Shadows Before the Sun (18 page)

Sandra tugged on my arm. We moved out of the stream where it met with the sea and onto the smooth flat rock that made up about half the chamber’s natural floor.

Tucked back against the wall was an altar behind which the Circe had gathered, but my attention locked almost immediately onto the narrow opening behind them. Without a doubt, I knew I had to get inside that passageway.

What followed next was a tediously slow sequence of events. First came a song—a beautiful
long
song. After the song, offerings were made to the deity, which explained all the underwater treasure. Alessandra and I tossed our flowers into the sea, and they floated with the hundreds of others, making a pretty web of white blossoms on the water.

Once the rites were over, the procession filed out of the cave, going back up the stream the way it had come. The Circe crossed the floor, heading our way.

“Thank you for coming, oracle,” Arethusa said.

Calliadne took her turn. “Your presence pleases Panopé.”

“Come. Let us retire to our sanctum.” Ephyra gestured toward the passageway.

“I am likewise honored to take part in the rites. Your hospitality is most kind.” Alessandra turned to me and the question not voiced was what they were
going to do with me: invite me along or make me wait in the chamber?

The Circe exchanged glances, odd ones that made me wonder if they communicated telepathically. And then they stared at my arm and warnings fired through my brain.

“Your servant’s markings.” Their eyes didn’t stray from my right arm. “Where did she get them?”

“They are . . . unusual.”

Alessandra didn’t miss a beat—and after the whole “Carly Madison” thing, I feared what would come out of her mouth next. “They were given to her by the jinn who trained her to be my bodyguard. They are ancient jinn markings.”

Relief slid down my spine.
Well done, Sandra. Well done.
Using the jinn was genius because very few Elysians ever bothered themselves with Charbydon practices and rites.

“She may accompany you,” Calliadne said at length, “but must wait outside the sanctum once we enter.”

Alessandra and I bowed. “Most kind,” she said.

I followed them into the passageway.
Finally.
It took most of my focus to bank my emotions and aura so the Circe wouldn’t feel anything suspicious coming from me, and concentrate on my surroundings.

Dressed only in the gown, I was at a serious disadvantage. The length could easily get tangled in my legs. I had no shoes, no weapons, no power to draw on unless I wanted a visit from Sachâth. So that pretty
much left my fists, my training, and my ability to think on my feet.

The passageway made a serpentine path through the gray rock. The air was cool and damp, but it warmed the farther we went back into the earth. I found it strange, if this was indeed the Circe’s dwelling, that there were no guards and no real security system—well, at least the kind I could see; crafting was another matter entirely. They could have this entire place protected with wards and traps.

Unless they had gotten complacent. In the thousand years since the Circe had risen to fame and control, there hadn’t really been any challenges to their power. Who did they need protection from? Everyone here adored them. And, maybe, the lack of guards was for a reason. Like the fact that they didn’t want anyone knowing the evil they did down here.

We walked single file until we came to a round chamber. There were three doors facing us. Calliadne opened the center door and motioned to Alessandra. “Our sanctum is this way.”

Ephyra turned to me. “You must wait here.”

I wasn’t surprised by this, but I
was
shocked at the level of worry I felt for Sandra. The idea of her being alone with the Circe filled me with a very real, very acute sense of dread. I made a step forward. She couldn’t go alone. I was her bodyguard, after all, and—

She stepped in front of me, pressing a hand into my shoulder. The smile of encouragement she tried
to give me failed miserably. “I’ll be fine. There’s a bench there by the wall. Just
wait
for me here.” She was trying to hide it, but she was afraid. I knew her well enough now to know that, and I knew her well enough to care. And I felt very strongly about not wanting her to go. “Sit and rest,” Alessandra went on, squaring her shoulders and taking on an imperious tone. “There is much work for you to do when I return.”

I dipped my head and moved back, not liking it one bit. It went against every single protective instinct I had. My fists closed tightly and I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t say anything out of character for an oracle employee. But, God, I wanted to.

