Chapter 51
The guard swings at Finnian’s wrist. A whip of my magic jerks the axe sideways.
The blade strikes the chopping block, and the guard stumbles, off-balance.
I pull on his clothing. He falls, landing hip-first onto the cobblestones stained with Finnian’s blood.
The guard rolls onto his back, draws in a breath as he swivels to glare at us—
Min’s body elongates, her upper canines protruding and claws extending to razor-sharp points.
The guard has no time to scream.
The violence is too transfixing to look away as Min ruthlessly rakes her claws into the guard’s throat.
Blood flies amid strained gurgling. Flesh tears open, exposing the pink muscle underneath.
Her jaws snap around the guard’s hand, severing it with a yank.
She spits it out across the room and roars in the guard’s face.
Then she shifts out of her feline body. Her black hair hangs like a silken curtain as she stares down at the guard with a blank gaze devoid of mercy.
“Die,” she says.
And she buries her dagger in his chest.
“What in the gods’ names?” another guard cries out as he rushes into the central chamber. A female guard follows him, and both draw their swords.
I finally snap out of my stupor as they rush Rune and me.
Forget the handcuffs. Forget the games. I untether a dagger from my sheath and fling it. The guard gasps as the dagger strikes her shoulder. With a thrust of magic, I unlock my cuffs and throw them at her head. Her eyes roll back as she topples, unconscious.
Rune parries blades with the other guard, then sidesteps and sinks his sword into the guard’s gut. “You’ll pay for this!” the guard rasps.
“Believe me, I hoped we could get through the night without any murder on my hands,” Rune says. He twists the blade with a grimace. “This will be quite the stain on my reputation.” He pulls back as the guard collapses.
The guard’s eyelids flutter, then fall still.
Rune approaches the unconscious female guard, sighs, and thrusts his sword tip through her throat.
“Rune!” I gasp.
He sheathes his sword, dusts his hands off, and turns to me. “Did you want to chance her awakening and sounding an alarm? I would’ve preferred it if you dealt the final blow, but we can’t tarry. I’ll find Aurielle if you free the prince.”
I nod, too nauseous to speak. My stomach reels from the stench of blood and the three bodies, one of them only ribbons of flesh and bone from Min’s merciless assault.
This is not what I had in mind when I planned to rescue the fae.
I thought we could steal them away like the map in the Snow-Shod manor without leaving a trail of death behind.
I was willing to pay any price to fix my mistake, but this?
As I approach Finnian and Min, any guilt I felt withers. Those guards were torturing my friends.
Min finds the keys on the guard’s blood-splattered belt and unlocks Finnian’s remaining hand. Tears stream from his brown eyes as he looks up at her in adoration.
“You once freed me, and now it is my turn to free you,” she says. “Cyn, please give me the medkit.” She kneels beside him as I reach into my pack for the supplies Maeve prepared.
“Just like the day we met, huh?” Finnian says through forced blitheness. His quivering bottom lip and sharp breath betray how much pain he’s in.
“I do not believe the circumstances are that similar,” Min says as she trades me the keys for the medkit. She prepares a tourniquet with a leather strap, then gently reaches for his severed wrist. “This will hurt. A lot.”
I turn away, wincing as Finnian screams.
“Found her!” Rune yells from one of the rows of cells. “She’s either dead or out cold. Toss me the keys!”
Shit, I hope she’s alright. I throw the keyring to him. He unlocks Auri’s cell and races inside.
“She’s alive!” he calls out. Thank the gods.
I had heard Desmond’s voice before we entered, so he must be here. “Desmond?” I call out. There’s no response, but a feeling tugs at my soul, pulling me toward one of the rows. I walk down it until I reach the last cell.
I stifle a gasp.
He’s been stripped bare, restrained by chains like a sacrificial beast. His arms are stretched above him, iron cuffs biting into his raw, blistered wrists.
Two more ensnare his ankles, his feet dangling just above the crimson-stained floor.
