Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (37 page)

This statement carried more than a hint of accusation, but the throbbing rush of Kyrin’s blood almost drowned it out.
Please, not this
. Like mice fleeing sudden light, her thoughts raced in all directions. She needed more time. Kaden needed more time. She needed to get out of here.

Only one small hole of escape settled before her, but would it work here as it had at Tarvin Hall? “I find it hard to concentrate with the distraction of so many people.”

Daican stared at her for a long moment, and it took sheer willpower not to fidget or tremble. He had to believe her. Just for a few more days.
Please.

“Come.”

She flinched at his command, and he strode past her for the door. Kyrin froze to the tile, but one menacing look from Richard sent her following the emperor. In silence, they marched through the palace. Kyrin’s breath came in short pants. Her thoughts rushed ahead, creating all the worst possible scenarios, but she battled them with all her strength. She would get through this, she and Kaden would escape, and they would have the free life they’d always dreamed of and planned for.
Elôm, please, let it be!
They were too close to fail now.

When they passed through a door and entered the courtyard behind the palace, everything inside her tumbled to a tangled halt. Just ahead loomed the
temple, and Daican set their course straight for it. A violent tremor raced through Kyrin and stalled her feet. The end had come. The deception was over. Paralyzing certainty of this rushed over her and stole the breath from her lungs.

A strong shove from behind forced her onward, but heavy weights dragged from her ankles.
Elôm, no, please, I can’t do this.
The temple’s tall, wide doors drew near like the gaping mouth of some giant beast. Kyrin darted a look left and right—to the gardens, to the outbuildings—anywhere to escape. But they would find her. She would never slip past the wall. Not alive. And then, a numbing clarity settled over her. The time had come to take her stand. There would be no going back now. No escape.

But what if she failed? Blood beat her eardrums, and she gulped for air. She was a coward.
What if she gave in to her fear? What if she didn’t stand? Her chest shuddered and fiery spasms shot through it as if her heart just might stop. Such a thing might be preferable to facing what would come when they reached the temple. She slowed again at the doorway, but this time, Richard’s rough hand clamped around her arm to drag her inside. Her heart rate spiked and her vision clouded.
Help me, Elôm! Please!

The shadows of the interior engulfed them. Struggling to get enough air, Kyrin stumbled through the short hall that opened up into a cavernous chamber in the belly of the temple. Hundreds of candles gave off an eerie, reddish light. Incense hung thick in the air. It coated Kyrin’s tongue and throat with a bitter film that choked her and accelerated her dizziness. Richard yanked her to a halt, and Kyrin raised her eyes. There they stood—the two towering gold idols of a man and woman that were more ornate and larger than the ones she’d once bowed before at Tarvin Hall. Her knees trembled.

Dead silence hung over the chamber. Most of Auréa’s staff was present, and all eyes fixed on the group. Here, Daican turned. He grabbed Kyrin and pushed her forward. She winced in his tight grip. In a low, forbidding voice, amplified by the open space, he commanded, “Bow before your gods.”

Wide eyes locked on the glittering idols, Kyrin shook from her fingers right down into her core. Her thoughts scrambled in every direction, chased by fear and the pounding, overpowering cry to give in to the emperor’s demand. All she had to do was bow. She didn’t even have to mean it, did she? She only had to convince him long enough to get away. Strength faded from her knees. But then, it was as if some force stepped in, melting the terror, casting it from her body, and wrapping her mind in a protective shield. An upwelling of strength and confidence she had never known before took its place. Her racing thoughts ceased and her mind stilled. Clarity came again, though not with a wash of dread, but assurance.

“Bow before your gods,” the emperor repeated with more force this time. The words resonated against the walls.

Kyrin drew in a slow breath and filled her lungs. No longer did her pulse thunder in her head. She slid her eyes over to meet the emperor’s, and her voice came out soft, yet strong with words never before uttered in the palace temple.

“They are not my gods…Elôm is my God.”

