Your Dark Gospel (Complete)

Chapter Ten

Elira peered into the black pits of her own eyes, the blue of her irises lost in the ice that mirrored them. Her red hair poked out from beneath her dark hood, wild and untamed, and her brows were knit tight. She sucked in a deep breath, and pressed her palms against the cold, reflective surface of the ice, sliding her body through the narrow gap between its stalk-like structures.

The landscape had shifted from a barren wasteland of snow and death to a forest of icy stalks that shot up from the ground like the spires of a great castle. The sharp tips curled and twisted around each other, creating a canopy of icicles hanging directly overhead. Some were as large and round as a full-grown owl bear, while others seemed thin and frail, as though the slightest of vibrations could send them cascading onto the ground below.

The ground where Elira, Astarion, and Shadowheart stood, their bodies pressed tight against the ice as they forced their way through a tight crevice.

Beads of water dripped from under Elira’s palms.

“Don’t you dare,” Astarion warned from beside her.

She didn’t have time to heed his warning as the ice curved beneath her gloved fingers; the heat melting it just enough for her to pop out of the crevice and into a larger, more open space — though still encased by the stalks of ice that formed the maze-like barrier.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the others fumbled in behind her, groping nearby stalks to steady themselves. They took to the next winding path without pausing to rest, eager to be back out in the open. It wasn’t a straight shot, and Elira wondered more than once if they were zig-zagging back the way they’d come. What if it lead to another narrow crevice — one too small for them to cross?

Or worse, what if it shot them back out where they started?

The locket around Elira’s throat hummed its warm melody against her skin.

No, that wasn’t going to happen. They were getting closer, and once they made it to the other side, she’d have eyes on Mephistopheles Citadel. She was sure of it. Her teeth gnawed on the inner layer of her bottom lip as her stomach tightened.

She had to be.

They continued forward in silence. Almost no words had been said since leaving camp that morning, which was probably for the best. She had been reconsidering the peace pact she’d made with Shadowheart, imagining how it would feel to have her blood staining her fingers when Astarion had suggested they get moving — an annoying interruption to be sure.

She still thought that having a cleric among them was a good call, but was dealing with her insufferable attitude worth it?

Click.

If annoying clerics were all the trouble this hellish landscape was going to throw at them, she wasn’t going to complain.

Click.

And even though they got off to a rough start, maybe Shadowheart would grow on her . . . eventually. Or maybe she wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter, did it?

Click.

“Will you stop that!” Elira ground her heels into the frozen path as she shot an accusing glare over her shoulder, eyes landing on Astarion’s pale features.

He frowned. “Stop what, exactly?”

“That gods awful noise you’re making!”

Click.

Astarion tilted his chin. “You mean that noise?”

“Yes!”

He held his palms in the air as if to proclaim his innocence.