Fury coils within me at the angry lashes across his back, some crusted with scabs and others oozing fresh blood. The smell of iron suffocates me.
He doesn’t raise his head as I unlock his cell. My boots click as I approach him, and his hands clench. He suppresses a hiss as the shifting cuffs dig into his skin.
Seeing him like this. . . it guts me alive. This is what Avedor did to him when he gave himself up to save Auri years ago. Because of me, it’s happened again. I fight back a scream.
“Cynthia,” he says, his voice a low rasp that’s almost too quiet to hear. “You shouldn’t have come for us.”
“Don’t say that.” I stop in front of him, averting my eyes from his exposed body, the cuts and burns, the bruises.
His stubble has grown, and his cheeks are hollow from thirst. Dark shadows encircle his eyes.
Everything they’ve done to him makes me want to murder every guard in this keep, morals be damned.
I summon my magic, and the cuffs unlock.
Desmond groans as his bare feet hit the floor. He lowers his arms with an agonized wince. Then he finally lifts his head, and I dare to meet his gaze. There’s a flicker of hope and reverence in his gorgeous hazel eyes that twists my heart.
“If anyone saw you. . .” he says.
“That doesn’t matter. You’re a fool if you believed I’d let you—” I draw a breath, my voice cut off by the sudden tightness of my throat. “Let you die.”
His hands cup my face, rough with blisters and dried blood, but I don’t care. I revel in the scent of him, the mint so faint that it’s like a faraway dream. “Are Auri and Finnian still alive?” he asks.
“Yes.”
I feel his relieved exhale against the tears that roll down my face.
“Why aren’t you furious with me?” I whisper. “You know I’m the only person you told about your plans. You know it had to be me.”
He tenses, and when his hands fall away, I feel like I’ve lost a part of me. “Who did you tell?” he asks, but his voice is steady, like a calm before the storm.
Desmond deserves to know. I betrayed his trust, but would he hold Evie responsible? Fae take transgressions like that even more gravely than humans. I know Desmond believes in peace over violence, understanding over prejudice, but I still feel so scared for Evie.
I may be livid with her for betraying my own trust, but I’m the one Desmond should blame.
“Cynthia, don’t lie to me. Who did you tell?” he asks in a tone teetering between warning and begging.
I blink back my tears. “Does it matter? I take full responsibility. I’m the only person you should hate. I’m so sor—” I cut myself off, but he shows no sign of being offended. His unreadable calm unsettles me even more than anger would.
He’s silent for several seconds. It feels like a lifetime to me.
Then the calm breaks with a long sigh, not into wrath, but the pensiveness I’ve come to adore in him. He brushes his curls out of his eyes, oily and dirty from days of being trapped in this cell. “You wouldn’t have come for us if you meant for this to happen,” he says.
I nod because there are too many things I want to say.
Of course I didn’t. I’d never want to hurt him.
All of it tastes like hollow excuses. “I brought clothes,” I tell him instead.
I pull the stealthwear out of my pack and hand it to him.
“Let me spread Maeve’s salve over your back before you put the tunic on. ”
Desmond starts dressing as I find the small jar and scoop the salve into my palms. Then he stills, waiting.
“What happened after you left me in Mythos?” I ask him, barely able to get the words out.
He hisses as my palms finally make contact with his skin. I keep my movements slow and careful as I smear the salve over every raised scar and laceration. If only I could wrap my arms around him and never let go, but we need to escape first.
“We brought Min back to the guild, then returned to Mythos to rendezvous with Eldon. We waited for him near Grimulf Square. I was too distracted to notice something was wrong.”
“Distracted?”
He sighs. “I kept reaching for you and coming up empty. I couldn’t think straight knowing I’d never see you again. The loss of our bond drove me mad.”
My heart skips a beat. “Almost done,” I whisper.
“A guard used their Gift to nullify Auri’s. Then they swarmed us. We could’ve fought our way out, but we were surrounded by civilians. I didn’t want to risk harming anyone.”
“Then the guards took you here,” I surmise. I hate that I let this happen to him. If I had forgiven him before we split up, would he have noticed the guards circling them?
