Wrath of the Storm (Mark of the Thief 3)

If I was lucky, I still had another hour to live. Of course, if luck had ever played a role in my life, I wouldn't have been here in the first place.

Only the gods knew how long I'd been trapped beneath a pile of rubble from what had once been a temple -- and a tomb. Atroxia's tomb.

Was it hours? Days? I really didn't know.

I had destroyed this temple, hoping to destroy Atroxia as well. But she was so much more powerful than I had expected. My plan had failed. I had failed against her and, in doing so, had lost everything.

My magic was gone. Every time I'd awoken, I'd hoped to find a spark within me. Yet I was still waiting, still hoping. It was gone.

I'd also lost my mother and my sister. I had no idea if they were safe, or where they were now.

My friend Aurelia was probably safe, but she was lost, at least to me. In order to save her own life, Aurelia had agreed to marry another of our friends, Crispus. That agreement had etched a wound within me that no kind of magic could heal.

I'd even lost Radulf, who had traded himself to Atroxia to save me. No matter how often I had tried to understand why he'd done that, I couldn't. Something in the complicated relationship with my grandfather had changed. I just wasn't sure what it was.

I'd lost all of this because of Atroxia, which was her name while in her human form. The Praetors knew her differently, as a cursed dragon named the Mistress who was bound to serve the goddess Diana. At times, they spoke as one voice, but not always, I'd learned. The dragon controlled the girl.

It was obvious why Diana had chosen to curse Atroxia this way. Atroxia had once been a vestalis, a holy woman. But she was nothing of the sort now. Instead of honoring her high position, she had betrayed it centuries ago, an act that resulted in the murder of Emperor Julius Caesar by one of Diana's descendents. The punishment for her crime was to be buried alive. While she still breathed, Diana changed her into a dragon, powerful enough to withstand centuries of punishment. It saved her life and, at the same time, destroyed her life.

Thanks to my foolishness, she was loose now and would carry out Diana's plans to bring down the empire. The Praetors of Rome would help in that fight. It was a war that had started with Caesar's assassination.

And I suspected that one way or the other, it would end with me.

Time was not on my side.

For once, it wasn't because of the gods, or my failed attempts to reclaim any feeling of magic.

No, my problem now was far more simple.

I was running out of air.

I needed to escape.

But first, I would sleep again.

I couldn't help it.

Nicolas Calva, where are you?"

The sharp voice snapped me from my sleep and was accompanied by a pained scream that seemed to echo in the rubble around me. I felt the scream inside my bones, as if whatever had caused it was also happening to me.

It was completely dark down here, but I didn't need light to confirm that I was still alone. The voice had been in my head and had belonged to Radulf. He was calling out for me. And then had been punished for it.

Viciously punished. I knew that because I had felt it too. My heart was still pounding. The tips of my fingers felt like they were on fire, but I couldn't move enough to do anything about them.

The Mistress had taken Radulf away, believing he had the Malice of Mars. Just to look at it, the Malice appeared innocent enough, only a silver armband for the forearm, similar to what a gladiator might wear. But anyone with magic would sense its great power, enough to topple an empire. More than anything in the world, the Mistress wanted that Malice.

Except Radulf didn't have it. I did, somewhere nearby in this darkness.

My eyes wanted to close again, wanted to return me to the deep sleep that had claimed me so many times already since I had become trapped down here. This was Diana's curse on the temple, no doubt, to cause anyone trapped here to sleep, preserving their life and, at the same time, refusing to allow them to live.

I had to get out of here.

My right arm was trapped beneath a large rock and had long ago lost any feeling. I tried making a fist and thought I had been successful, but I wasn't sure. It was completely numb. My left arm was nearer to my body. My wrist wouldn't bend, and then I remembered the Mistress had broken it. So as far as I could tell, I still had both limbs, but they were useless. My legs were below me, twisted and contorted around crumbled temple stones that at one time had each been as large as a grown man. Equally useless.

The Malice was in here too. I vaguely remembered collapsing the temple with the Malice in my hands. Bringing several tons of marble and brick down over my head had been a dangerous move, but it seemed better than allowing the Mistress to get it. Now I wasn't so sure. The best choice would've been not to seek the Malice in the first place, though that might never have been an option for me. Eventually, I'd have been forced into coming here. Diana's curse must still rest upon this temple, or I'd probably be dead already.

Collapsing the temple had been only half of my stupid plan. The other half was to use the Malice to escape again. Unfortunately, it had fallen out of my reach. I hoped it wasn't far away.

I closed my eyes, searching for any feeling of magic within me. I had lost my magic once before, when Radulf took it from me in the amphitheater, and on multiple occasions I had spent so much of my magic that I was unable to use it. But it had always come back. It would come back to me one more time. I hoped.

The Divine Star marked my shoulder. It was still there and could heal me. Where was the bulla?

I vaguely felt its weight on my chest, but the metal had gone cold. I inched my left wrist upward, then clenched my teeth as the broken bones protested the movement. During the battle with the Mistress, how many times had I healed that wrist, only to break it again moments later? Why couldn't I heal it one more time?

I could. I just needed to touch the bulla, and since my right hand was probably flattened like a squashed bug, my broken left hand would have to do the work.

I took a few deep breaths to summon enough courage to raise the arm, then lifted it suddenly, pushing through crumbled stones and pockets of loose dirt. I didn't get far before I had to stop to catch my breath and mumble a few curse words. But no matter how it was screaming at me, my wrist was above my waist now. One more move and it would reach the bulla.

My whole arm

throbbed, and waves of nausea washed over me. I didn't want to move again. If I only relaxed, I knew I could fall asleep as I had every time before. This place wanted me to sleep, to disappear forever here.

But when Radulf had sacrificed himself to the Mistress, I had vowed to go and find him, to save him from whatever the Mistress might do. However long I'd already allowed him to remain within her clutches, it was too long. I had to get out of here.

So before I could think better of it, I jerked my arm upward again. The wrist snapped against a sharp rock that had been in its way, but my arm pushed past it. I cried out, only to fill my lungs with dust that the wrist had swept up with it. Choking, I pressed my arm against my chest, then felt something change.

My left hand had landed on the bulla. It couldn't grip anything, but the same sharp rock that had given me so much pain now propped my arm perfectly in place against the gold amulet.