Ten minutes isn't enough time. Especially when my father is shuffling his feet and panting for breath, and I don't know where I'm going. I take my discarded dagger from the ground and glance at the massive doors the nobles exited through. The city isn't an option for us. Too many people will recognize my father, and we will have a target on our backs before we can make it to the gates. I lead him out the archway Kyron disappeared through, hoping we will find a passage that will buy us time.

The corridor is lined with hand carved black doors nestled into the stone walls. I push one open to find prayer candles illuminating a kneeler and an altar holding a Statera relic—a meditation room. I don't bother looking behind the other doors, knowing I will find more of the same, but the hallway at the end appears promising.

I urge my father forward, and we scour the area for a way out or a place to hide. It's hopeless. Whether we turn left or right, every direction leads to another hallway. The sanctuary is an infinite maze, and we are lost inside of it.

"Do you have any suggestions?" I ask, panic rising inside me.

"They always paraded me in through the main doors, and I went straight to the throne. I've heard them talking about a tunnel leading to the royal residence, but I wouldn't know where to find it."

I tuck my lips between my teeth and wipe away the sweat on my brow. "We've wasted half of our time just turning in circles. I don't know what to do."

He pulls me to his chest and kisses my temple.

"I'm sorry. I came so close, only to fail you," I say, my voice trembling.

"I wish you wouldn't have come for me," he lifts my chin, "but all the same, I'm very proud of you, Raelle. No matter what happens, this moment with you is everything to me. How could I not cherish a chance to hold my daughter in my arms again?"

My father is capable of so much but finding the light in the darkest of times will forever be the attribute I love most about him. His fortitude inspired his soldiers to forge on and gave me the courage to come looking for him. I didn't defy a king and endure months of training just to give up because the quest took an unexpected turn.

I pull my lips into a sad attempt at a smile and say, "We will hide. I can keep us safe and use the Khiros' gifts against them. I'll find a way to get us out of here."

He brushes my hair away from my face and cups my cheek. "You have always been so determined."

I release him and spin on my heels, ready to do whatever it takes to stay alive. Just as quickly as the urge to fight rushes through me, it freezes along with my body.

A tall menacing figure stands at the end of the corridor, his dark eyes trained on us. I war with my frazzled nerves, pushing past them to let my anger take precedence. I hold my dagger in front of me and say, "Do it...release your gift and I swear to the Statera I will use it to burn you alive, Kyron."

He licks his lips and his nostrils flare. "I'm here to help. I can get you out of here."

With a humorless laugh, I say, "You're fucking unbelievable. Do you think for a moment that I trust you?"

"What other choice do you have?"

None. We are out of options and minutes away from fighting for our lives against warriors blessed with an onslaught of powers. It is impossible for me to control them all and defend my father. This is a gamble I can't take; our chances for survival are better if Kyron is my only worry.

I grip my dagger, turning my knuckles white, and carefully close the space between us. He doesn't move as I press the tip of the blade to the pulsating vein on the side of his neck. "If you betray me again, I will slit your throat."

"Our war will come, but not this day, Raelle."

This is it—this is where we stand from here forward. He is not my ally, my friend, my lover. He is the prince who stands on the opposite side of what I believe in, and one day, we will face each other with our armies behind us. This is what he has chosen to turn our parah bond into—war.

"We are running out of time. You are going to have to trust him," my father says.

I pull my stare from Kyron and glance at my father, searching for any sign he is under direst. Despite his haggard appearance, he is resolute. He trusts the Stigian prince to lead us to safety and wants me to do the same.

"All right," I say, lowering my dagger.

With a curt nod, Kyron leads the way, and I fall in line with him, my blade ready. We maneuver through multiple passageways and down two sets of stairs. The corridors narrow and mold and dust linger in the air. I consider if he is taking us to another dungeon until we arrive at an ornate gate at the end of a dirt tunnel. Like he has done this a hundred times before, he wiggles a rock out of the wall, revealing a rusted key. He slips it into the lock, opens the gate, and lets us pass before securing it.

Voices echo from the way we came, shouting orders to search high and low for me and my father.

"Shit," I hiss.

"Hurry," Kyron says, guiding us further into the passage.

Small round lights along the path illuminate the ground and the crypts aligning each side. Stone images of the dead adorn the tops of their final resting place, and I recognize many of the stoic faces staring at us—Pliris kings and queens from the past.

"Where are you taking us?" I ask, studying the engravings as we pass.

Kyron doesn't answer but stops before a crypt and shoves at the lid protecting the dead body inside. I'm tempted to stop him. I can't crawl inside a casket with a dead body. Not only is it revolting, but disrespectful. My hand darts out to stop him, but the stone budges and slides away as if on a hinge.

"This passage will take you to the border," he says.

I lean forward, dreading what I will find inside the tomb. But it's empty...almost. A weathered ladder reaches down into a pitch-black hole. My gaze darts back to Kyron. "How can we trust you?"

"You can't, but you can trust your instincts. It's the last tunnel used to smuggle the Cyffreds out of Stigian; you saw it on the map the night in the tavern."