Sandra couldn’t see her fate or mine; she had no way of knowing if she’d be safe. But we did know we were too close now to screw things up. With that thought holding me back, I remained silent. As the Circe ushered her through the door, Sandra glanced over her shoulder and the look in her otherworldly eyes gave me chills. Regret. Resignation. Friendship.

We’d truly become friends. And she’d just left with three of the most powerful creatures in siren history.

Fuck.
I rubbed a hand down my face, eyeing the room and trying to figure out what the hell to do next. I paced. The absence of intel made me bristle. If I knew where Hank was being held, how many guards patrolled the area, I could make a plan. But as
it stood, I didn’t have the luxury of schematics and intel. And I
had
to act.

The look in Sandra’s eyes had been haunting. What the hell had she been thinking? Or maybe I was hyped-up to the point that I was exaggerating things, seeing emotions that weren’t really there.

We’d worked hard to get here, and I wasn’t going to ruin it now by running after them. The Circe wanted a reading from the famous oracle, nothing more. Sandra was far too famous and loved; harming her would cause a three-world uproar, and the Circe were too smart to bring in that kind of scrutiny. They had a good thing going, after all.

Putting the worries aside, I turned my focus to the left and right doors. They were unguarded, but it could be quite different on the other side. And there was a very good chance that each door was warded. I should be able to tell once I touched them.

If confronted, I’d just lie my way through. It’d be perfectly reasonable to claim I was looking for the restroom. Had to be one around there somewhere. Even sirens had to pee.

I chose the door on the left, which did not exude any crafting signatures like a ward, but it was locked. “Okay. Door on the right it is, then.” Also locked.

Great. The only door that wasn’t locked was the center one. Enough time had passed that the hallway should be clear—at least from the Circe. I grabbed the handle and pulled it back slowly to peek inside. A long hallway with smooth walls and floor stretched out before
me. I squeezed inside and eased the door closed.

I was pretty sure the farther I went, the more confusing this place would get.
The Circe’s own labyrinth,
I thought, coming to a fork in the hall. Muted voices echoed from somewhere down the left passageway, so I took the right.

About twenty steps in, warmth flooded the mark on my shoulder.

It was so unexpected that my mouth opened in a silent cry and I almost fell. Holy shit. Every nerve tingled. My heart skipped and then began to pound hard. I leaned on the wall.

Jesus.
Hank.

He was here. He was alive. Hank was alive.

Leander had said Hank lived, but this validation, this knowing it, this
feeling
it filled me with relief.

He was here and close. All I had to do now was play a game of “Getting Warmer” to figure out where he was being held.

I straightened and made it two steps before I realized he had to feel it, too. His mark would’ve warmed just like mine. A grin spread across my face. Wherever he was, he knew I was coming.

•    •    •

Something had changed, he sensed it.

His body was healed enough to begin the lashes again, yet the whip master hadn’t returned. He must be close now to reaching the six hundred and forty-two lashes. Christ, it felt like he had endured six thousand.

Perhaps his sentence had been fulfilled, which didn’t mean shit. He might be going mad, but he knew enough to know they’d never be done with him, never let him go, never let him die.

Fucking bitches.

He couldn’t wait to kill them. He was going to bathe in their blood, decorate his cell with their entrails, and use their heads for footstools. He was going—

Warmth spread suddenly through his chest.

He lay there frozen, heart pounding, holding his breath for fear this strangely familiar pleasure would just as suddenly leave him.

No, he couldn’t take it.

Whatever new kind of torture this was, he’d rather be whipped than to feel this goodness and hope.

He roared in pain because, goddammit, he wanted none of it! No reminders, no marks, no dreams, no flashes of memory, of a life that could never be his!

“Circeeeee!” he bellowed. “Face me, you spineless old hags!” He started laughing until his gut hurt from it.

Then, he clutched the mark over his chest and began digging it out, ripping the flesh with his nails, wanting it gone, off of him so it couldn’t be used against him.

