Keeper of the Heart (Book 3 of The Fallen Gods Trilogy)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The room exploded into sound as a shrieking alarm pierced the air. Shouting above it all, Trask brandished his sword at anyone who came near him.

"Out! Get out!" he cried. "Get out now or die!"

That, and the sword, sent everyone scrambling.

Jill pushed ahead, fighting her way through the onrush of people. A sharp elbow caught her in the side, but nothing else touched her as she moved farther into the room.

Pictures hung on the walls. Pictures and swords and shields and things she had never seen outside of this room. All lay preserved behind pressured glass on mats of gold velvet. Beautiful as they were, she ignored them. None of it mattered now. This moment had haunted her for months. Had made her scream out in both fear and frustration night after night. This would be the day of her return to Dolmar or the day of her death-two sides of the same coin.

"I can change the dream," she muttered. "I don't know how I'll do it, but I will change it."

Treading farther into the room, she passed tiny stone carvings and idols. Jewelry decorated with intricate interlocking designs also made up part of the collection. From the depths of memory, she could see herself wearing such jewelry before. Scenes from other lives and other worlds ran through her mind-things only Arianie knew-but she pushed them bluntly aside. Only one thing truly drew and held her attention. She could feel it now, calling out to her as a newborn would cry for its mother.

Finally, as she rounded one of the room's many columns, was she able to see it. The dagger-encased in thick, shatterproof glass. At her approach, it began to emanate a light that would blind all others but her. The blade was of an untarnished silver, ornamented with elaborate scrollwork. The hilt was a flawless gold, carefully maintained, polished to a sheen. That hilt would fit precisely in her hand as it would for no other, not even Kachine. This dagger was hers and no other could wield it; just as no one could cut the threads of life but her. Kydel had decreed it so, making her life giver and taker, both beginning and end.

"Trask!"

Jill screamed his name, struggling to make herself heard over the screech of the fire alarm. Her hands hovered over the glass case, reaching, but not touching. Not yet, though every part of her demanded she cast aside the flimsy barrier. But to grab the dagger now would be suicide.

Trask hovered at her side. "Now what?" he shouted.

Jill gritted her teeth. She could feel sweat beading on her forehead. The effort of holding back made her body ache.

"In about two seconds, that glass is going to melt and the dagger will be in my hands. One second after that, a portal is going to rip wide open and we're going to be swimming in aldar teres. Is everybody out of here?"

"Out, and I've secured the doors. No one is getting in or out of here for the moment. It's just us."

"Good." She cast him the briefest of glances. "Trask, don't let me die now."

"Not today or any other," he swore. "Now do it!"

Without another word she reached and felt the immediate rush of power. Threads gathered. Glass melted. It dribbled to the floor as a liquid, bubbling like molten lava. Then the dagger was in her hands and for the first time in oh so long, she felt the magic again-the magic and something else.

Somewhere in the distance, it seemed she heard the tiniest of clicks. It sounded like the touching of glass on glass. Brief, distant, yet inescapably clear. She tensed, not knowing what it meant. There was no reason for the sound...no glass nearby that might have shattered.

An oily presence filled the room, followed closely by a reeking stench of decay. That presence... It had been stamped on her memory since the Inbastra, creating a stain that couldn't be erased even after nine months. Nine years might not even be long enough to let her forget.