The Hallowed (The Scrying Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  Although the Temple of Fire was in the crypts beneath the royal citadel, Drow led them to the roof. The location of the only access point was an inconspicuous staircase built between the outer and inner walls. The dark, winding stairs were wedged between the metal with no windows or reference points to mark their specific location, so the descent became disorienting.

  Eventually, they emerged into a shadow-filled room littered with royal objects. Remnants of a forgotten past were scattered over shelves, tables, and the floor. Dusty scrolls, tattered tomes, weapons, their blades tarnished or broken, and trinkets occupied the space. Like the marketplace shops, there was a heavy layer of dust covering the objects. It floated up into the air as they passed, their presence disturbing the quiet surroundings entombed in this shrine.

  They exited into a long, narrow hall. Metal doors lined each side, one after another, separated by a burning metal sconce. The flames cast shadows onto the walls that bent and stretched awkwardly as they passed. There was a slight chill emanating from the stone, a strange phenomenon considering the entirety of Kaizi was sweltering.

  “What is this place?” Dane whispered to Rafe.

  “I believe it is the family crypt.”

  Each of the doors was emblazoned with an iron plaque signifying the name of the occupant buried inside. Dane noticed Drow hesitate as he passed one of the final doors. His shoulders slumped briefly before he regained his stoic composure and moved on. She slowed as she reached the same door, the name on the plaque revealed the immortal entombed inside—Bellisine Velkia.

  “She was Drow’s mother,” whispered Stevie coming up beside Dane. “They were extremely close. He was devastated when she took her own life force during the Great War after his father was killed. It is the reason he stayed here on Kaizi, he doesn’t want to leave her.”

  “You seem to know a lot about this Stevie.”

  “Killenn informed me of Drow’s direct lineage during our walk here.” She hesitated a moment, aware of Dane’s curious stare. “And, I may have asked about the prince once or twice.”

  Dane was not surprised at how much information Stevie garnered during her journey through the royal citadel. She was very adept at getting people to reveal things about themselves and apparently others. Killenn was a loyal servant of the royal family, but Dane assumed his relationship with Drow extended beyond the confines of class structure. Since he knew so much about the prince personally, she suspected they were also friends.

  As they passed the last door on the left, Dane noticed it was ajar, so she peeked in. The room itself was nondescript, four plain metal walls, one with a blank plaque hanging from it. The black metal coffin that sat at the room’s center was a different story. It was another ornate and spectacular achievement in metalworking, the metal delicately carved into a multitude of images and strange words. On the face of the coffin lid, was a dragon its eyes set with two red jewels that sparkled brilliantly in the firelight. As her eyes flitted to the door, she saw the name engraved on the iron plaque—Drow Velkia.

  “He is the last in the Velkia line,” whispered Rafe as he reacted to the shock reverberating through her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said turning to face him.

  “It is a Velkia tradition, a way to honor the Dominion of the Dragons. After a death, a family member must forge the coffin for the deceased family member. The Velkia use ancient metal found deep in the belly of the volcano. It is impenetrable and seals so tight the body inside remains unblemished even after the life force returns to the dragonlands of their ancestors. Since there is no one left to honor the prince, he must have forged the coffin himself. I suspect Killenn will entomb him when his life force leaves this realm.”

  “And if Killenn dies first?”

  “Knowing the efficiency of the Velkia royal family, Drow will have thought of something if that comes to pass.”

  Dane nodded, her eyes drifted back to Drow as he disappeared through the door at the end.

  They emerged from the royal crypts into the Temple of Fire—a circular room of architectural brilliance. The walls stretched upward, their height hidden by the shadows. On the far side, panels of stained glass let in a subtle, eerie red light. Massive metal columns, their bulk thick and sturdy, supported girders and catwalks hanging from the rafters. Thick steel cables crisscrossed the ceiling and hung, at the room’s center, was the most magnificent chandelier Dane had ever seen. It was an enormous metal box. Two of its sides were clear glass, the other two, flat metal sheets adorned with intricate filigree cutouts. A soft candescent light, cast from the fire burning inside, escaped through the filigree. The movement of the flames ignited the room in a kaleidoscope of sparkling golden-red light; a subtle luminosity that besieged the metal walls with a splatter of shifting patterns.

