Chapter 20
Twenty
I’m halfway into my wrap, one arm through the sleeve, hair sweaty and sticking to the nape of my neck when a shout rips the air above us—a muffled command that plainly says Dav and the others are close.
Prickles of energy start to snap against my skin.
This is more than the adrenaline of throwing on clothes and knowing we’ll have to pay the price for not performing for the queens and their court.
Magick coils in my chest. A low, patient pressure that settles behind my breastbone and won’t be ignored.
The Tower hums through the stones under my soles.
Its magick is talking, speaking directly to me, warning me, and I’ve learned enough about the Tower and this kingdom not to ignore it.
“I don’t know how,” I say, breath shallow, fingers fumbling with the ties of my wrap. “But we need to get away from here before the guards find this place.”
Declan finishes pulling on his sandals, his brow drawn tight as he studies the ring of packed sand. “We could try to climb it.”
We cross to one of the walls that hems the Tower in, a smooth curve of compacted sand rising above us. I press my hand to the wall. The surface gives, melting beneath my palm, grains slipping between my fingers like flour.
“Can we climb it?”
As if on cue, the sand along the wall shifts.
A few grains sift over my toes, then a soft, hissing cascade slides down the face with a low shh-shh-shh like someone tipped the hourglass.
The sand bulges and settles. Holds take shape—ridges, shelf-steps, and fist-sized nubs push out where there were none.
Sparks drift along the new features in two parallel columns, markers lighting side-by-side paths up the face of the wall.
Declan tests the first handhold, then grins. “We can now.”
He gives the sand an approving tap and nods for me to try. I edge closer, skeptical, and slip my foot into the lowest pocket. I press my weight into it, and it doesn’t budge.
With a wobbly smile, I say, “Seems solid enough.”
He rubs his hands together then shakes them out and rolls his neck.
The motions are small, muscle memory, but there’s an eager looseness about him I haven’t seen before.
“Don’t think of it as pulling yourself up with your arms. Push with your legs,” he instructs.
“Let those bigger muscle groups do the work.”
“The only thing I’ve ever climbed is a ladder, and that wasn’t even recently.” My throat tightens as I track the lit paths up the sand. “What if I fall?”
“You won’t.” He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”
He points to a shallow ledge. “Plant the toes of your right foot there. Keep your arms extended and grip the holds for balance, then drive up. Push—don’t pull.”
I do as he says—press my toes into the pocket, feel the wall take my weight, and reach for the first set of ridges.
When his hand steadies my hip it’s a coach’s touch, firm and correcting. “Watch your feet and use your toes. Push, Amanda. Good. Now reach.”
My lungs work. My stomach churns, but motion settles the panic, and Declan’s voice is a rhythm I can lean on.
“Keep breathing,” he murmurs, a buoy I can cling to. “I’m right here.”
Sparks gather like moths, signaling where I should place my hands and feet next, then moving up as soon as I pass. A breadcrumb trail built of flames and magick.
Declan climbs beside me, damp hair sticking to his forehead, grin wide and boyish and beautiful.
He moves naturally, the muscles in his back and arms tightening and relaxing in easy motions.
Every so often he throws me a glance, and his smile is not just about the climb—there’s adoration in it, like he’s watching something precious learn to move.
Halfway up he glances over at me, eyes bright with the reflection of the sparks guiding our path. “So this is magick.”
I breathe, then laugh, and the sound is thin in the open air. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
He tilts his head, watching me, and his voice softens. “The most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”
A few more feet up, and I realize it’s been a minute since I last heard the guards’ shouts.
The quiet makes my stomach tighten. I can’t shake the feeling that we’ll breach the lip of the dune and be met with shackles and swords.
If they look down into the Tower—if it’s exposed…
I don’t know why, but the thought terrifies me.
I peer up into the silver glow of moonlight spilling across the upper edge. No silhouettes. No movement. But the stillness only winds the tension tighter.
My mouth is dry, my swallows thick as I glance over my shoulder at how far we’ve ascended.
At this height, the embers smoldering in the altar offering bowl are a small blur of orange light.
My legs start to shake, my hands instantly clammy.
The drop would be over in seconds. Then my body would meet stone, and that would be it.
“I can’t—” I start, my throat closing up as I stare down at the ground.
“You can. I’m right here. Don’t think about what’s below. Think about the next hold.”
