Elara's POV
The key scrapes against metal, and my right wrist comes free.
Hurry! I gasp, but Kael's already moving to my left wrist, hands shaking so badly the key keeps missing the lock.
The alarm bells scream louder. Footsteps thunder through the temple—dozens of them, getting closer.
Come on, come on, Kael mutters, finally getting the key in. Click. My left hand is free.
I sit up, reaching for my ankle chains, but he's faster. His hands work frantically, unlocking one ankle, then the other. The instant I'm free, he grabs my wrist and yanks me off the altar.
My legs buckle, seven days locked in a room, no food, terror shutting down my body—but he catches me before I fall.
Can you run? he asks urgently.
I, I think
Good enough. Stay close.
Voices echo from the main entrance. The Bride! Someone's with the Bride!
FIND THEM!
Kael pulls me toward the opposite side of the chamber, away from the voices. I stumble after him, legs screaming, but adrenaline pushes me forward. We reach a wall that looks solid—just blank stone.
He presses something. A section of wall groans and slides open, revealing darkness beyond.
Secret passage? I gasp.
Executioner's tunnel. How do you think I get the bodies out? His voice is flat, dead. Then he pulls me into the darkness. Move!
We plunge into the tunnel just as Temple guards burst into the chamber behind us.
THERE! THE PASSAGE!
Kael slams something, and the stone wall grinds shut. For a moment, we're in total darkness. I can't see anything, can't breathe, can only hear Kael's ragged breathing beside me and guards pounding on the other side of the wall.
This way, he whispers, and pulls me forward.
I follow blindly, one hand on the tunnel wall, the other gripped in his. The stone is rough under my fingers. Cold. Damp.
And something else.
Scratches. Gouges in the stone. Like someone clawed at the walls.
What— I start, but Kael cuts me off.
Don't talk. Just run.
We run through absolute darkness, my bare feet slapping against stone, his boots echoing. The tunnel slopes downward, twisting left, then right, then down again. I have no idea where we are. No idea where this leads.
Behind us, the grinding sound of stone on stone—they've opened the passage. They're following.
FIND THEM! THE HIGH PRIEST WANTS THEM ALIVE!
Faster, Kael urges, and we sprint through the dark.
My lungs burn. My legs shake. But terror drives me forward.
Then, light. Faint and flickering, but light.
The tunnel opens into a larger space lit by dying torches. I stumble into it and freeze.
The walls are covered in names.
Hundreds of them. Scratched into stone with fingernails, with rocks, with anything sharp enough to leave a mark. Some names are neat. Others barely legible, carved in desperation.
Mara Sunweaver
Livia Brightstone
Kessa Thornfield
Name after name after name. Women who died here.
Oh gods, I whisper, turning in a circle. They're everywhere. Covering every surface.
And between the names—bloodstains. Dark brown stains splattered across walls, pooled in corners, smeared across the floor in drag marks.
So much blood.
This is how Brides really die, Kael says quietly behind me. His voice sounds hollow. Broken. Not divine fire. Not holy sacrifice. Just murder in the dark.
I can't breathe. Can't process this.
Ninety-nine women died here. In this horrible tunnel. Alone. Terrified.
Killed by the man standing beside me.
I spin to face him. You killed them? All of them?
His face is like carved stone. Dead eyes. Dead expression. Yes.
But—but why? Why would you—
Because I'm a coward. His voice cracks. Because when I was fifteen, the High Priest gave me a choice: become his executioner or watch my mother burn alive. I chose wrong. I've been choosing wrong ever since.
Tears stream down his face, but his voice stays flat. Like he's told this story so many times it doesn't hurt anymore. Except it does—I can see the pain radiating from him like heat.
Every three months, he continues, they bring me a girl. Chain her to the altar. And I— His voice breaks completely. He can't finish.
I should hate him. Should be screaming, fighting, running.
But all I see is a boy—fifteen years old—forced to choose between murdering strangers or watching his mother die.
What choice is that?
Why stop with me? I whisper.
He looks at me with eyes full of anguish. Because you sang your mother's lullaby to comfort yourself. And I remembered—for the first time in twelve years—that I'm killing real people. Women with families. With dreams. With mothers who sang to them.
He turns away, shoulders shaking. I'm a monster. But I couldn't make you victim number one hundred.
Footsteps echo from the tunnel behind us. Getting closer.
Kael's head snaps up. We have to go. Now.
He grabs my hand again and pulls me toward another passage—this one sloping upward, rougher, barely wide enough for us to squeeze through.
We climb frantically, hands scraping against rock, feet slipping on loose stones. The passage twists and narrows until I'm gasping for air.
Then—night air hits my face.
We burst out of the tunnel into open desert. Stars everywhere. The blood moon setting on the horizon. Sand stretching in all directions.
Freedom.
I collapse to my knees, gulping air, barely believing we made it.
Kael stands beside me, scanning the horizon. Then he goes rigid.
No.
I follow his gaze.
Lights. Dozens of torches moving across the desert toward us. Fast.
Riders. Temple guards on horseback, spreading out in formation, cutting off every escape route.
And at the front—a figure in silver armor, sword drawn, face hard as iron.
Commander Theron, Kael breathes. The Temple's best hunter.
Even from this distance, I hear Theron's shout echo across the sand:
FIND THEM! NO ONE ESCAPES THE TEMPLE'S JUSTICE!
Fifty riders. Maybe more. All heading straight for us.
Kael pulls me to my feet. Run. Now. Don't stop, don't look back.
Where? I gasp, looking at the endless desert.
His answer freezes my blood:
The Outcast Barrens. Where the exiled go to die.