  Metal dragon heads stared down from their placement on the walls. They were larger than the ones hanging on the entrance gate and their eye sockets bulged with a brilliant red gemstone. The flickering light from the chandelier enhanced their menacing appeal as it glinted off the dark metal.

  An iron trough, about twenty feet, ran the circumference of the temple. It was lit by a vibrant fire. The flames licked the ceiling. The trough connected the dragon heads and provided the flame raging sporadically from their open mouths.

  “Wow,” she heard Stevie whisper. Killenn grinned in response but he quickly rescinded when he caught Drow eyeing him with strong disapproval.

  “Welcome to the Temple of Fire,” the prince said, his face somber. “the heart of the royal citadel.”

  Dane felt the power that tinged the air. The room was filled with ancient magic even in stasis, it was detectable. Her eyes scanned the room. The fire and metal gleamed in contrast, one light, one dark. A massive metal altar stood at the room’s center, a simple black box with rivets lining its edges. The altar was unadulterated. It did not reflect the metalworking bravado that was showcased throughout the citadel.

  Drow turned to face Stevie, his dark eyes burning with an intensity and curiosity that surprised her. “The Druidstone,” he said matter-of-factly, as he pointed to the large metal circle protruding from the top of the altar. Like Dywen’s Druidstone it was plain, void of any scripture or embellishment. Its surface was smooth except for four small holes.

  Stevie walked to the altar. Her hand shook as it reached toward the metal circle. She flexed her fingers, a conscious effort to calm her nerves. As her fingertips brushed the metal an invisible pulse throbbed through the room. Startled she pulled her hand back and glanced at Drow who nodded in encouragement. Her Roma curiosity peaked in exhilaration as she reached toward the Druidstone again. It was cool to the touch, its surface smooth and blemish free. Her mind spun as she faced her destiny and the overwhelming sacrifice she was about to make, the price—immortality.

  “How does this work?” She asked, her voice breaking as she trained uncertain eyes on Dane and the others.

  Drow approached the altar, positioning himself beside her. He reached for her hand as he pulled a small object from his pocket. “The Claw Key,” he said as he placed the item in her palm.

  Stevie stared at the object. It was a foot, or paw, whatever dragons had for feet. Long, black, pointed talons protruded from the four toes. Burnished scales covered the foot, and she brushed her thumb over their surface. The leathery texture was rough and the skin taut. It wasn’t real—the foot, just a miniature replica made of metal and painstakingly painted to enhance its realism. She flipped the dragon claw over searching for the key Drow had mentioned. He must have realized the source of her confusion for he gently touched her arm. His deep cabernet eyes held an uncharacteristic kindness as his eyes locked with hers.

  “The claw is the key,” he said, pointing to the four small holes in the front of the circle. “Use the talons.”

  She glanced back at the others. Dane stood besi
de Rafe shifting from one foot to the other, Gabby was impatiently drumming her long fingers on the metal column she was leaning against, and Killenn stood in the shadows his face distorted by the dark. Stevie’s heart beat loudly in her chest and she felt restricted by her own clothing. Her hand trembled, and she inhaled, a deep, calming breath. She moved the talons closer to the holes, shifting their position until they lined up correctly. Pushing the claw into the circle, she heard a click inside the metal as the talons found their alignment within the lock.

  “Wait!”

  The voice was forceful, and Stevie pulled her hand away from the Druidstone, startled.

  All eyes were on Killenn as he emerged from his shadowy corner. “How will we know if we need to mark her?”

  “Mark her?” Dane inquired, impulsively glancing at Drow’s forehead.

