Chapter 23
We enter Mythos at midnight. I’m relieved that Maeve decided to come with us, but she chews on her lip as Finnian leads us through the winding cobblestone streets. It’s windy tonight, the hanging pub signs creaking as they’re blown parallel with the ground.
The shutters on the homes are closed, but many tavern doors are stoppered open even though the harsh wind batters them.
The strum of lutes and bawdy laughter leak out with the golden hearth light.
The spiced aroma of meat pies makes my stomach growl.
After a lifetime of rationing every bite through winters of chronic hunger, sometimes all it takes is the scent of a good meal to distract me.
Guards patrol the streets. Most nod at us. Others eye the padded armor we wear over our dark guild clothing and the weapons sheathed on our persons, but Finnian told us it’s not uncommon for mercenaries to wander around at night. We have to hope that we blend in.
Finnian leads us to the opulent rows of three-story manors. We walk right past them to the Mythos wall, where an orc male waits for us in the shadows.
“Brandur!” Finnian greets him.
Now I understand what he meant by big. The orc towers over us, robust in build with flame-red hair that cascades to his mid-back and ivy green skin. His boisterous grin bares his sharp lower canines. I’d hate to face him in a brawl, but wouldn’t mind having him at my back in one.
He sports the same guild uniform underneath his gambeson as the rest of us, his sleeves decorated with almost as many tiny star patches as Finnian’s.
“Still gallivanting your merry way across Avedor?” Finnian asks, clapping him on the back.
Brandur laughs, his timbre deep and warm. “Still lifting skirts and skirting hearts?”
“Those days are behind me now,” Finnian says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Can’t have myself drunkenly blithering about my profession.
Brandur, meet Cyn. Cyn, meet Brandur. He and I were a thing, once.
” His nose scrunches. “Never again. Everything you’ve heard about an orc’s bite—not an exaggeration. ”
“You’re too dramatic.” Brandur flashes a wicked smirk. “I don’t hear complaints from anyone else.”
“So what are we doing here?” I cut in, fearing that the longer I let this ball roll, the dirtier it will get.
Brandur’s thick brows rise. “What are Maeve and the human doing here?”
Maeve awkwardly waves. “Hi, Brandur. Long time no see.”
Brandur frowns at us. “Finnian, if this is another one of your jokes, it’s not funny. We’re wasting darkness.”
“You know Maeve will be helpful, and Desmond recruited Cyn for the tomb job. She asked me if—”
“Why wasn’t I informed of a new recruit?” Brandur demands.
I try to ignore that his muscular arms look strong enough to snap mine in two. “I’m not a guild member. But I won’t get in your way.”
“Remember the little problem with the guard dog?” Finnian cuts in. “We can avoid it if we sneak in through the top-story window. Cyn can help with her Gift.” He jostles his backpack, something wooden clacking inside it.
Having not discussed this plan with me at all, I’m amazed he sounds so blithe about it. I paste on a smile and nod.
“This is not what we discussed,” Brandur argues.
Finnian paces around the orc, undeterred. “Then I’m calling in that secret you owe me as a favor instead.”
He grunts. “I was never going to tell you which Oldasi twin I slept with.”
“That’s because you don’t remember,” Finnian replies with a smirk.
With a frown I would never want leveled on me, Brandur shakes Finnian’s hand. “Let’s get back to work.” Then he hands Maeve and me fingerless gloves. “You’ll want these. Now, up we all go.”
Finnian sinks onto one knee, bracing as a makeshift step for me. Brandur stands next to him, lacing his hands together to provide a boost.
Then the wind rattles us, whipping our hair and burning our eyes. One of my gloves takes flight as I try to slide it on, but Maeve catches it.
“Thank you.” I put it on and squint up at the wall. “It’ll be even windier up there.”
“Then it would be wise not to fall,” Brandur gruffly says.
I flex my fingers once before stepping from Finnian’s thigh onto Brandur’s waiting hands. The stone presses cold against my palms as I steady myself. Then Brandur pushes me upward.
The grooves are shallow, worn soft by time, and the new moon leaves the world flattened into black and deeper black.
I test each hold before committing, shifting my weight carefully to feel for loose stones.
I climb by touch more than sight, mapping the wall with my fingertips for every ridge and shallow lip of mortar.
Halfway up, the stone I grab crumbles. One second it’s there, the next it’s falling dust.
My weight pitches backward.
I slam my forearm against the wall, fingers scraping hard enough to burn as I reach for anything that will hold. For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but the pull of empty air.
Then a narrow edge catches under my fingers. I seize it, press in close, and force my breathing back under control. “Thank you, Elowyn,” I whisper.
Wind tears along the wall, flinging grit into my eyes. I blink hard against it, my vision blurring. The stone smells so dry and ancient.
