Whipping around, I slash at the air with my arm, knocking Caben and the other contenders aside as I push my way toward the temple. I’m at the door before Bax registers the contenders’ shouts.
“Get back here, you fool!” he snarls.
But the pulsing in my chest pulls me through the temple, searching. It arrests my senses and my mind. I have to find the source.
Coming to a sudden stop, I waver on the balls of my feet. A slight breeze could knock me over as my eyes find the thing calling to me.
The crystalline relic.
The dark priest is setting it in a carved out nook just below the moon. His back stiffens, then he turns around. His beady eyes ignite in the black light.
“Protector.” He hisses the word like a snake spits venom.
Bax grabs ahold of my arm and yanks me backward, his nails digging into my skin. “My Liege,” he labors. “Forgive me.” He bows quickly before forcing me out of the sanctuary.
My eyes stay on the relic and the pulse continues to beat against my heart. The empress is alive. But she’s getting weaker. And I’m just feet away from the thing that can save her and my home.
“Release me, bottom-dweller,” I shout.
Bax grabs my other arm and turns me to face him. His eyes widen, sending me a silent message. “Stop,” he says. Then his forehead relaxes. His features mold into softer lines, revealing the man beneath.
My neck muscles tense, but I allow Bax to usher me out of the temple and back onto the bridge with the confused contenders.
“Get back in line, protector,” he commands, his face returning to the hard-set lines of the ring leader.
Caben captures my hand. “What are you doing?”
I open my mouth to explain, then think better. Too many ears listening.
Krewl interrupts my thoughts. “Looks like his father gave him another free pass,” he says to Collar. “. . . always gets away with . . .” His voice fades out.
My eyes squint as I watch Bax move ahead of his league.
Father?
Caben quit his questioning as Bax led us down a side street toward the Cage and cell. The main street was already clearing out by the time we left the temple, and the music and cheers that filled the air were gone, returning the Otherworld to the eerie whipping of the fan blades and clanking steam devices.
The whole walk back, my mind reeled. I’m still trying to piece together what I heard in the temple. But the sight of the relic, the very thing that can save Empress Iana, keeps invading my thoughts.
Caben tugs on the sleeve of my tunic and jerks his head to one of the side tunnels. I nod and follow him through the winding, dark tunnel. We find one of the secluded chambers Bax spoke of, and I wonder how many contenders are killed off before they ever enter the Cage. Maybe it’s best if we lock ourselves away from now on.
After he closes and bolts the door, I pull him into the corner. “What was all that about the Perinyian protector?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I have no idea.” He drives a hand through his dark hair. “Maybe he meant the king. As in the ruler—”
“No,” I say. “They are looking for someone very specific and who’s still alive.” I press my lips together, sorry that I have to remind him of his father’s death. But we have to figure things out. “Something you said before . . .” I trail off, thinking aloud.
His blue eyes hold my gaze. “About what?”
“The crest,” I say as it comes to me. “You said your father told you to guard the crest—that you’re its protector.”
Caben’s eyebrow cranes, and he shakes his head. A laugh tumbles from his upturned lips. “Oh, no. That was just my father’s eccentricity. He’s always been melodramatic with family lineage.”
I scan the prince, searching his body. He crosses his arms, and a wave of heat splashes my cheeks when my eyes slip over the sliver of skin revealing his hard abdomen as his tunic draws up. Forcing my eyes to continue their search, I look at his hands.
“Where’s your ring?” I ask. “The one that bears the Paynebridge crest? Did you throw it out before we were captured?”
Caben’s arms wrap tighter around himself, and he cocks his head. “I still have it,” he says low. “I’ve sworn to protect—” His eyes widen. He’s made the connection. Finally.