  Rafe also looked puzzled, which gave Stevie and Dane little comfort. Killenn had directed his question at Drow and she noticed a strange look pass between them before he answered. “I trust her journey to immortality will reveal her specific ancestry before she needs to enter the Dragon Flame.”

  “What is the Dragon Flame?” Stevie asked. Dane could sense the elevation of anxiety in her energy.

  “The Dragon Flame is our race’s gift of life. It is a magical flame that cleanses the internal soul, a process every Dragon Gypsy must go through shortly after birth.” Pointing to the symbol scarred into his forehead he glanced at the others. “If Stevie is from the royal Velkia lineage, she would need to bear the mark of our bloodline prior to entering the Dragon Flame. This mark ensures the purity of the royal bloodline. No one who carries Velkia blood may mate outside their own. The royal marking ensures our bloodline stays untainted.”

  Dane’s eyes widened as the reality of the prince’s disclosure became clear; the Velkia bloodline was incestuous. She stole a quick glance at Rafe, whose face remained a mask of indifference. Gabby too seemed unfazed by this revelation but regrettably, Stevie was not. She had turned a grayish shade of pale and was staring at the prince mouth agape.

  “And I need one of those?” She whispered.

  “Not necessarily,” Killenn said. “One’s place in the Dragon Gypsy society is imminent from the time of birth as each individual is born into a specific class. The Velkia bloodline is no different; a royal is born to a royal. The mark is not just an identifier it is also a magical barrier. The mark maintains the blood’s purity. Since you were not born from a bloodline but descended from one, we are unable to determine if you require the mark or not.”

  “And what happens if Stevie is from the Velkia bloodline and unmarked when she enters this Dragon Flame?” Dane asked.

  Killenn’s somber expression betrayed him. “She would die.”

  His words throbbed in her ears and a roar built in her head as she struggled to accept what he said. “Die? From the flame?”

  He nodded. “Yes, the mark not only protects the bloodline from being tainted by another, it also protects the royal blood from the potent magic of the Dragon Flame.”

  “And only the royal bloodline is affected negatively by this magic?”

  “Yes. The ancient magic of the Dragon Flame is integral to our people and has guided us since our inception in the universe. It defines our class structure; a hierarchy that dictates an individual’s rightful place in the Dragon Gypsy society.” His shoulders slumped. “At least it did.”

  Dane understood the enormity of Killenn’s last statement and how deeply it affected both he and Drow. She felt the same conflicted emptiness surrounding Sebastian and Rafe; then again from Gabby when she first reverted—a deep sense of mourning and loss of identity. “Your bloodlines are connected to the Dragon Flame?”

  “Yes, our race is derived from the four ancient bloodlines of the dragons. Our class structure was archetypal of that ancient hierarchy and each bloodline descends from one of the elder dragons—fire, smoke, ember, and ash. The royals or the ruling class were born from fire, the royal elite guard, or warrior class were descendants of smoke. Commoners made up the remaining two classes, the ember born skilled class: artisans, merchants, tradesman, and alchemists, and those descended from ash, known as the rearing class, responsible for molding and guiding the whelplings—commoners under the age of maturity.”

  “The royals? Why were they so different? And what does this have to do with Stevie and the Dragon Flame?” Dane asked, indicating Drow’s marked forehead.

  “The royals are known as the Brevadant—the untouchables. They are the purebloods, the ones whose bloodline derives directly from the fire dragon. This bloodline is the most powerful of the ancient kind, but it has one weakness; the Dragon Flame. The magical flame is one of the few things that can burn through dragon hide and because of their purity the royals are susceptible to the fire’s wrath as their composition is the closest to the ancient dragons. Unless they bear the mark before entering its flame…”

  He did not need to finish his thought as they all knew what Killenn meant. If Stevie was of the royal bloodline and she entered the Dragon Flame without first being marked, her immortal life would be short-lived. Stevie looked shaken, her recent acceptance and bravado at her pending immortality had disappeared.

