Page 267 of The Edge of Darkness

No, that could not be.

My feet found the floor of the pool, and Weston released me. “Careful,” he cautioned.

I waded through the water toward the other Dionach. He turned, but he did not remove his hands from the water.

I searched the stranger’s eyes for something unspoken, some sort of confirmation that there was still life left in the body he held beneath the water. I was too scared to ask him, fearing the finality of the four-letter word that panged against the back of my mind.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

He glanced over his shoulder at Weston before returning his gaze to me. “We have prayed to your gods for your friend’s complete healing.”

It was the first time I’d heard him speak, and his words surprised me. “You . . . you prayed to my gods?”

“Yes. Weston told us that you are descended from them.”

I looked back at Weston, who was speaking softly with the wraith. “I am,” I said, finding the Dionach’s eyes again. From what I could tell in the dim light, they were brown, like mine. I glimpsed a sliver of hope in them, and though it didn’t replace the fear in my gut, it soothed the jagged edges of it.

A dozen questions lined up on the edge of my tongue, but the water suddenly rippled between us, breaking my train of thought.

Breck’s entire body twitched beneath the surface, and the Dionach sprang into action. He reached below and lifted him up. The moment Breck’s head was above water, he began heaving in breaths of air. His frantic eyes found mine, and that seemed to be all he needed to remember what had happened.

“Auren . . .”

I didn’t wait. I flung my arms around his neck. “You’re alive!”

He closed his arms around me in return, stumbling as he found his footing beneath the water. His breathy laugh warmed my neck. “I’m guessing that’s all thanks to you?”

“Not quite.” I pulled away to look at him, then gestured to the pool.

“Where are we?”

“In Calledan. I ported us here because the waters have healing abilities, and you and I were . . .” My words faded as I peered down at where his wounds had been.

His hands immediately went there, to feel for any sign of damage. “I—I thought I was dead.”

“You nearly were.”

“But . . . you were hurt too. I remember. I saw the blood.”

“I’m fine. The water fixed it.”

“The water . . .” He ran his hands through it and watched it drip from his fingertips. “It can heal anything?”

“I think so. The wraith has been sustained by it for thousands of years.” I pointed toward the creature, her pale form and long black hair bobbing in the water next to Weston.

Stunned, Breck took a step back, then recognized the presence behind him. He whirled, and the Dionach held up both hands.

“It’s all right. He helped bring you here,” I explained. “Though . . .” I turned toward the stranger. “I do not know your name.”

“Saxon,” the Dionach said, dipping his head forward.

“Thank you, Saxon, for helping us.”

He gave me a soft smile, inclining his head once more, but his acknowledgement was cut short by a bright flash of light that illuminated the cavern.

Saxon’s wings spread, thrashing the water in their wake as he spun and withdrew his swords.

Standing at the edge of the pool, clad in pristinely kept robes, was Syros, The Adorner.