With this declaration, warmth burst through Kyrin’s chest with a giddiness that almost trickled into laughter. She’d done it. No more hiding, no more pretending. The truth was out, and it cloaked her like a soothing blanket.

The world seemed to rest at a standstill for several seconds, but then came a collective gasp. Murmurs rose up and filled the hollow space with sharp hisses, but Kyrin’s gaze remained locked with Daican’s. In that moment, his true nature revealed itself—the ice, the darkness in his eyes she expected from the beginning. Though his expression barely changed, it hardened to iron.

“Aric,” he snapped. His eyes never left Kyrin. “Take her away.”

The man’s strong hands closed around her arms, and only then did Kyrin withdraw her eyes from Daican’s piercing gaze. Amidst the murmurings and whispers, Aric escorted her out of the temple. Leaving the dark interior, they stepped out into fresh air and sunshine. Kyrin looked up as the light hit her face. She soaked in the heat and radiance, so pure compared to the eerie gloom of the temple, resting like a comforting hand against her cheek.

She would need that comfort. This was only the beginning. There would be more to endure. There would be pain. She didn’t try to fool herself into thinking otherwise. It just didn’t matter now. She had proclaimed her belief in Elôm, and her life was entirely His. The same divine peace that surrounded her in the temple still stirred inside her, carrying her.

Her eyes caught on someone to her right. Daniel. The prince watched them pass with a frown. Kyrin held his confused gaze for a moment. Oh, why hadn’t she spoken to him when she had the chance? But it was far too late now.

The prince fell behind them as Aric guided Kyrin through a door that led down a deep, stone staircase. Torches lit the way as they descended. The temperature dropped and the air dampened, raising goose bumps along Kyrin’s arms. A thick, musty odor drifted from down a long hall, and the heaviness of it pressed on her lungs. She hadn’t thought, as she walked the gilded palace halls, what lay beneath it. A shiver prickled up her spine.

Aric led her on a ways before stopping at a thick door where he pushed her inside a small room. It stood empty save for one burning torch and a solitary chair in the center. Aric ordered her to sit. She did so, looking up at him, and detected some unreadable shadow in his eyes. But he said nothing as he turned his back on her and left the room. The door closed loudly behind him, and the lock clicked.

Alone in the silence, Kyrin rubbed her chilled arms. She gazed about the room and found only dark stone until she paused on the darker patches on the floor around her feet. She frowned, but her stomach roiled with understanding. Dried blood. Stains spattered the chair too. She jumped up from her seat as her mouth turned to dust. With slow but shuddering breaths, she sank back into the chair.

“Elôm.” The hollow space swallowed her voice, but she went on, “I need You to continue strengthening me to endure whatever is coming. I’m not strong enough or brave enough on my own.” She worked her throat to loosen the painful tightness. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I’m afraid, but You gave me courage in the temple. Please, I still need that courage.”

The seconds drew into long minutes. Everything was still. Kyrin had never experienced such silence before. Even the burning torch barely made a sound. Before long, claustrophobia rose up around her like floodwaters, and she tried to moderate her breathing. She wobbled with lightheadedness and gripped the chair until her fingers hurt. Squeezing her eyes closed, she whispered prayers to fill the quiet.

“I am a child of Elôm,” she murmured to herself, drawing from all Sam had taught her. “My life is in His hands. I live for Him and Him alone. He controls my future. Nothing happens without His knowledge.”

The thump of footsteps interrupted her steady flow of words. She raised her head as the lock worked and licked her dried-out lips, but her tongue wasn’t much better. The door swung open, and Daican entered. Though Kyrin’s body reacted with a flush of cold, somehow a quiet assurance maintained control over her mind. Richard and Aric stepped in next, but Aric remained at the door. Kyrin’s gaze shifted from him to the emperor, who peered down at her with his fists on his hips. Even Master Zocar’s most withering stare couldn’t compare to the intimidation behind
Daican’s.

“How long have you believed such lies?”