  Dane felt Stevie’s energy fluctuate. She knew she was worried about her birthright even more so now there was a serious unknown attached to it. She felt helpless for there was nothing she could do to ease her friend’s anxiety. This was a journey Stevie must make alone.

  Gabby’s calm voice interjected. Her tone almost kind as she spoke. “Let us have this conversation after Stevie receives her birthright. There may be a clue provided by her ancestors that will help us determine her rightful lineage or something else revealed in her journey to immortality.”

  Stevie smiled weakly, casting a forlorn look Dane’s way.

  “Remember everything you see.” Her eyes implored Stevie to pay attention. She nodded. Turning back to the altar she grasped the dragon claw. Fighting the trembling in her hands, she pushed against the metal until the talons once again clicked into place. The claw warmed under her touch. A throbbing heat seeped through the talons and scales, spreading out across the metal of the circle. The Druidstone inflamed as heat radiated from its surface causing the circle to shimmer with invisible waves. Stevie let go of the claw, mesmerized by the red-hot circle. Cracks fractured the metal as magma pushed from the fissures. It oozed onto the altar surface and spilled over the sides, pooling in a bubbling mass on the floor. It hissed as it crept outward until a lazy, steaming river of lava swirling around Stevie’s feet.

  Dane and the others took a few steps back, mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of them. The temperature in the temple dropped as the heat from the magma sucked the air toward it. Oxygen fed the flames causing them to leap erratically from the thick lava. The molten river churned, spiraling upward to cocoon Stevie in a fiery embrace. The temple shuddered and the flames in the wall troughs flared as an indiscernible whisper filled the temple with an eerie chant. The magma surrounding her brightened, flaring slightly in reaction to an unseen energy rising from the realms depths.

  As the magma slowly encased Stevie, her face slipping beneath its throbbing thickness, her eyes locked on Danes. There, deep within Stevie’s irises, she saw something unabashed—pure ecstasy.

  Chapter 7

  Her body was aflame, not with the searing heat of the magma engulfing her but with a primal sexual arousal. A passionate agony ignited her skin and left her utterly breathless. The heightened state of arousal was both pleasurable and cruel. The intensity, exhilarating but without the desired release her body desperately craved.

  The magma’s crushing embrace loosened abruptly. The thick density diluted until it flowed around her like silky red water. She was no longer encased but floating, warm magma caressing her skin provocatively. The flow began to move, pulling her forwar
d in its seductive current. Although the magma had thinned, she still couldn’t see outside its boundaries. Immersed in the red liquid she was relaxed, uninhibited. Her heart beat at a steady pace and her mind was calm. Neither panic nor fear existed in this place for the sexual intensity that battered her body was too overwhelming. Time drifted away as the endless barrage of carnal agony intensified. Liquid magma tantalized her skin. Every ignited fiber sent waves of sexual heat crashing through her—a torturous battery of pleasure without end. The current ebbed and flowed. The crimson water churned like a fiery mist lulling her with its seduction. Without warning the current changed direction, and she felt herself plummet straight down. A cascading waterfall tumbling into the abyss. She was helpless to stop her descent. The magma crashed toward the unknown with her helplessly caught in its tow.

  Just when she thought the free fall wouldn’t end the liquid fire vanished, leaving her standing at the center of an ancient throne room. Her intense breathing abated as the sexual tension that assaulted her body vanished. She turned in a small circle, engulfed by the haunting silence that saturated every corner of this massive room, a memory from another time.

  Metal seats lined the room’s length on both sides, their high backs covered in a tattered red leather. Cobwebs hung from the fixtures on the walls; iron sconces lit with a dull orange flame. Dusty, torn tapestries swung from the bottom of the grated windows. Two imposing iron doors stood closed at the far end, their height reached the ceiling of the wall they claimed. Both doors were adorned with large round shields. The runes etched on the metal surface were foreign but the image at the center she knew well—a red dragon head.