“But what if I miss it?” My heartbeat echoes in my ears. “What if I slip? What if—”
“Satan wouldn’t let his worshipper smash into the ground.”
I whip my head toward him, almost losing my balance in the process. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a Satanist?”
He shrugs as well as he can with his arms stretched over his head. “That’s the old conspiracy theory, isn’t it? Witches dancing naked in a circle, sacrificing goats to the Dark Lord.” He grins, daring me to argue. “So technically you’re safer than I am.”
His fingers find the next hold. He tests it, then moves, pushing himself higher.
“Two things: one, I wouldn’t call myself a witch.
” The words rip out in a mix of fury and disbelief as I scramble up the wall after him, anger firing hotter than fear.
“And two: even if I did, that is centuries of misogynistic propaganda wrapped up in one asinine sentence. Satanist?! I have read hundreds of books on witchcraft, and that is not how any of it works!”
He only climbs higher, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
“Oh, I see what you did there. You say something heinous so I forget about dying and focus on how much I want to murder you. Real clever, Declan. Real clever.”
He looks down with a wicked grin. “It worked, didn’t it? You’re arguing and moving up instead of panicking and looking down.”
It did. The ridiculous, infuriating moment is a handhold I hadn’t expected—something to steady my mind when my muscles were about to betray me. I move, following his path, my body remembering the rhythm he’s been giving me: breathe, push, reach.
My muscles burn as we ascend. Every step drags fire through my thighs. My lungs and heart keep trying to convince me I can’t continue—that I’ve used up all my oxygen, all the energy I have left—but I do.
I have to.
“You’ve got the strength, Amanda,” Declan says as if he can sense the exhaustion creeping in. “Keep going.”
I can’t tell if the holds are narrowing the higher we go, shrinking from ridges into little more than crumbling nubs, or if the muscles in my hands are so tired the wall might as well be smooth.
My palms are slick, my fingers and toes aching, and every breath I drag in is laced with sand.
My arms ache, my calves twitch with warning spasms, but I don’t dare look down. I won’t make that mistake again.
Declan climbs a half step higher, his body angled against the wall like it was carved to fit there. He moves with skilled ease, fingers and feet precise, confident. I mimic him, slower, trembling, my nails scraping into the next handhold.
“Breathe,” he says, steady and calm, the sound of his voice like a rope between us.
“I am breathing,” I grind out.
“Not enough. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Keep the rhythm.”
I try. I try. My chest heaves like I’ve been sprinting uphill. Sweat rolls down my forehead and stings my eyes.
We’re nearly to the top of the wall when the foothold beneath my left toes crumbles away in a spray of sand.
My weight shifts. My stomach plunges. The wall seems to sway, and I’m hanging by my arms, feet scrabbling against nothing.
A throat-shredding scream rips out of me.
“Amanda!” Declan’s shout cracks like thunder.
My grip falters, entire body hanging on by the tips of my fingers. “Declan,” I whisper as if speaking too loudly will dislodge my hand. “I can’t—I can’t hold on.”
“Yes, you can.” His voice cuts through the panic, hard as steel as he climbs down to me, muscles taut. “Look at me. Only me.”
I force my eyes up, away from the dark hollow yawning below, and fix my attention on him. He’s close enough that I can see the moonlight tracing the paths sweat has carved through the dust on his skin.
“Do you trust me?” he demands, taking a wide stance and digging his feet into shallow pockets in the wall.
“I—” My fingers burn. My nails rip against the wall. “Declan, I’m slipping—”
“Do you trust me?!”
“Yes!” The word explodes out of me, broken and terrified and true.
“Then let go.”
The world lurches. My vision tunnels. “What?”
“Let go,” he grunts as he anchors his hips and chest to the wall. “I’ll catch you.”
The command slams into me. Impossible. Unhinged. Every instinct screams against it. But the truth blazes like fire in my bones. I do trust him. More than I realized. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.
I suck in a strangled breath and let go.
Weightlessness claws at my stomach as gravity reclaims me and drags me back to earth. My purse slips from my shoulder, falling into the dark until it hits the stone below with a hollow thud that echoes up the void. I’m falling, shrieking—
Declan’s hand seizes my wrist, iron-strong, jerking me out of the void. My shoulder wrenches, sending spots of pain bursting across my vision, but his grip is unbreakable.