Declan pushed cautiously on a panel in the temple wall, and a staircase unfolded before him, leading into darkness. Plucking one of the torches from its sconce on the wall, he kept one hand on the wall, guiding him and keeping his balance as his heavy boots clomped down the flight of stairs. At the foot of the staircase, he came face to face with a set of locked doors.

Patting down his pockets, he found the key he had taken from the market stall, which Nolan had scoffed at him for. Now, choosing one with an emerald embedded into its head, he inserted it into the lock. It clicked, tumblers sliding against each other, as the door opened with a slight shove. The creak it made as it thudded against the wall was like music to his ears. Declan smiled and propped it open with a brick, tucking the key ring back into the depths of his trouser pocket.

"I win this round, Nolan," he said aloud, though he knew his cousin, of course, could not hear him.

His voice echoed through the room. Parchment scrolls in their gold and silver canisters lined the ornately carved shelves that had been set against the walls. Dust lay in thick layers on the tomes that alternated with scrolls on the bookshelves, making him cough as he dusted off one of the volumes. His footsteps sounded like thunderclaps in the room that felt like a tomb, sealed off from the world and filled with spirits and minds of those who had long passed. Sacred magic suffused the room, so tangible that Declan could almost taste it on his tongue.

Still, the emerald key was not the one he had sought out to begin with. He doubted it would give him what he needed, even if it was a key that could open every door. That would be interesting if he were a spy. As he walked through the room, how he heard more than empty silence, however. There was breathing. Footsteps. Someone else was here, in the vault. A girl--no, a priestess. It was the same veiled woman he had seen on the beach before.

He watched her, the graceful movements of her body half-hidden by the billowing fabric that swayed around her. Declan could make out her long waves of dark hair obscured by her veil, and though he should have been arming himself, he couldn't bring himself to. Not because she didn't pose a threat, but because she was too mesmerizing for him to look away from. The priestess's head snapped toward him and she backed up toward the wall, not even looking behind her.

"Who are you?" she asked, raising her chin and throwing her shoulders back. Interesting. This woman was defensive, but far from weak.

"Answer my question first. Where is the key?" Declan asked, stalking over to the priestess.

Her face was inches from his, green eyes wide with fear as she bit her lip before speaking. "I know not of what you speak, sir."

"Perhaps this will make you more willing to speak." Quickly, pulling his daggers from their sheaths in his belt, Declan flung the blades quickly at her and they embedded themselves in her vicinity. "Where is the key?"

She dodged the weapons with a yelp but they pinned her gauzy sleeves to the mosaic wall behind her. Tiles shattered and fell off, revealing the dingy stone beneath the bright colours. Her chest heaved, her breath no doubt quickening with terror. Still, those green eyes were clear and bright as they stared into his, without a tear in sight.

"Do not play the fool with me, girl." He twirled the knife in his palm, staring at the ones embedded in her long, gauzy sleeves, pinning her to the wooden boards. She had screamed when he threw those, yet had not moved an inch. Why had she not yet tried to escape? She could have easily rent the garment and attempted to flee. Instead, she stood there, still as a statue.

"I am neither a mere girl nor a fool, sir." She smiled coldly as though he were the one who was trapped. "Do not test me."

In an instant, he found himself flat on his back somehow, as if she had hooked a foot around his ankle and tripped him. But he had felt no such thing. She occupied exactly the same position that she had before. The floor, he realized, held some sort of hidden trap or panel. Its stones were cool against his back, and he grappled for an upper hand, some advantage.

"I do not know of this key, sir." She spat the last word, staring down at him icily. Her white robes rippled in the faint breeze as she, precariously keeping her arms where they were, stomped her sandalled foot on her chest to keep him from eluding her. Not that he would have easily fled—somehow restraints had found their way around his wrists and ankles as if it were an automatic reaction to his being spread-eagled on the ground. She must have hit some secret lever in order to trigger a mechanism to do so and his mind spun with thoughts of how such a device would be made possible...

With the proximity of her foot to his sternum, planted near his collarbone, he stretched his head up just a little and tried to maneuver her ankle off of him with a jerk of his chin. She screamed as his teeth closed over her skin and drew blood, making him feel barbaric, like the conqueror kings of days past whom everyone condemned now. Like an animal. He tasted the tang of salt and iron as she backed away from him, staring at the cut on her foot. She was pale, ashen, and her fingers trembled as she bent down to touch the bite wound. Was she so weak to be frightened of her own blood? One of those fainting violets he disdained? Yet, she seemed more angry than scared.

"Do you know what you have done?" she demanded, staring down at the cut in her golden-brown skin. The woman gazed at the glistening red droplets that shone there like they signified the end of the world.

Perhaps they did. Beneath his body, he could feel the ground vibrating. Around them, the pillars shook, stone crumbling, and wind roared. He could hear thunder booming and see lightning flashing through the gaps in the ceiling. The smell of magic in the air became as suffocating as the dust that littered the ground. Something ominous this way came...

"I have a feeling I'm about to find out, priestess."

Around them, dust whipped up as though in a sandstorm. She tore her trapped arms free from the wall, her shredded sleeves hanging from her shoulders like wings. Blood dripped from the grazes the knives had made against her skin when she had broken free. The restraints around his appendages had slackened now and he got up quickly, dusting off his clothes. She glared at him in frustration and threw herself at him, her fingers clawed as if poised to gouge out his eyes. He felt her nails swipe down his neck, leaving faint slices, and he grabbed her wrists. His heart pounded as he stared down at her, her green eyes defiant and oddly familiar.

Who was this girl?