Chapter 44
Lucina
By some miracle, we made it through the Estate without issue.
Well, without major issues.
Salem has killed three guards already, silencing them just before they were able to shout for help and alert whoever’s still inside the Estate.
Now he’s standing with his back to us, guarding the end of the hall while I help an older woman, about May’s age, to the back of the line.
The Sol are halfway through the small servant tunnel, an entrance I found down the narrow hall beside the dining room. It leads straight to the front of the Estate, and the line of them had been filing in just fine up until a few minutes ago, and now it seems to have stopped.
With the line at a standstill, there are about fifteen or so that are still exposed in the hall.
The woman who’s leaned up against me grunts, pulling my attention. She’s too thin to hold herself up properly, but she’s walking as fast as she’s able. All of them are, but they’re skin and bones, lighter than leaves, and the support they do have is brittle.
The sight of them simultaneously breaks my heart and lights a fire in my gut, anger rocking me so violently to my core that I can’t even look at them for too long.
Glancing back at Salem, I make sure he’s still standing firmly at the end of the hall, relief washing through me when I spot him intently focused on the corridor to the left—where the last guard had come from.
Forcing myself through a deep breath, I help the woman to the end of the line, transferring her weight over to a man who looks a little more stable than she is.
He’s probably in his mid-forties, with thin blonde hair and gaunt cheeks.
He doesn’t have any more meat on his bones than the rest of them do, but he doesn’t hesitate in taking the woman’s hand.
“You okay?” I check before fully letting her go.
She nods weakly, a faint smile on her cracked lips.
I make my way to where the line is being held up, craning my neck as I try to catch a glimpse of the passage. Searching for the reason for their hold-up, but there are too many heads in the way.
My heart begins beating faster.
If something was wrong, like the ward still being up, I feel like that kind of news would have made its way back to the end of the line by now. Right?
As I squint towards the end of the tunnel, a different kind of fear creeps into my chest.
Is Callan not there? Did something happen to my Coven or their plan? I heard an explosion not too long ago, so everything should still be good.
But what if it isn’t?
I do my best to not look panicked, offering a sympathetic smile to the line of Sol staring back at me. If we could get just a little more movement, I’d be able to close the door behind them, but having the end of the line out in the open is a risk we just can’t take.
“Pile in as close as you can,” I urge them, sending up an orb of light to illuminate the passage.
Bodies shuffle, and the line moves forward a few inches, but that seems to be as far as they can go. “Keep going. As much as you can. We have to shut this door—”
A sharp whistle comes from the end of the hall, and I whip my head to Salem.
The warning in the Hound’s eyes is obvious—we’ve got company.
“Shit,” I curse, turning towards the line. “Shh.” I attempt to quiet the building murmurs, snuffing all the lights around us until the hall is pitch dark.
I move to stand between the end of the line and Salem, but as soon as I get into position, he holds up one finger, urging me to wait.
Reluctantly, I listen, knowing he can obviously smell, see, or hear something I can’t, but the silence that follows is so thick it’s hard to breathe through it.
One foolishly hopeful glance behind me confirms that the line still hasn’t moved. My lungs deflate, and when I look back to the end of the hall, Salem is gone.
Panic bleeds into my bloodstream.
There’s a sound of a scuffle around the corner, which isn’t his typical M.O. when it comes to manslaughter. The Hound, I’ve learned, prefers the quick, silent deaths. Especially now, when the last thing we need is a scene.
A full minute passes. Then another. And my body is screaming at me to move, alarm bells blaring in my ears.
He’s the Hound, for the gods’ sake; he doesn’t need my help.
But then again…he told me about not having all his power. About not being as strong as he should be.
A blast of dark magic slams against the far wall, rocking the hallway.
I stumble back, whirling around to the Sol. They’ve been jumbled by the blast, but all remain on their feet, fearful eyes blinking back at me.
My attention pulls back to the corner Salem disappeared behind when I hear glass shatter. It’s followed by the sound of a strangled scream and the grunt of someone else.
Whoever it is should have been dead by now….I’m sure of it. Feeling certain about that, it doesn’t take much more to make up my mind.
I take one surging step forward, deciding Salem needs help, but a Rogue slides around the corner before my boot hits the ground, yellow eyes blazing.
His white hair is drenched in gore, blood dripping from a deep cut on his brow, and when he raises his hand, there’s a spear of black smoke forming between his fingers.
