27. Ayna
Ayna
“This is madness.”
Myron rushes past me, silver power cracking at his fingertips as he inspects the heavy cell door for weakness, then makes quick work of the hinges with a few powerful strikes of his blade. The steel sways on the threshold, moving painstakingly slowly as it collapses into the corridor. Myron steps out of the way just in time not to get hit on the shoulder by the tumbling obstacle, apparently too eager to free the fairies from their bindings. To give them dignity, even in death. That’s the kind of male Myron of Winghaven is. He’s inside the cell a heartbeat later, getting to work cutting down one limp fairy after the other and laying them down on the ground.
Herinor is right beside him, searching their bare and relatively clean arms for something I can’t see from this angle, so I join them inside the cell, heart ricocheting as I cross the ancient threshold.
Trap , something inside of me warns.
“We need to get out of here.” My words get lost in the shaking of my voice as I realize what Herinor has been inspecting.
Little puncture holes dot the fairies’ arms, their size a perfect fit for the needles Ephegos used to inject his victims with the magic-nullifying drug. At least, all the parts of their skin that are whole. The rest of their bodies are charred and singed, blistered and bleeding. All, except for their features, as if the Flames want us to recognize whom they mangled.
“Something feels off,” I try again, the sense of foreboding in my chest becoming an unforgiving pressure.
“Something is massively off,” Herinor agrees, but he’s gesturing at the corpses now littering the ground. There have to be at least twenty of them. “Someone used these poor bastards to experiment on them while they were tortured.”
My stomach turns, and I vomit right in front of my feet. I’ve seen Ephegos and Erina do some sick torture, have experienced some of it myself, but this level of cruelty… How long did these fairies suffer before Eroth showed them mercy and took them behind his veil?
The nausea won’t fade, but Myron and Herinor are doing the only thing we can: Showing the deceased this last kindness. So, instead of following the impulse to bolt, I join the two males’ efforts and cut down the female closest to me. She sags into my arm, not stiff like the dead the others have laid down on the packed earth floor but like someone who passed out. Her dark, dirt-smeared skin is warm enough to suggest she might still be alive.
Hammering a melody of hope, my heart speeds inside my tight chest. If we can save one—just one —of these fairies, it will be a victory in itself.
“Can you hear me?” Supporting her lolling head, I lay the female down and crouch beside her. Her torn shirt and pants are soaked in blood, but she hasn’t peed or shit herself, I can tell by her odor.
A groan is the only response I get, but it’s a sign I was right. Her chest heaves fast breaths, and her eyelids flutter, but she’s too far gone to wake up. Perhaps that’s a mercy in itself.
“Over here—” In an instant, Myron and Herinor are at my side, both their free hands landing on patches of intact skin, and their power flowing into the female’s system. It’s not enough to heal her completely, but some of the oozing burn marks turn into welted scars, and the gash along her abdomen seals enough to hold in the trickle of blood running down her side.
“There might be more alive.” I’m already on my feet again, dashing to the next fairy and the next, touching their faces to feel warmth or breath, searching for a pulse where the skin on their necks hasn’t been burned away. Only four more are hanging, but I force myself to be thorough with each one, that flicker of hope ready to spark and take flight. Each life saved is a victory for us. Each fairy taken from the claws of the Flames is a blow in their faces.
“ We ’ re done on the ground floor,” Kaira interrupts my focus. “ Where are you?”
“ Don ’ t come,” I warn her. “ We found the fairies. Find the others, and meet us in the forest.”
There’s nothing they can do down here, and between Herinor, Myron, and me, we can handle carrying out one survivor.
One.
Because that’s all there is.
The others are dead.
Sending Kaira a glimpse of the horror that is this dungeon, I let her know we’ll be out in a minute, too. We’ll sneak back up the stairs, leave through the roof, and find the others in our hideout in the forest.
“ Get out of there immediately.” Kaira’s warning comes a split second before I notice them from the corner of my eye.
Figures in brown leather, slender silver blades in their hands and the promise of death on their faces. We were so busy cutting down the dead that we didn’t notice the Flames sneaking up on us on their damned silent feet.
“ Shit! ”
“You could say so.” Herinor is the first to drop the fairy survivor and step to my side, but Myron is faster. He’s blocking the path between me and whatever the Flames might throw our direction, sword glimmering in the low light of the torches. His hair is floating on a phantom wind which I know means his power is rallying beneath his skin .
A part of me understands that we’ve walked right into a trap, that the Flames knew we were coming and wanted us to make it all the way down here where they could smash our morals and attack in close quarters.
With a glance over my shoulder, I confirm there’s no other exit. It’s through the group of Flames blocking our path or not at all.
“Let us go, and we won’t fry you with our magic,” Myron barks, silver tendrils of power climbing up the blade of his sword.
Beside me, Herinor has become the calm before a storm while, inside my chest, the wild oceans of a hurricane are fighting to break free.
“We need to take the female to safety.”
At my whisper, Herinor raises an eyebrow as if to ask if I’ve lost my mind.
“We need to bring her back to Aceleau,” I insist.
Herinor rolls his eyes, but I know he will grab her when it’s time to run. If not, I’ll do it.
The first ball of fire hits like a clap of thunder, blasting off the shield Herinor and Myron have crafted around us, and I duck behind my dagger like it could protect me from the hot ash raining through the cracks in the male’s magic. One moment the tunnel is bright like a bonfire; the next, all light flickers out, even the everlasting torches on the walls retreating into themselves as if guided by invisible hands.
My eyes fight to adjust to the absence of light so hard I almost miss the flare of silver right in front of me. All I can do is pull my dagger to my chest, pointy end outward, and meet whatever is coming my way with a blind stab.
