Chapter 60
ChApter
Sixty
It takes me a moment to realize what’s happening. Splinters fly, dust kicks up, and shadows pour in like a tide.
Not guards. Not the tsar’s men.
My squad? How—?
Aila bursts through first, blade gleaming as she charges forward with a feral snarl. Isaac follows, loosing arrows with deadly precision. One sinks into the throat of a guard, but it’s too late. His dying hand jerks the lever next to him.
The cages slam open. The carnoraxis break free.
Giorgi slips through the chaos like smoke, already sprinting toward the far gates, eyes flicking as they map escape routes in a heartbeat.
“Mylo!” The word rips out of me, raw and breaking. “Get to Dante!”
He barrels through the wreckage, blood streaking his temple, eyes burning with fury and relief when they find mine. He charges forward, sword swinging as he tries to reach for Dante.
For a heartbeat, I can’t move, can’t breathe. My squad is here. We have a chance.
Behind Mylo, Sir Holden and Sir Donovan fight like men possessed. Sir Holden’s sword cleaves through a guard with ruthless precision, while Donovan plants himself as a wall between me and the swarm, shield raised, shouting orders like we’re still drilling on the training grounds.
I stagger forward, lungs heaving, and go for the guard with my dagger strapped at his belt. The side of my hand slams into his throat—hard. He chokes, stumbles. I rip my blade free and drive my boot into his stomach.
I need to get to Dante.
I don’t think. I run.
A guard lunges to intercept, but Mylo slams into him from the side, knocking him flat with a roar. “Go!” he snarls.
Behind me, Nadya cries out, her palms blazing with fire. She flings it wide—an arc of searing flame that forces a pack of carnoraxis back. The magic flickers and spits, wild and unrefined, but it buys us precious seconds.
Mylo crouches beside Dante, pressing trembling fingers to his throat. “He’s alive,” he breathes, relief cracking his voice. “But I’ll have to carry him.”
I release a shaking breath. He’s alive! Thank the gods!
Mylo hauls Dante over his shoulder, staggering under the weight but refusing to falter. My heart lodges in my throat at the sight of Dante limp and unmoving.
“Go, go, go!” Aila shouts, parrying a sword strike with her good hand. One arm dangles uselessly, bruised and bloodied, yet she still drives forward.
A guard barrels toward Mylo’s unprotected side, blade raised for the killing blow. Aila intercepts, steel flashing as she hacks clean through the man’s leg. The guard collapses with a howl, and Aila limps past, eyes blazing.
“Saving your ass again, Commander,” she calls hoarsely.
“About time,” Mylo grunts, adjusting his hold on Dante’s slack body.
A bolt whistles past my ear—Isaac, calm as ever amid the chaos, reloading in a blink before dropping another carnoraxis mid-charge.
Beside him, Lorne plows through two guards at once, his sword cleaving a brutal arc that sends them sprawling in a spray of blood.
Their violence clears just enough space for us to breathe.
Across the arena, my uncle’s eyes find mine. Just a flicker—his face as hard as granite, his sword dripping red—but the weight of that look roots me to the ground. Fierce. Proud. As if reminding me I’m not alone, even here.
Giorgi plants themself in the gap, blade flashing, blood streaking their cheek. “This way,” they bark. “But it won’t stay clear for long. Move.”
I glance up at the balcony in time to see the seer’s red cloak vanish into shadow. The tsar is already gone.
Fucking cowards.
A carnoraxis lunges at me, its claws slashing across my arm and ribs.
Pain explodes hot and sharp. I stagger, blood soaking my dress.
Desperate, I shove my magic out, and the creature is hurled back by a crackling force.
But another pounces before I can recover, its jaws snapping for my face, its weight crushing me to the ground.
Sir Donovan’s blade flashes, carving into its side. He shoves his shield between me and the beast, teeth bared. “Run!” he roars.
