Only because I’m the first person he’s been able to touch.”
“You say that as if it is a small thing. Imagine never being able to feel another person for centuries, then to get a taste of it…”
“Regardless, he hates me,” I whisper, my stare trained on the trees, searching for any movement in the shadows. “He picked you to punish me. He watched me almost die under Cordelia and Briar’s attacks and did nothing to help, and then strangled me with his shadows.”
“Was that what he was doing when I saw you wrapped in his arms?”
I shuffle my position, then look at Drake. “Drop it,” I warn.
“Azkiel saved you from the river.”
I roll my eyes up, then sigh. “Because he thinks I’m the prophesied one.”
Drake shakes his head. “You didn’t see him on that riverbank. He could have gone after them, but he saved you instead.”
“Saving me was to his benefit,” I retort.
He bites his lip, then slumps his shoulders. “It’s just seeing you with him, flaunting him in front of me like that.”
“Seriously?” Rage unravels in my center, and I grip the wall. “I already told you what you saw was nothing, and even if it was, what does it matter?”