•    •    •

The deep yell thundered down the hallway, making me freeze in my tracks. It was too distant, and so ringed in echoes that I couldn’t understand the words, but the sound made goose bumps crawl along my flesh. It was a wounded, angry, maniacal sound.

Hank was down there somewhere. That was my partner, my friend, my . . . something. Didn’t matter if I was out of my element. Didn’t matter that I had no idea what I was walking into much less how to get back out. There was no conceivable way to formulate a plan until I knew where Hank was, the condition he was in, and how he was being contained; right now, nothing mattered except finding him.

I started running down the hallway, finally finding a door. I eased it open, ready to fight. But inside, it was empty. And then the smell hit me. Fresh blood. Dried blood. Urine. Sweat. Leather. I covered my mouth and nose with one hand, noticing the manacles chained to the far wall and the dark pool of blood on the floor beneath them. So much blood.

A rack of whips and barbs lined one wall.

But everything stilled inside me at the sight of the small, narrow door to the right of the rack. I was across the room in a second, grabbing the key ring on the wall with shaking hands and unlocking the door.

As the lock clicked and released, a deep voice beyond the door spoke.

“About time. I thought you forgot about me.”

For a moment, I thought he was talking to me, but his next words corrected that assumption. “Shall we bet again on how many lashes it takes to kill me this time?”

Oh God. Hank.

I pushed the door and it swung wide, bouncing
gently against the wall. I froze in the doorway at the sight of him spread eagle, facedown, shackled to the floor by two ankle manacles and a collar around his neck, holding him down.

He was naked, and covered in blood and wounds. I’d never seen anything like this before on a living person, one who was still able to speak. I couldn’t move. My throat went thick and fat tears slipped from my eyes. His back was ripped open in clawlike slashes from his neck all the way to the backs of his thighs. There was hardly a clear bit of flesh to be seen. His wounds ranged from fresh to every stage of healing, which told the horrifying tale that this had been done to him over and over again, new wounds on top of old ones.

“God,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Hank.”

I entered the room on shaky legs. His hands were free, one flung out and the other tucked under his chest, fresh blood pooling on the stones. His hair was bloodied and matted and he’d gone completely still and silent at my voice.

I knelt down beside him. “Hank? It’s me, Charlie. I’m going to get you out of here. Everything is going to be okay.” My voice came out startlingly calm for all the chaos going around inside me.

I got up, intent on freeing him, intent on finding the fucking key. My hands shook. Christ, they had him chained facedown on the fucking floor.

Hank started laughing. The low, raspy chuckle grew until his body shook.

What—?

Before I could process his reaction, hands slid beneath my armpits and jerked me out of the room. The cell door slammed closed and locked. Manacles were slapped around my wrists as I came to my senses and tried to break free.

The amulet protecting me from the siren lure was yanked from my neck.

Arethusa’s face came into view and her smile gave me chills. “Stop struggling.”

And I obeyed.

Her voice . . . it was like a drug, an intoxicating, wonderful drug.
Poisonous,
a small voice inside my head said. But it was just a small voice, nothing compared to the rapture of the Circe’s power.

“Well, this changes things, sisters.”

“Oh, I do love a tragic romance. How marvelous!” Calliadne exclaimed.

I swayed.

“We must begin interrogations at once.”

Somehow, even in the fog of hearing them speak, I wasn’t surprised by Ephyra’s comment; she did seem the most brutal of the three, but her voice was so beautiful, like an angel, I didn’t care too much about what she said.

I was handed off to a male siren, barely noticing the rough handling as he pushed me out the door and down the hallway. I stumbled, disoriented by the Circe’s power and grief-stricken for Hank. I couldn’t seem to get my bearings and when the guard shoved me into a small room, I fell to my knees.

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed that way on the floor, eyes wide open, tears leaking out, knees bleeding. The only thing I saw was Hank lying on the floor.

Eventually, the fog lifted and I moved off my sore knees and onto my rear.