Chapter 24 #2
Cindrissian simply disappeared.
One moment he was there, the next he was gone, as if the shadows had reached out and claimed him as their own.
I counted to ten in my head. Gave them enough time to get into position.
Then I followed.
My boots made no sound against the stone.
Years of practice had taught me how to move like water, how to make my body understand that survival sometimes meant becoming a ghost. I kept to the walls, using the darkness and the irregular surface for cover, tracking Lincatheron’s progress by the almost imperceptible displacement of air.
The voices grew clearer as I moved closer.
“The collar’s holding. He can’t use his magic, can’t do anything but bleed.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll finally tell us what we need to know.”
A bitter laugh. “He’s going to bleed out before he tells us anything. Stubborn bastard.”
The black fire stirred beneath my skin, cold and hungry and absolutely furious.
“The High Lord won’t last much longer anyway,” the first continued. “Two days without food, whatever they’ve been doing to him—”
“I know what we were told. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
The third cut in, bored. “Shut up and roll the dice.”
Two days. Varyth had been here for two days, collared and bleeding and—
I stopped thinking. Started moving on pure instinct.
Ahead, I could just make out the passage opening into a larger chamber. The faint glow of a lantern spilled across stone, casting long shadows that danced with each flicker of flame.
Lincatheron was a darker shadow among shadows, positioned at the edge of the opening. Fenric had vanished completely into whatever crevice or alcove he’d found. And Cindrissian—
Movement. So fast I almost missed it.
The leftmost guard made a soft, surprised sound, barely more than a gasp. Then his body crumpled to the ground. Cindrissian materialised behind him for just a heartbeat before vanishing again, the guard’s body already dragged into darkness.
The other two hadn’t even noticed.
Lincatheron moved next, and he was almost beautiful in his violence. He covered the distance to the centre guard in three silent strides, one hand clamping over the soldier’s mouth as the other drove a blade between his ribs. The guard thrashed once, twice, then went limp.
The last guard, the one who’d been complaining about waiting, finally looked up from his dice.
His eyes went wide. His mouth opened to scream.
Fenric’s hand closed around his throat before any sound could escape, and the two of them went down in a tangle of limbs that ended with a sickening crack of bone.
Silence.
Three bodies. Maybe fifteen seconds from start to finish.
I stepped into the chamber, no longer bothering to hide my presence.
Lincatheron’s head snapped toward me, fury burning in those dark eyes. He opened his mouth, probably to demand what the fuck I thought I was doing, but I cut him off with a look that had made grown men reconsider their life choices.
“Where’s Varyth?”
For a long moment, I thought Lincatheron might actually kill me himself. The rage radiating off him was palpable.
Then Fenric’s voice cut through the tension. “Deeper in. That one—” he gestured to the guard with the broken neck. “Was thinking about the ‘special prisoner’ in the back chamber.”
I didn’t ask how Fenric knew what a dead man had been thinking. Didn’t particularly care.
“Then let’s go,” I said, already moving toward the passage that led deeper into the cave system.
Behind me, I heard Lincatheron’s low growl of frustration.
But he didn’t stop me.
And when I glanced back, all three of them were following.
We moved deeper, the passage twisting like a serpent’s spine. Each step took us further into the mountain’s throat, the air growing thicker, more oppressive.
Then, voices again.
But these were different. Louder. More distinct. And underneath them, the sound of movement. Multiple bodies shifting, boots scraping against stone, the rustle of armour and weapons.
We were close.
Lincatheron raised his fist, and we froze as one.
The voices carried through the passage ahead, echoing off stone in a way that made them seem both near and far at once. But one rose above the rest, female, sharp with authority and irritation.
“Tell me what you have. What caused the magic she felt.”
She.
The word caught in my mind like a splinter. Who was she? But I didn’t have time to linger on the question, because another voice answered.
“Kill me. I’m not telling you anything.”
Varyth. Rough. Raw. But unmistakably defiant.
The sound that followed made something snarl in my chest.
Impact. Flesh on flesh. The wet, meaty sound of fists meeting skin and bone. A grunt of pain that Varyth tried and failed to suppress.
Another blow. Another.
The black fire erupted beneath my skin, cold flames licking up my arms before I could stop them. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting copper, forcing the magic back down through sheer will.
Not yet. Not until we had a plan.
Lincatheron pulled us back, away from the passage opening, into a small alcove where we could crouch together in the darkness.
“There’s a lot of them,” he murmured, pitched so low it was barely more than a breath. “We have to be careful. No room for error.”
Fenric nodded once, steel-blue eyes already distant. “At least a dozen. Maybe more. They’re spread out through the chamber.”
“Formation?” Lincatheron asked.
“Loose. Overconfident.” Fenric’s mouth quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “They think they’re safe.”
“Good.” Lincatheron’s attention turned to me. “You stay close to Cindrissian. He’ll keep you—”
“Alive,” I finished flatly. “I know.”
For a moment, I thought he might argue. Might try again to send me back, to keep me out of whatever was about to happen. But another sound echoed from the chamber ahead—Varyth’s voice, hoarse with pain but defiant—and Lincatheron’s jaw tightened.
“Just don’t die,” he said. “Varyth will have my head if anything happens to you.”
“How touching,” Cindrissian murmured from beside me. He leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing my ear, pitched so low that only I could hear. “I’m looking forward to watching those daggers sing.”
The words sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear.
I nodded once, my fingers already moving to the hilts of the moonsilver blades strapped to my thighs.
Lincatheron gave one final series of hand signals, a battle plan condensed into gestures so precise they could have been a language unto themselves. Then he moved, and we moved with him.
We slipped down the stone path like shadows given form. The passage widened gradually, opening into a larger space, and with each step forward, more of the chamber came into view.
An open cavern. High ceilings lost to darkness above. Lanterns hung from iron hooks driven into stone, their flickering light casting dancing shadows across rough walls.
And soldiers. So many soldiers.
A dozen at least, scattered throughout the space in loose formation. Some standing guard at what looked like other passages leading deeper into the cave system. Others clustered near the centre of the chamber, their attention focused on something I couldn’t yet see.
But I could hear it.
Another blow. Another grunt of pain.
And underneath it all, the sound of chains.
My fingers tightened around the dagger hilts, warm against my palms.
Varyth was in there. Collared. Chained. Bleeding.