Once the door closed, and she was alone, she stared at the darkness.
“I’m ready.”
The shadows delighted. Almira dressed in methodical movements, plain
gown, heavy cape, sturdy boots, drenched in black. A small blade she could
scarcely wield tucked into her waist. This time, she wouldn’t have an
escort. She would be alone should a vagrant attack her. She placed herself
in the hands of luck, something she would’ve never done before. But life
changed her.
Still, her fingers shook, and her heart thundered while her breath
trembled. “Mother, give me strength.”
Beyond the hidden door, the hallway was dim and cramped, the stairs
slanted, and she had to be mindful of her footing. After all, she didn’t have
Nadim to help her descend. Her fingers gripped the stone walls as she
meandered through the veins of Mavros, the tomb who’d seen so much
death and pain. She was deep in the soul of darkness; no light guided her
path.
Almira counted the steps just as Nadim had done.
One hundred and fifty-seven steps. Her knees cramped, and she felt she
would die, buried and forgotten. She could scarcely breathe. She
remembered how Furia would trap her in small rooms as a child. Now she
knew where the hate came from. But she had to be stronger. She had to be
more powerful than her sister. She had to be a dragon.
With a gasp of relief, she reached the end, pushing the small door wide
and breathing fresh air. Almira collapsed against the stone, clutching the
open hallway and delighting in the feel of freedom. She straightened and
turned to make it through the kitchens when she collided with a solid body
and sharp green eyes, angrily glaring.
“I cannot, under good conscience, let you leave.” Delara looked
impassive.
The startle gave Almira the fright of her life and she jumped back,
grasping the