I scramble free, but he stays, holding the line. The carnoraxis pile onto him. He fights like a storm—shield smashing, blade cutting, blood flying—until one sinks its teeth into his throat.
“No!” My scream tears my chest raw. Power surges uncontrolled, bursting from me in a shockwave that blasts every carnoraxis back. The pit trembles with it. But it’s too late.
Sir Donovan shudders, blood pulsing from his throat, and then lies still.
My body shakes violently, blood dripping from my wounds, fury and grief warring in me. There’s no time. There’s no time.
I grab Nadya’s wrist and pull her, dragging her along as we run. Firelight catches her curls, streaking her smoke-stained skin. Her mouth is set, eyes wild.
“Are you okay?” I shout.
She nods, panting. “I think so.”
She lifts a trembling hand, magic rippling over us like a veil. The world blurs. Sound is muffled. Shadows press in tighter around us. She’s cloaking us, but I know it won’t hold for long.
The squad pushes through the exit, Mylo carrying Dante’s dead weight, Aila staggering with her blade, Giorgi carving a path. Sir Holden covers our rear, blade flashing as he snarls at the beasts snapping at his heels.
We bolt through the corridors beyond the arena, feet pounding cold stone, and as expected, Nadya’s cloaking spell gives out. The din of battle grows behind us—distant now, dulled by walls, smoke, blood.
We’re not safe yet, but we’re moving. And we’re alive.
Through the chaos, I haven’t had a chance to let it sink in—my uncle is here.
The sight of him hits me all at once, a rush of fierce relief that he’s all right, that he came for me…
tangled with a sharp edge of fear. He shouldn’t be here, not after what happened to him.
He looks too pale in the moonlight, too worn, and yet he stands unyielding, as if nothing could break him.
My chest tightens until it aches. He’s here, and I don’t know whether to weep with gratitude or beg him to turn back before it’s too late.
“You’re here,” I breathe.
Uncle Kormak wastes no time in answering—just pulls me into a crushing hug.
For a second, I forget to breathe.
“I had to come,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “Dante said you were taken.” His hand cups the back of my head. “I couldn’t let him hurt you.”
I lean into him for one breath, one heartbeat. “You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper. “Not after what he did to you.”
“I’m still standing,” he replies, stepping back. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
The cold hits us the moment we break free from the fortress.
It slams into my lungs like stone, stealing the air from my chest. Snow whips through the darkness in thick, biting flurries, swirling around our heads and coating the already-treacherous ground in a fresh, deceptive sheen.
Behind us, the fortress burns, torches flaring in confusion, the distant din of shouts growing louder by the second.
We won’t have long.
Even if the guards aren’t fast on their feet, the carnoraxis will be rushing out at breakneck speed.
We stumble down the slope, boots slipping on ice, then crest a low hill.
For a heartbeat, I think we’ve gained ground—but the snarling erupts behind us.
Shadows streak forward, hulking and too fast, their claws tearing through the snow.
The carnoraxis are closing in. My chest seizes with dread—until a blur explodes from the treeline.
Wolves. Dozens of them. They hurl themselves at the beasts, silver pelts flashing, fangs snapping into scaled flesh.
The night splits with shrieks of pain and fury as wolves and carnoraxis collide, blood spraying across the drifts.
A few of the creatures are dragged down, but others barrel past, relentless, the pounding of their pursuit vibrating through the ground beneath us.
And over it all—shouts. The guards are closing in too.
Nadya’s hand slips into mine, fingers trembling with adrenaline and cold. “I can do it again,” she murmurs beside me, her breath fogging in the air. “Just—Just stay close.”
I nod, squeezing her hand. “We trust you.”
Around us, the others gather—Aila nursing her injured arm, Mylo still hauling Dante’s unconscious form across his shoulders.
Sir Holden trudges grimly beside him, his sword dripping with blood, his face ashen but determined.
Lorne, still gripping his sword, looks like a mountain torn from the earth, blood streaking his cheek but his shoulders unyielding.