Kyrin sat in silence, but inside she begged Elôm for strength not to give up any information. Daican narrowed his eyes and then nodded to Richard. The man stepped forward and dragged Kyrin up off the chair. She tensed in his grip, but didn’t take her gaze from the emperor. What a fool she’d been to think and hope he would prove himself to be more than the man she believed he was at Tarvin Hall. He’d actually had her convinced at times, but Kaden had been right.

“Who taught you?” Daican demanded.

Sam’s face flashed in her mind. This answer above all else must be guarded with her life. She clamped her teeth down hard. Grasping her wrist, Richard twisted her arm up behind her back. Pain shot through her shoulder, and she gasped out a small cry.

“Who taught you about Elôm?” Daican repeated his question calmly, but with a sharp edge to his voice.

Kyrin just shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Elôm help her, she would never give Sam up.

Richard yanked her arm up farther. Another wave of pain seared through her shoulder muscles as her tendons stretched taut. She ground her teeth together to stifle a groan. Tears stung her eyes.

“Tell me who taught you.” Daican’s voice rose. “Was it someone at Tarvin Hall? Or someone in the city?”

Kyrin met each subsequent question without answering. They varied, but always returned to who had taught her of Elôm. With each refusal to speak, Richard twisted her arm up a little higher. Surely, at some point, a joint would pop or a bone would snap. It was only a matter of time. Beads of sweat rolled down her face, mixed in with leaking tears. Dizzy with pain, another whimpered cry broke free. Panting, she looked at Daican’s blurred face through her tears and a surge of defiance built up in her.

“No,” she declared. “I’ll never tell you anything. No matter what you do, I’ll never speak.”

After the prolonged silence, the release of such words brought relief, but only for a moment. Sheer agony ripped through her shoulder, and she cried out. Her legs buckled, and she crumpled at Richard’s feet. Slumped over, she cradled her arm. Her shoulder pulsed and burned, the muscles throbbing down to her fingertips. She held her arm close to her middle.

Footsteps drew close, and Daican’s boots appeared in front of her. She raised her head as he bent closer. In a low, dangerous tone, he said, “Whether you tell me anything or not is of no consequence. Your life is forfeit.”

Tears bit her eyes, but the small, flickering flame that had kept her fighting all these years still burned, even here in this dungeon. “Then I die knowing I have a better life waiting for me.”

Daican’s blow landed hard on her right cheek and snapped her head to the side. Her ears rang, and she almost toppled over. By the time her senses cleared, the emperor was at the door. He paused and glanced back at her, true regret in his tone. “It’s a shame, Miss Altair. I liked you.” The regret vanished when he yanked the door open and ordered, “Take her.”

Two guards strode into the room. Before Kyrin could move, they grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. She moaned a little, but neither man showed concern for her injuries. Out in the hall, they marched her along, deeper into the dungeon. Kyrin couldn’t focus past her shoulder and the pain robbing her of breath. When they did stop, a corridor of cells stretched before them. They shoved her into one. Only then did Kyrin take notice of Aric. He stepped to the door.

“You will need to give me your dress.”

Kyrin glanced at her clothing and then back to him. “What?”

“Your dress, you need to give it to me.”

Kyrin gripped her vest and inched back in the cell.

Aric breathed out audibly and spoke in a quiet tone. “Don’t make me have to take it from you.”

Kyrin looked around, but the dark cell offered no solution or alternative. Moving slowly, she tried not to think, just act. With shaky fingers, she unlaced her vest. Her left arm wasn’t much
use, and she had to blink to keep her eyes clear. Carefully, she worked the vest off and handed it to Aric. Looking down at her dress, she hesitated again. How far would they make her go? She shuddered.

Crying out to Elôm, she loosened the laces as best she could and glanced up. Aric stared at the floor, but the two other guards peered in at her with no attempt to conceal their fiendish satisfaction. She fumbled with the laces. Once she was able, she slipped the dress off and handed it over, too. Wearing only her shift, she felt utterly exposed and wrapped her good arm around herself.

“The shoes.”