Don’t look down. The thought comes uninvited, as sharp as a command. I lean in closer, my forehead nearly brushing the wall as I reach up. “You’ve done this before,” I murmur to myself. “Remember? That tomb you raided when you were nineteen.”
I had triggered a trap, fallen into a concealed ditch, and had to claw my way out of it. The memory invigorates me, and my nervousness transforms into daredevil anticipation. If I survived that, I can climb this wall.
My pulse pounds by the time I reach up and feel only air. I grasp the ledge and throw my body onto the walkway. A laugh bubbles out of me.
Alive.
Slowly, the others join me. Maeve is out of breath, but Finnian and Brandur simply stand and stare at the Bay of Teeth below.
Without the moon, the rough waves are black as pitch.
The pinprick glows of lanterns on boats sway, giving the illusion of dancing fireflies.
It’s a sight that steals my breath away.
“Now, let’s go over the details.” Finnian opens the pack, then staggers as the wind whips against him. He pulls out the rolled planks. A rope on each side connects the planks through punched-in holes. It almost looks like. . .
A bridge.
“No, absolutely not,” I protest.
Finnian pouts. “C’mon, Cyn. The Snow-Shod manor is right there. See the hare finial?” He points. “If one of us stays behind and holds one end, then you just need to secure the other to the roof. Then we can walk right across and enter through that conveniently open window.”
“It’s too windy. If I don’t hold it still with my magic, you’ll fall right off,” I argue.
Brandur harrumphs. “Then hold it still with your magic.”
“I don’t know if I can!” The admission flew out of me before I could hold it back.
“Then we climbed up here for nothing,” Maeve says, not with blame, but disappointment.
“This is Dez’s plan for the tomb, isn’t it?” Finnian asks me. “Consider this a trial run.”
Pinned by the weight of three expectant gazes, I wince. “I’ll try. But you have to remember, my magic doesn’t work on people. If you fall, I can’t catch you.”
That definitely sours the stakes, but everyone nods.
“I’ll hold the bridge,” Maeve volunteers. “I wouldn’t be useful inside the manor.”
Finnian hands it to her. She unrolls it across the walkway, and I untether the other side.
The bridge might as well be a kite as I stretch it over the street below.
It twists and bucks, each gust fighting my magic.
When it bumps against the snow hare finial, I bite my lip and focus on knotting the loose ends of the ropes around the roof’s upturned eave.
Each time the wind steals the rope from me, I try again.
After tying the knots, I sigh in relief. Then I let go. The bucking only worsens. Maeve gasps, fighting to keep hold of her end.
I can fix this. I outstretch my Gift to encompass the entire bridge and will it still. The strain pinches my mind, but I think I can hold it long enough for the three of us to cross. “Finnian, it’s safe if you’re ready to—”
“The newcomer crosses first,” Brandur says.
The newcomer? Shit. He means me. Which is fantastic, considering I’m the one who has to concentrate to keep this damn thing from flinging us to the cobblestones below. Brandur’s frown and crossed arms communicate one thing clearly: if I refuse, I’m off the team.
“See you in hell, Osian,” I mutter as I test my weight on the bridge. If only the God of Death would help me now.
Since the bridge is anchored at both ends, my Gift doesn’t have to bear my full weight. I focus instead on the planks ahead, fixing each one in place before I trust it.
I crawl on all fours, keeping low. The boards steady under my hands, but the bridge itself won’t cooperate. It shudders with every gust, a hollow vibration that travels from the wood through my bones. The planks creak, straining against the ropes that groan in the dark.
A hard blast of wind hits. I flatten, gripping tight as it tries to tear me loose. My arms shake, part strain, part focus, as I hold the plank beneath me still. Everything else sways.
One plank at a time. If I stop, I’ll feel how exposed I am out here, how little there is between me and the drop.
So I don’t stop.
Halfway across. Cold air burns my eyes, blurring my vision. The window is agonizingly close.
I glance down, then my stomach drops below my hips. The cobblestones look so small from up here. So far away. I love taking risks, but this has to be one of the most idiotic decisions I’ve ever—
The wind pulls the rope so taut that it starts to snap near the eave. My pulse spikes with horror with every strand that breaks. The bridge creaks.
With a loud crack, the rope separates. My magic surges, freezing the planks beneath me. The rest of the planks ahead whip around in a deadly frenzy, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from screaming.
Back. I have to go back.
“Cyn!” Maeve yells. “I’m holding on!”
With no room to turn around, I edge one knee back, then the other. A hazy rain begins, turning the planks slick. My clammy hands slip against the wet wood as I crawl. The open window mocks me: our plan failed because my magic isn’t strong enough.
Brandur grabs my feet, anchoring me as I reach the wall. He lifts me, then sets me on my feet on the walkway. He glowers. “It appears we will have to carry out our original plan. We’ve wasted valuable darkness.”
I swallow as I realize one heart-wrenching fact.
I’m not ready for the tomb raid.
One by one, we climb down the wall.