Seducing The Dragon King

Chapter Sixteen: Underworld

    The words are in a foreign language, but with a start, I realize I can understand exactly what hs is saying.
    "Legions of death, Ferryman of the Dead, remove the pennies from oblivious eyes. Lay them on the living, so as death becomes life, life becomes death. Hear me, Charon, perched atop your skiff. Once above, ten times below, make one soul impervious to your wayward some so that he may come home. Let one be found, the other lost, wandering endlessly but never reaching the port." As Morpheus finishes chanting, I grasp Jayce's hand, trying to ignore how devastating cold it feels in mine, holding on for dear life. I softly kiss both his cheeks, tasting the saltiness of my own silent tears streaking down my cheeks, willing him to come back to me. Return to me, my love. Please. Please, come home. Morpheus removes his hands from atop Jayce and Veron and for a few seconds all is quiet. Too quiet. And as soon as I realize why, invasive tendrils of cold dread grip my heart in an iron fist.
    "He's not breathing!" I exclaim, looking up at Morpheus in pure panic.
    "It is up to Death to accept the sacrifice," Morpheus says. "Perhaps he does not wish to let the king go."
    "Do something!" I scream at him.
    "I am afraid it is out of my hands now," Morpheus says solemnly.
    "No," I shake my head, hands trembling around Jayce's. "There must be something. Anything." The blackness of the wound has finally reached Jayce's heart, the dark matter clinging to it like a taut tourniquet, but it doesn't look so alive anymore, and it is no longer moving. It looks as if it is frozen, its purpose of draining all life in its path finally complete. It is nothing more than a dry, nuanced black stain on porcelain skin. No... This can't be happening. Neila flings herself at Veron, holding her brother close.
    "Was it me?" Veron asks, sitting up. "Did I do something wrong?"
    "It had nothing to do with you," Morpheus replies. "For whatever reason, Death was not interested in making the trade."
    "What if you repeat the spell?" I ask quickly. "Maybe the second time will catch."
    "There was nothing wrong with the spell," Morpheus reassures me. "And besides, it cannot be repeated."
    "Look," I say firmly, moving close as I glare up at him in pure fury. "You promised me. So I do not care what has to be done, only that you keep your word. Bring. Him. Back."
    "He is already gone, Cyrilla," Neila says quietly behind me. "It is too late."
    "No!" I yell, whirling around on her. "It may be easy for you to give up on him, but not for me. I didn't take you for a quitter, but I guess I was wrong."
    "I understand you are upset, but lashing out is not going to bring him back, Cyrilla," Neila says gently. "It is time we accept it. He is gone." A fresh wave of hot tears fall down my face, running down my cheeks like lines in the sand.
    "There is one last thing to be done," Morpheus says slowly. "Although, I do not recommend it as it is extremely perilous." There is a fluttering in my chest that dangerously resembles hope.
    "What is it?" I demand. "I will do anything."
    "I can still feel some remnants of his life signature– his essence, if you will– sticking to the plane of the living. I could use them to send you where he is. But you must find him before he boards the ferry, for if he does, your mortal bodies will not be able to follow him."
    "So you are saying that you can transport us... to the Underworld?" Neila gasps.
    "Yes," Morpheus nods. "This is a limited time offer, though, I am afraid, as the remnants of his essence are fading. Soon I will not be able to locate him." Morpheus opens his palm and out of thin air, a thick, tangled ball of gold thread materializes. "This is so that you do not lose your way. You will hold onto one end and I on the other. All you will have to do to return is follow the thread." The ball untangles and stretches and Morpheus uses telekinesis to make one end of it float toward me.
    "It should be you, Cyrilla," Morpheus says, "and Veron that goes after the king. Given that Veron still agrees to be the sacrifice."
    "I do," Veron nods firmly. He turns to look at Neila– probably expecting a rebuttal, but none comes– who was wearing a stoic expression on her face.
    "Just know that I love you, despite your stubbornness," she says. "And don't you dare forget it."
    "I won't," Veron insists. "And I love you too."