“Get inside!” I scream to the Sol.
He hones the black mass into a dagger and lances it through the hall.
It’s instinct to reach for Sol magic, but that well is almost completely dry, so I dive into the void of Rogue power beneath it.
It’s not nearly as controlled as I had intended when it bursts from my open palm, a swirl of black meeting his dagger head on. The collision cracks through the space, an explosion of onyx shards embedding themselves into the walls and crashing into the ground.
I surge forward before he can reload, lunging for his hands, and the movement surprises him enough that I’m able to grab both wrists and use my momentum to drag them down.
His upper body hinges forward, and my knee connects with his gut. I’m only able to get two kicks in before he rips my arms off and shoves me backwards.
His boot comes up as I stumble back, connecting perfectly with my chest.
I go sprawling onto the marble floor, my hip and shoulder taking the majority of the impact. Violent bursts of pain ricochet up and down my limbs as I push myself up, gritting against the ache.
More glass shatters, and when I manage to look back at the Rogue, his head is turned towards the servant passage.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He lunges for the Sol at the end of the line, and the older woman I’d been helping screams, clutching the arm of the man in front of her.
A careless blast of dark magic rips out of me, fueled by pure anger, and a whip of shadows lashes through the space between him and me. The end of it latches onto his ankle, and I yank back with all my strength, slamming the Rogue onto his face.
I pull some more, dragging him back, as far away as I can, shivering at the frigid chill sweeping through my limbs.
“Go!” I shout at the line of Sol—the line that has mercifully started moving.
The Rogue claws the floor to get to them, unable to get purchase on the smooth marble.
“Go!” I scream again, and the man urges the older woman forward, frantically helping her inside the passage.
The Rogue growls, jolting into a sitting position and aiming a magic-filled hand at the rope around his ankle.
I’ve just pushed myself to stand when it snaps, the sudden lack of resistance making me stumble backwards.
Reaching for more shadows, I dig deeper into the well of my father’s magic, but the Rogue I’m up against is quicker.
The dagger he sends spiraling across the room moves so fast I almost don’t see it. I manage to dart to the side, but he anticipates the movement and immediately sends another just like it.
I’m not able to move in time.
Pain explodes in my chest, bursting through every nerve ending and locking up every muscle in my body. It’s a frigid and brutal agony. The kind of cold that burns, and I don’t mean to scream, but the sharp sound bursts from my lungs before I can stop it.
My head collides with the hard floor, my vision spinning.
It’s a sensation unlike anything I’ve experienced. Numb. Dull. Splintering. Moving too fast through my limbs to even pinpoint its origin.
The Rogue is on me in seconds, leaning over my immobilized body, and I grit my teeth, desperate to squirm or crawl or roll out of his way. Anything.
“Who…the fuck…are you?” he sneers, thrusting the toe of his boot into my ribs.
A fresh wave of pain slices through me, and I bite my tongue against another scream, screwing my eyes shut as I try to catch my breath.
“Godsdamn Traitor,” he huffs, kicking my side hard enough to roll me back over.
Through my blurred vision, I see shadows moving over his arms, darkening his skin, and I brace myself for another strike, but it does absolutely nothing for the excruciating pain that lances through my body.
My back bows off the floor, a hoarse scream ripping from my throat, leaving it raw.
At the slam of a door, I manage to roll my head to the side, noting the hall is now empty, and the servant door is closed—the line of Sol safely inside.
Relief mingles with the agony, and hot tears well in my eyes, rolling down my temples and splashing onto the cold marble floor.
The servant passage is closed, and the line is moving, so the ward must be down.
We did it. We did everything we needed to do. My coven can manage the rest. They’re in their hands now, and Callan won’t let anything happen to them.
I certainly don’t want to die—it wasn’t part of the plan. But it was always a risk, I suppose. A potential consequence. And yet, somehow, I can’t find it in myself to care.
Is this what it took? Am I the payment for a hundred lives?
I suck in a ragged breath, looking up at the Rogue towering over me.
Gods, I’d be the payment for ten lives. Three, even.
One, if it were someone I loved.
The hard tread of a boot comes down on my ribs again, and the splintering pain that follows resurrects the blast of dark magic he’d hit me with. It seizes every muscle in my body until I’m paralyzed.