His pained gasp lowers to a heady hum as I reach his lower back. His lashes flutter, his head tilting almost imperceptibly toward me.
“You should hate me,” I murmur.
“Don’t tell me who to hate. Do you hate your sister?”
My hands freeze against him. He knows. He already figured it out.
The silence is deafening as Desmond puts on his shirt.
Then Finnian’s scream echoes from the main chamber, followed by a choked sob.
Desmond straightens, his muscles tensing and hands curling into fists. A dark ruthlessness consumes his eyes as he storms out of the cell so quickly that I have to run to keep up with him. Necrotic energy crackles in his palms.
“Wait!” I shout. “Min’s just—”
He freezes at the sight of Finnian and Min on the floor. Min elevates Finnian’s wrist against her shoulder as she holds a blood-soaked cloth against the wound. A tourniquet is fastened around his forearm. Grief twists inside of me as I see the bundle of cloth beside Min.
His hand.
There wasn’t a chance of saving it.
Desmond kneels beside him. “I have failed you, and for that I owe you a debt so great that there’s no request I would deny.”
Finnian, gods bless him, forces a smile. “You’ll probably regret that, but I accept.”
Desmond’s enchanted flask sits on a table with the fae’s confiscated weapons. I levitate the flask to them. Even though I don’t understand its magic, it should still hold the same healing tonic Desmond made me drink after his nightmare.
After uncapping it, Desmond holds it to Finnian’s lips, tipping the liquid inside into his mouth. Finnian shudders at the taste, but his shoulders relax as though the tonic is already numbing the pain.
Rune approaches us with Auri leaning against him.
She’s groggy, squinting and wincing at the torchlight.
She’s already changed clothes, but a deep cut marks her neck.
One of her cheeks is swollen, and bruises color her jaw.
“They drugged me so I couldn’t use my Gift,” she says, and I’ve never heard her sound so defeated.
At the sight of her, Desmond tenses with renewed rage.
Auri sees Finnian. She lets go of Rune and collapses onto her knees, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I will never forgive Avedor for what they’ve done to us,” she vows. “I will skin Prince Eldon and parade his traitorous head through the Hollowlands.”
“It wasn’t Eldon,” Desmond says.
Everyone stills. My heart lurches into my throat.
“Don’t look at me.” Rune raises his hands, palms facing out. “Why would I sacrifice my evening to rescue you lot if I had warned Mythos of your plans?” For some reason, he doesn’t direct their attention toward me.
Neither does Desmond.
“Who else is here?” Desmond demands of Rune.
“Kieran, Brandur, and Maeve.”
Auri swears. “Then you’ve brought the guild’s traitor with you.”
“The guild’s traitor?” I blurt out. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because if they’re here, then the fomorians aren’t far behind,” Desmond answers. “The fomorians didn’t want us to raid Olin’s tomb. Until we know why, we can’t let our guards down.”
Auri glares at me, then Min, and her fury darkens when she looks at Rune. “I’m still not discounting the three of you.”
“But we all planned this together,” I argue. “We’re all risking our lives to get you out. Why would any of us have betrayed you?”
“Time to go!” Brandur yells down the stairwell.
Shit. We’ve been idling down here too long. Everyone stands, Finnian wobbling as his face pales. The other fae grab their confiscated weapons from a table as Min gently pats Finnian’s shoulder. “You do not need to fight,” she says. “Hide and rest. I will protect you.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but nods and retreats down one of the rows of cells.
Two guards rush down the staircase, both bruised and bleeding from blows Brandur already landed on them.
Rune raises his sword to fight, but Desmond cracks his knuckles, and the three dead guards twitch.
Their hands spasm as they push themselves onto their feet, the look in their eyes distant and murky.
The two newly arrived guards stare. One guard’s lip quivers as he takes a step back. The other’s face turns green as her cheeks puff out from barely withheld bile.
“Kill them,” Desmond commands. It’s the voice the fomorians feared—the voice of Death.