The Heart of Betrayal (The Remnant Chronicles 2)

“Keep?” the nearest chievdar prompted. It was my job as Keep to move the execution forward.

I walked closer and stood before them. They lifted their chins, wise enough to be afraid, wiser still not to ask for mercy.

“You’re accused of deserting your duty, your posts, and betraying your oath to protect your comrades. The five you left behind died. I ask each one of you, did you commit these crimes?”

The one who had sobbed broke out in anguished wails. The other two nodded, their mouths half open. Not one of the three was more than fifteen years old.

“Yes,” each one said obediently in turn, even through their terror.

I turned to the soldiers below. “What say you, comrades? Yea or nay?”

A unanimous rumble as thick as night rolled in the air.

The weight of the single word pressed down on my shoulders, heavy and final. None of these three had yet seen a razor on his face.

Yea.

Every man waiting below needed to believe his comrades would be there for him, that no fear or impu

lse would deter him from doing his duty. One of the five who died may have been their brother, their father, their friend.

It was at this point the Komizar or the Keep might have cut a line, not too deep, in the throat of one. Just enough for him to choke on his own blood, to draw out his misery and make the other prisoners retch in fear, just deep enough to sear it into the memory of every witness below. Traitors received no mercy.

The chievdar drew his knife and offered it to me.

I looked at the knife, looked out at the soldiers below. If they hadn’t seen enough misery by now, they’d have to find it elsewhere.

I turned back to the condemned soldiers. “May the gods show you mercy.”

And with a simple nod, before the chievdar could protest the quick end, the blades came down and their sobbing ceased.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The hallway was dark, and the lantern I had snatched from a hook barely lit my way. I couldn’t go back the way I had come. Every turn had been blocked by governors or sentries, and I’d had to make quick unexpected turns to avoid them, slipping down narrow stairways, darting into paths that were little more than tunnels. Now I wandered in this squat hall that showed little promise of leading anywhere. It was empty and bleak, and appeared to be unused.

The walls closed in the farther I went, and the air was musty. I could taste its heavy age on my tongue. I contemplated turning back, but then I finally came to a portal and more stairs that led down. It felt as if I were already in the belly of a deceased creature. The last thing I wanted to do was venture deeper into its bowels, but I stepped down anyway. I worried that Kaden would be back before nightfall and didn’t want him to know of my wanderings. He would surely seal the trapdoor.

The stone steps curved, funneling me into more darkness, something I was becoming accustomed to in this hellish city, and then suddenly I heard a rumble and the stair beneath me gave way. I fell, tumbling in the darkness, losing the lantern, my cloak wrapping around me, my hands scraping walls, stairs, anything to try and stop my fall. Finally I landed with a glorious hard thump on a floor. I lay there, momentarily stunned, wondering if I had broken anything.

A cold burst of air washed up from below, carrying the scents of smoke and oil. Faint light revealed an immense root crawling down the wall beside me like a heavy-footed creature. Above me, thin tendrils of other roots hung down like slithering serpents. If not for the light and the scent of lantern oil, I’d have been certain I had fallen into the hellish garden of a demon. I sat up, the cloak still twisted around my shoulders and chest, then rubbed my knee, which hadn’t had the benefit of padding. There was a bloody tear in the trousers. Piece by piece, I was shredding Kaden’s clothes. How would I ever explain them? I got to my feet, shaking the cloak free, and something hard knocked against my leg. I reached down and squeezed the fabric. There was something rigid sewn in the hem. I ripped it open, and a thin sheaf of leather fell into my hand. A small knife was tucked in it.

Natiya! It had to be. Dihara would never take such a risk. Neither would Reena. But I remembered Natiya’s defiant raised chin when she brought the cloak to me. It was neatly rolled up with string around it to secure it. Kaden had grabbed it from her, saying it would have to go in my bedroll.

I turned the knife over in my hands. It was smaller than my own dagger, a three-inch blade at most, and slim. Perfect for Natiya’s small hands—and perfect for hiding. It couldn’t do much damage if thrown, but at close range it was lethal enough. I shook my head, grateful for her cunning, picturing how nervously and quickly she would have had to work to sew it into the hem with no one the wiser. I slid it into my boot and continued cautiously down the winding staircase. Then, like a gift, with a few more steps, the stairs ended and soft golden light rushed up to meet me.

I stepped out into a room and suppressed a gasp.

It was a vast cavern of white stone, glowing with the warm buttery light of lanterns. Dozens of columns rose up, sprouting into arches across the great expanse. Giant roots like the one I saw in the stairway had bored through the ceiling and snaked down along pillars and walls. Smaller vines dangled between—the whole room looked eerily alive with creamy yellow snakes. The floor was part polished marble, part rough stone, and in some places, piled rubble. Shadows flickered between arches, and in the distance I saw robed figures walking away. I tried to peer after them, but they quickly disappeared into the dark.

Who were they, and what were they doing down here? I hugged my cloak close about me and darted out, hiding behind a pillar. I scanned the cavern. What was this place? They have elaborate temples built far below the ground.

A ruin. I was in an excavated ruin of the Ancients.

Three robed figures walked past just on the other side of the pillar, and I pressed closer to the stone, holding my breath. I listened to their shuffling feet on the polished floor, a strange softness to their steps. The sound of reverence and restraint. I stepped out into the light, forgetting caution, and watched the sway of their plain brown robes as they departed.

“Stop!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the cavern.

All three halted and turned. They didn’t draw weapons, or maybe they just couldn’t because their arms were full of books. Their features were hidden in the shadows of their hoods, and they didn’t speak. They simply faced me, waiting. I approached them, keeping my steps steady and assured.