Page 28 of Dark as the Cursed Abyss

Heightened sense always guided her and yet, now—all she could think about was what would happen to her if she failed. What would happen to Farah.

She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath, letting the crisp air of the study settle into her bones. The faint hum returned, a vibration beneath the glass of the vials, almost like a heartbeat. It was subtle, teasing, but unmistakable. The poison wasn’t hiding. It was waiting.

Her hand hovered over the vials, trembling slightly. She reached for one at random, almost daring herself, and held it beneath her nose. Her eyes lit at the faint copper tang, not sharp at all as she expected, but present enough that it made the hairs on her arms raise. Her stomach clenched. This was it.

Snapping her eyes open, Chloe scanned the vials again. The hum persisted, clear now, like a whisper threading along the edges of her mind. She moved deliberately, slow and precise, fingers brushing across the glass until she found another that resonated.

She set it before Markos, meeting his gaze. His gaze lingered on hers, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of satisfaction. “Finally,” he said, voice low, almost approving. “Now let’s see if you can do it again.”

Her chest heaved as she exhaled, muscles relaxing for the first time in minutes. She had won this round, but her instinct and control were waning on this isle.

Before she could think any more of it, a sharp knock at the door startled her. A guard, dusted with snow from the courtyard, extended a sealed letter. “A missive, Princess. It is from your brother on Skiatha.”

Chloe’s fingers shook as she took it. Her pulse spiked. Dimitris’s letters were never trivial. The only writing he preferred were the scribbles in his ship’s logs. The seal crackled under her touch, the wax smooth against the chill in her fingers.

Markos’s brow lifted. “What is it?”

She tucked the letter under her arm, forcing casual lightness into her stance despite her shaking hands. “Nothing important, I assume,” she said, voice steady, even as her heart hammered. “Most likely a warning about Hades. Or possibly it is from a friend of mine who travels with him.”

Markos did not press, though something more dangerous flickered in the old man’s eyes. Exhaling slowly, Chloe retreated into the quiet corner of her mind where she could process the contents alone.

Her still trembling fingers flexed around the envelope. When she broke the seal, the parchment crackled and the ink shimmered faintly in the firelight, as though aware of the importance of its words. It was in code, one they used to use as children. One that the people of Hespali could never know.

She read slowly, each syllable weighing heavier on her heart.

Chloe,

I have translated a portion of the logs I found in the Skiathan archives, the ones Alexander sent me for. Relics, hidden deep beneath the labyrinth, have survived the ages. The Kiste—capable of harnessing the storm’s fury. The Calathus—precise, lethal, and attuned to the archer’s soul.

These artifacts could turn the tide in ways we cannot yet comprehend. You must locate them before Hades’ agents or anyone allied to him does. Trust no one.

—Dimi

Chloe’s breath caught. Her chest tightened as the words sank in. She could see the labyrinth beneath Hespali, twisting corridors of stone and shadow, echoing with traps and enchantments that had survived centuries. The thought of finding those relics, of holding weapons that could rival gods, sent a thrill of terror and resolve spiraling through her veins.

Her mind raced, each possibility playing over and over. If Hades moved first, if Avra’s army was not enough, if the Mysteries revealed dangers they had not yet imagined, what would become of them? The stakes were far higher than she had allowed herself to admit.

Markos’s voice, calm and clipped, drew her back. “Chloe?”

She folded the letter carefully, tucking it back into her cloak. Her hands trembled slightly, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. “It’s nothing urgent for the castle,” she lied, carefully masking the weight of the revelation. “Just making sure we knew of Hades’ rebirth.”

Her trainer’s expression didn’t falter, but his scrutiny lingered, sharp as a blade. Chloe felt the tension of the room press against her ribs—the vials, the study, the letter, the firelight flickering across the polished stone floor—and she reminded herself to breathe. All she had to do was breathe.

Chloe had learned to endure, to fight, to trust the subtle guidance of her senses. She tucked the letter securely into her pack, squared her shoulders, and returned to the vials, ready for the next exercise.

She would not fail—not now. Not when the weight of history, the fate of her isle, the fate of all of Odessia, rested in her hands.

Chapter Twenty-One

Chloe

The second trial barreled upon them faster than Chloe expected, bringing with it a sense that they had already lost this war. She had barely stepped outside of her training when Markos stepped behind her in his white cloak, changing so quickly from only moments before. He led her deep into the mountains once more. The air clung heavier to her lungs than the cavern in the first trial. Each step echoed just a fraction too long against the stone. It was not the same cavern as before, though the walls of it felt familiar. It was the same suffocating weight of something ancient. The same quiet hum beneath the surface, like the mountain itself was alive and listening.

A few paces ahead, Acacius wove Farah through the never ending pathway. None of them spoke. Whatever waited below did not feel like something they should discuss. She wasn’t sure they would even want to.

The corridor widened, light crackling from the edges, and Chloe’s breath caught in her throat.

Before them stretched a grand chamber, carved entirely from pale stone veined with gold. It gleamed in the torchlight, every surface polished to a near mirror sheen. A long table ran through the center, its edges gilded, its surface laid with intricate carvings of vines, fruit, and writhing figures that looked almost alive in the flickering light. It was a dining hall, except not one meant for comfort and familial tidings.