The beat of heavy footsteps ricochet off the dirt walls, followed by the rattling of the gate. I push my father toward the crypt, and Kyron helps him over the side and onto the first rung of the ladder.

Keys jingle at the gate, and I pivot to look the way we came. We only have seconds left.

"Raelle," Kyron says, pulling on my arm.

I yank it away and hurry into the coffin. My foot reaches the top of the ladder, and Kyron places his hand on top of mine. "I'm sorry. If there was another way, I—"

"Don't. An apology won't heal the damage you've done. Make no mistake, you are my enemy, and I will fight for your ruin."

He combs an unruly strand of hair out of his eyes and says, "I don't regret it."

"And that is why I will always hate you, Kyron."

This is our last moment together; we should be exchanging expressions our devotion and our need for the other. We should say heartfelt goodbyes, but he made his choice and forced me into mine. Nothing can remain between us but animosity.

The warm caress of his power brushes against me, and a flame forms in the center of his palm. "You will need it down there."

I call his gift to me, and the fire moves to my hand. Without another word, I descend into the darkness. It's not until he slides the tomb's lid into a place that I give into the urge to look up.

It's a tough hike through the tunnel. My father stops often, unaccustomed to exerting himself in such a way. I do my best to encourage him, sharing stories of my siblings and helping him recall his favorite traits of my mother. At some point, I drape his arm over my shoulder so he can use me as a crutch while I continue to carry our only source of light.

My body aches and despite the freezing temperatures below ground, I'm hot and sweaty, and dehydration and fatigue threaten to conquer us. We can't stop and risk falling asleep and extinguishing Kyron's flame, so we forge on.

As much as I hate Kyron, I should want to destroy anything which reminds me of him. It is tempting, but the heartbroken dreamer inside of me wants to keep this one last piece of him a little longer. A part of the man I thought him to be, the ember of the life I thought we could have.

My father stumbles forward, and I yelp, discarding the flame to catch him. We both fall to the ground, kicking up dirt. The dust coats our already dry mouths and eyes. I struggle through the pain to prop my father against the wall before sliding down next to his side.

"Are you all right?" I ask.

"This is a lot for an old man."

"You're not that old," I say, nudging him with my shoulder.

He chuckles, and I can't help but to laugh with him. It is good to hear his voice and be in his presence again. It is great medicine for my broken heart.

"How much trouble am I going to have to get you out of with Micah?" he asks.

"A lot. I've not made life easy for him since they took you."

I tell him the story of how I snuck away to find his soldiers and how they accepted me as their own...after a bumpy start. He relates to my stories at Basecamp and shares some of his own with the people I grew to love. I even enjoy his memories of Kyron, picturing him as I did before today.

We doze off a couple of times, and it is not until footsteps approach that a quick energy rushes through me, and I'm alert. I shake my father, saying, "Someone is coming. Get up, we have to move."

"I can't, Raelle. You must go on without me."

"No." I stand and yank on his arm, fighting to get him on his feet, but I might as well be lifting a boulder. With no other choice, I drag him along the dirt. We move at a snail's pace, but I don't give in even as our pursuers draw closer.

"No, no," I repeat, with tears running down my face and reach for my dagger.

It's gone.

I rush back to where we were sitting, whispering pleading words to the Statera. I beg for its divine intervention. A light or draw to my weapon, anything that will not leave us at a disadvantage. Falling to my hands and knees, I dig my fingers into the dirt and feel for my knife. When light and shadows stretch along the wall, I rush back to my father and pull him again. I change tactics with the Statera and pray for strength. I strain and grunt, dragging my father. My panic subsides for a moment and I realize I'm not sure if we are going in the right direction anymore.

Using the Eporri, I call to any nearby gifts. My hands shake in front of me, grasping at humid air and nothing more.

No Kyron.

No Statera.

No dagger.

Other than myself, I'm forsaken.

I ball my hands into fists, ready to fight with the only thing I have left. Coiling my muscles, I stand ready, my eyes focused ahead. Their light shines around the corner, and I squint against the bright rays. Blinded, I stagger back and place myself between them and my father.

"Raelle?"

"General Mansi, are you all right?"

"Leif?" I say.

An arm wraps around my shoulder and something presses to my lips. "Drink," Leif commands, and I swallow, leaning into him.

My eyes adjust, and I find another soldier tending to my father—Ulric. Two more figures step into the light and Greer asks, "Where's Kyron?"

I shake my head. "He stayed."

Terro's eyes widen and the carefree demeanor always found on his face vanishes. "What do you mean, he stayed?"

"He made his choice," I say, not ready to tell them he betrayed us to wear the crown of a kingdom he hated. Or maybe I'm not ready to admit we were never enough for him. That I was never enough for him.

My father's soldiers lift and carry him while Leif and I stroll behind.

My best friend brushes his lips against my temple and holds me tight. "You did good, Elle."

I stifle my tears and nod.

Maybe one day the pain will dull, and I will see this moment the way he does. Until then, this will remain the day when my heart was broken beyond repair.