A female hisses in a language I don’t understand, making relief dripping across my skin alongside cold beads of sweat. Not Myron. I didn’t accidentally stab Myron.
The Flames are upon us, and, judging by the clashing of metal, both Myron and Herinor are already engaged in battle.
“Shield!” Myron shouts, followed by a crack of power in the air. A silver sheen coats the nearby walls as Herinor throws up a stronger shield, and I could swear the ground is trembling.
Myron is a shadow cutting through flesh and bone as the Flames charge. Ten, maybe fifteen are coming for us; it’s hard to tell with how dark the dungeon has turned behind the reach of Herinor’s shield. All I know is they keep coming. One after the other, they crash against the male’s power while Myron has fallen into a killing calm. Blood sprays left and right, but it’s not just that of the Flames Myron and Herinor are cutting down. I’m contributing to the melee as well.
I’ve inched close enough to the edge of the shield to stab and slice at the coming Flames, drawing blood with each hit I land. My body is singing with strength, and in my veins, magic is swirling.
One by one, we’re pushing the Flames back. From the end of the corridor, shouts to order speak of the disarray ruling the Flames’ formation. They are losing this fight, and fast .
Fire flares against our shield once more, the impact hard enough to make Herinor stagger, but he holds his ground, one arm wound around the legs of the fairy female he’s carrying over his shoulder, the other arm straining as he holds both the shield and his sword to take down whoever skips through.
Heat blasts my face, singeing the fine hairs in my nose and I pray that the Flames won’t send another onslaught of fire right away. I’ve only recently been a living torch. No need to repeat that experience. The Flame closest to me grins, and I stab without delay. It’s not my most elegant move, but it’s effective: The Flame topples over as I pull my dagger from his chest and crouch down to slice behind his knees. He almost hits me when I hesitate for a moment before leaping out of the way.
We’re making progress. Slow, but progress. Every step forward is a step toward freedom.
Reinforcements are within reach. It can’t be long until the others show up. Kaira must have already informed them of the trap we walked into.
Stab, slash. Stab, slash. Herinor’s shield flickers with each new ball of fire the Flames hurl at it, hissing and steaming at the contact, but it holds. It holds long enough for us to make it to the stairs leading up to the entrance hall.
“When we get out of there, run.” Myron’s voice is full of authority. It’s not a suggestion but an order, and I’m ready to listen for once. “You, too, Herinor. Run.”
Before either of us can object that he’d better run, too, Myron curses and shoves a Flame pushing through the shield right back into the darkness and over the threshold to Eroth’s Veil. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Promise?” This single word is all I have breath for.
“Promise.” Myron’s response loosens the knot in my chest, sending the concern for my mate to the bottom of my thoughts. He promised. He won’t stay behind.
“Where the fuck are the others?” Herinor is now fighting alongside us up the stairs, grunting under the strain of balancing the shield and carrying the unconscious female. “The moment I spot Clio, I’ll shove that creature into her arms, and she can take her to her brother.”
He sounds like a grump, but I hear the genuine concern for our rescue in his tone.
“They can’t be far,” Myron grits out, pressing his blade against a Flame’s silver sword.
We’ve been fighting for minutes; the noise of our battle can’t go unnoticed.
“ Kaira!” I shout in my mind.
No response.
“ Kaira, where are you?”
The entrance hall greets us with spacious russet and cream. About five more Flames are fighting, but they are strong and ready. They’ve been waiting for us, preparing to strike the moment we set foot into the room. Walls of fire hit from all sides, heat blasting apart Herinor’s shield. Myron throws his arms around my shoulders, cradling my head against his chest as he shields me from the flames with his own body. I taste iron and salt as I bite my lip at the impact, but the momentary pain is nothing compared to the panic grabbing hold of me. Herinor’s curse echoes through the hallways .
“Fuck the gods! Where are those boasting fairies when you need them?” He means Clio, but the female isn’t there to save the day. Not this time. None of the others are.
The air stills as the Flames wait for their magic to recharge so they can smother us with another blow of power.
Myron nods at me as if expecting me to understand, then at Herinor.
He wants us to run while the Flames are dependent on their blades. The door is about fifteen feet ahead, and the Flames are standing well away from it. If we run, we can make it.
“I’m not leaving y?—”
“Go, Ayna. I can hold them off on my own.” Silver lightning crackles at Myron’s fingertips, and an expression of collected menace graces his features.
It’s that moment that I know he’s right. He can blast those five Flames out of their boots if he wants to—he’s just that powerful—but he’s scared to hurt us with his still uncontrollable magic. So, he wants us out of the way before he brings this estate down for good.
“Now!”
Grabbing my daggers harder, I bolt, darting for the door. Herinor is right beside me, his shield wrapping around us like a shimmering target.
We get close to the doors. Closer. The Flames are coming for us, but we’re faster.
At the last two paces before we would crash into the carved wood of the entrance, Herinor sends out a blast of his own power, dropping the shield to let the shot through.
The door splinters into a million pieces, but I don’t stop. Hands are thrown over my head to shield my face and neck. Myron’s roar is an echo at the back of my mind as we stumble through the door, coughing and panting and featuring an array of scratches along the backs of our hands.
Behind us, silver light flashes, and I know Myron is fighting in earnest now.
“To the hedges.” Herinor points with the tip of his sword, but he doesn’t wait for me or make sure I get to safety first. The deal he struck with Ephegos is still in place, and if he as much as tries to help me, he’ll suffer greatly. He can pretend he’s aiding Myron instead for all that I care, as long as we make it to the tall hedges and off the premises.
The plan is better than reality will allow.
Around the corner, where the trees surrounding the estate form a small meadow, a group of at least forty Flames is gathered, silver swords at the ready and tendrils of fire flaring in their raised palms.