Page 27 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

The winds pushed against his barrier, and his hand clenched at the pull of his power.

“Stop! They’ve taken her upstairs. They’ve cleared out all the cells!” The guard kicked out, gasping for air.

“Why? Where has everyone gone?” Raiden demanded.

“They’re taking them away, to a camp. Barron’s got a second location for prisoners.” Raiden dropped the guard, flexing his fingers, his shimmering diamond layer pulsating with impending violence.

“We need to hurry,” Aryn pressed. “Follow me.” Raiden signed instructions to Leto, and he unsheathed his sword as they followed Aryn up the walkway.

The cells were filthy, lined with waste and slime, and hay that was beyond decomposition. Every single one had the Talmon Empire insignia etched into the wall, and Raiden glanced away, but was met with scratch marks lining the planks instead. Bits of fingernails and dried blood coated the ends from prisoners hanging on for their lives.

Kordelia had been sentenced here. She’d been in one of these cells, equally holding on to her life. Living in this . . . squalor. This rife disease. It was fucking inhumane. The barrier on the winds cracked, and shreds of roaring current echoed up the spiral, incensing Raiden’s anger.

As they reached the top, the ceiling came into focus. Ropes of vines looped down from the earth, taunting prisoners to hang themselves instead of meeting their fates in the wretched depths below. Bitter, rotting earth permeated the air, and Skylar gagged behind Raiden, covering her mouth. Her eyes welled, her face slackened with shock at the conditions of the dungeons.

He would make them all pay.

Aryn skidded to a halt, flinging his arms up to stop the convoy. Raiden whipped his sword out, ready for an attack, but faltered at a frail, old male lingering outside the bars of an open cell. He pivoted, his wrinkled face scrunching as he peered at each of them individually. Long grey hair balanced in a bun on the top of his head, his body swathed in a regal empire uniform. A brown, leather portmanteau bag lay by his feet, filled with bandages and vials of amber liquid.

“Koji,” Aryn exhaled, catching his breath from running up the spiral. “What are you doing here?”

“Who are you?” Koji clasped his slender hands together. His hooded golden eyes landed on Raiden and he stared back unwaveringly.

“Aryn. I was the head archer on Hell’s Serpent.”

“Not you,” Koji dismissed him and pointed at Raiden. “You.”

Raiden swallowed and stepped forward beside Aryn, whose brow furrowed. “I’m Raiden Windward.”

Koji’s eyes flared briefly. “I was wondering when you’d make it here.”

“You knew we were coming?” Aerion asked.

“Someday,” Koji murmured, his vagueness adding to Raiden’s increasing anxiety. “Galen’s return has always been foretold.”

“Koji,” Aryn sighed. “Where’s Kora?”

“Oh, yes,” Koji glanced back to the empty cell. “She was just here. I wanted to see her one last time.”

Hope lifted Raiden’s heart. “Where have they taken her? How long ago did they take her away?” Koji shut his mouth, assessing Raiden as he stooped over the frail male. Silence continued until Raiden could hear the individual beats of his own heart. His blood pounded in his ears as time dragged by. He needed to remain calm . . . but this fucking male. “Answer me now!”

More gods-damned silence. With an infuriated sigh, Raiden banged his fist on the slimy bars. Kordelia had been in this cell. It was damp, reeking of waste and something other.

“He won’t talk easily.” Aryn appeared at his side. They unnervingly looked similar, with familiar shades of gold sparkling in both of their eyes. “Koji is only loyal to one thing.”

“If you say the empire, I will snap his neck.”

“Let’s dial down the violence, Brother,” Aerion cautioned, and Raiden paused as Aryn’s stare slid to Aerion, the hazel overcoming the gold.

“Coins.” Aryn opened his palm to Koji, with what resembled a golden doubloon placed in the centre. But not quite. Raiden peered at the etchings marring the metal. Those were runes, and ones he hadn’t seen before. A chill skittered down his spine at the presence of the coin. Almost as if the presence of the gods had surfaced with it.

“Where did you get that?” Koji snapped, taking the coin with rapt interest. He twirled it between his bony fingers, the golden coin sliding across his knuckles effortlessly.

“Family heirloom. This should be enough to get you to talk.” Aryn slid a threatening finger across his bowstring.

“Do you have any more?” Koji pressed.

“You’re only getting one,” Aryn retorted. “You like Kora, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Help us save her.”