Isaac’s bow is slung across his back, the string frosted with ice.
Giorgi glances up at the keep behind us, then toward the twisted sprawl of woods ahead. “We’ll take the western ridge,” they say, already mapping a path in their mind. “Snow’s thicker there. Should cover our tracks if the wind keeps.”
Uncle Kormak steps closer, his presence like a wall of stone against the storm. “Giorgi says there’s a way out,” he says. “There’s a river—hidden underground, near the cliffs.”
“The Schierling River,” Giorgi adds quickly, urgency in their tone. “If we reach it, we can vanish. It’s the only way out.”
“If my soldiers followed my orders correctly,” Uncle Kormak continues, “there should be a ship waiting for us where the river meets the sea.”
My heart hammers. The shouts are closer now. The snarls too.
“Ready?” Nadya whispers beside me.
Her free hand lifts, fingers tracing invisible symbols through the air.
Her eyes flutter shut, her lips moving in a whisper I can barely hear.
The wind seems to hush for a moment—just a moment—and then the air thickens around us.
A shimmer curls like heat off a summer stone, then vanishes.
I send up a silent prayer that Nadya’s magic is working.
“I can’t promise it’ll hold if we stray too far,” she whispers, sweat beading on her brow despite the cold. “Stay close. No sudden moves.”
We begin to move—one cautious step at a time, boots crunching softly in the snow. The castle falls away behind us, swallowed by the storm. No one speaks. The only sound is the wind, howling low like wolves in mourning.
I glance at Dante’s unconscious form over Mylo’s shoulders, his face slack and pale, lashes dusted with frost. Fear claws at my chest. “Survive this,” I beg silently. “Please survive whatever the seer did to you.”
The snow covers our tracks almost as fast as we make them, but I glance back, anyway—just to be sure.
The glow of torches wavers through the trees, distant but searching.
We push deeper into the woods.
Nadya stumbles. The veil ripples, like gauze torn by a knife.
“Hold!” Giorgi hisses.
We freeze. Footfalls crunch through the snow. A patrol approaches, their faces stern. I don’t breathe. None of us do.
The guards pass within arm’s reach. One glances to the side, eyes narrowing, as if he senses something just beyond his reach. My heart seizes in my throat. I swear he’s looking right at me.
“Over here!” a voice shouts through the storm.
The guards jolt, heads snapping toward the sound. Without hesitation, they take off after it, crunching through the snow in the opposite direction.
I turn my head toward Lorne—his jaw set, one hand half-raised, his power flung into the night like a lifeline. He doesn’t even look at me, but I know the strain it takes, know he just saved us all.
The relief lasts only a heartbeat.
A low growl rumbles through the trees, and I spot the gleaming, yellow eyes. The carnoraxis are here.
Around us, the veil shatters.
Nadya gasps, stumbling to her knees. The cloak collapses around us like smoke torn apart. The beasts scent us instantly, their snarls splitting the storm.
“Run!” Giorgi barks.
I grab Nadya’s hand and help her up.
We surge forward, running for our lives—but one shadow stays behind.
Sir Holden holds his stance, a heavy brow lowered.
“No!” I choke out, spinning.
He meets my eyes. For a moment, the battlefield noise falls away. His lips curve, not quite a smile, but something gentler. “It has been my privilege,” he says, voice calm even as the beasts prowl nearer, “to serve as your Royal Ward.”
My throat burns. “Don’t—”
But he’s already moving. He charges the carnoraxis with a cry that splits the night, drawing them after him, his blade flashing silver against their dark hides. They swarm, teeth and claws and shadows—but he holds them, buying us seconds. Seconds we can’t waste.
I’m being pulled forward. Tears streak my face as we race toward the cliffs. Dante’s weight drags heavy on Mylo’s shoulders, Aila stumbles beside me, Nadya clutches my hand like a lifeline. We carry on. Because we have to. Because it’s the only way to honor the man who stayed behind.