Chapter 42
The monastery was dying around them.
Viggo ran, his lungs burning and his legs screaming in protest as he hauled Evander along beside him.
The mage was flagging, his face pale and his breathing laboured.
Whatever had happened inside that impossible space where he’d disappeared for those frightening minutes had drained him to the dregs.
Fairbridge sprinted ahead, his coat torn and bloodied, his wind magic clearing debris from their path even as chunks of masonry rained down from above. Further explosions rocked the complex.
“This way!” he shouted over the cacophony of groaning stone and splintering wood.
They veered left and followed him down a corridor that tilted at an alarming angle. Viggo’s boots slipped on loose rubble. He tightened his grip on Evander’s arm and kept moving.
A section of ceiling gave way behind them with a deafening crash. Dust billowed through the passage, choking and blinding, the stench of smoke quickly following.
“Viggo—” Evander stumbled, his knees buckling.
Viggo caught him before he could fall and swept him up into his arms without breaking stride. The mage was lighter than he should have been, as if the ordeal had hollowed him out from the inside.
“I’ve got you!” Viggo panted. “Just hold on!”
Evander’s fingers curled weakly into his coat. The half-Codex was a hard weight pressed between their bodies where the mage had slipped it inside his shirt.
They burst through a doorway and found themselves in what remained of an eastern-facing dining hall. Moonlight streamed through gaping holes in the roof, illuminating a scene of utter devastation.
The floor began cracking apart beneath their feet.
“The whole structure’s going down!” Fairbridge’s voice was tight with urgency. “We need to get outside, now!”
But there was no outside to get to. The walls were collapsing behind them and fire was spreading, blocking the doorways and corridors they’d used to enter.
The only opening Viggo could see was a ragged breach in the wall ahead.
Beyond it was the cruel snowstorm and the black void of the precipice with the frozen lake far below.
He swallowed hard.
“Fairbridge, can you slow our fall with your wind magic?”
The spy’s face turned even grimmer when he realised Viggo’s intention. “From this height? I can cushion the landing, but not enough. We’d still hit the ice hard enough to shatter every bone in our bodies.”
“Then we find another way.” Viggo scanned the crumbling space around them desperately, his heart thundering against his ribs.
There had to be something, an escape path they’d missed—
The floor lurched violently beneath them before tilting precariously toward the precipice. The wall protecting them from the void caved in and tumbled into the abyss.
Viggo cursed as they slid inexorably toward the howling darkness.
Evander stirred in his arms. “Viggo.” Though his voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes glittered with resolve in his pale face. “The lake. I can slow us down and break the ice before we hit it.”
Viggo’s chest constricted. “But you—”
Evander’s knuckles whitened on his chest. “Trust me.”
Another violent tremor shook the building. A massive beam crashed down mere feet away, showering them with splinters and dust. The fire crept closer, the flames licking their skin with heat.
They were out of time.
“Fairbridge!” Viggo roared. “We’re going over the edge. Be ready to help however you can!”
The spy didn’t argue. He simply nodded and moved to flank them, wind magic gathering around him.
Viggo took a shuddering breath and looked down at the man in his arms. The man he loved more than his own life.
“If this doesn’t work—“ he started.
“It will.” Evander’s smile was tired but certain. “Now run, you stubborn Brute.”
Viggo charged toward the breach in the wall, his powerful legs eating up the distance even as the floor disintegrated behind him. Fairbridge kept pace at his side, wind magic swirling around them in a protective cocoon.
They reached the edge and jumped.
The world fell away in a violent tempest.
Cold air screamed past Viggo’s face as they plummeted into the darkness, ice and snow numbing his skin and frosting his eyelashes in seconds despite Fairbridge’s wind barrier. The frozen lake rushed up to meet them, a sheet of silver-white under the moonlight, beautiful and deadly.
Fairbridge’s wind magic roared, slowing their descent as best he could to keep them from becoming smears on the ice.
Evander raised a trembling hand toward the lake below.
Viggo felt the surge of magic despite his magic resistance—a pulse of power so intense it made his teeth ache. Ice-blue light blazed from Evander’s palm, spearing down into the darkness toward the frozen surface.
Shock reverberated through Viggo at the sight of the incandescent beam.
The lake exploded.
A thunderous crack split the night, the ice shattering in a perfect circle directly beneath them. Water erupted upward in a geyser of spray and foam, reaching for them like a living thing.
They hit the water hard.
The cold was a physical blow, driving the breath from Viggo’s lungs despite his Brute resilience. He felt himself sinking, the weight of his body and Evander’s dragging them down into the black depths, Fairbridge struggling a few feet above.
Warmth surrounded them.
Not the warmth of temperature, but of magic—a cocoon of swirling air and water that wrapped around the three of them like a protective embrace.
Viggo gasped and found he could breathe again.
Found that the crushing pressure of the water had been replaced by a pocket of stillness so sudden his ears rang.
Evander’s eyes were closed, his face slack with exhaustion, but magic still poured from him in waves. Wind and water worked in concert under his instinctive power, forming a sphere that held back the lake and carried them upward through the darkness.
Fairbridge sank towards them, his own wind magic merging with Evander’s to strengthen the barrier.
“Bloody hellfire!” the spy mumbled, wonder breaking through his usual composure as he gazed from Evander to the phenomenon around them.
Viggo could only hold Evander tighter and watch as the man he loved performed the impossible once again.
They rose through the water inside the protective sphere of magic, the frozen surface growing closer with each passing second. Viggo braced himself for the impact.
It never came.
The remaining ice simply parted, Evander’s magic carving a path through the frozen sheet as easily as scattering petals in the wind.
They broke the surface.
Evander’s powers carried them up and over the shattered ice before depositing them gently on the snow-covered shore. Relief weakened Viggo as his boots touched solid ground.
Evander went limp in his arms, the magic he’d wielded to protect them abating with a suddenness that curdled Viggo’s stomach.
“Evander!” He dropped to his knees and cradled the mage against his chest, one hand moving frantically to cup his face. “Evander, can you hear me?!”
His lover was deathly pale, his breathing shallow and rapid. A thin trickle of blood seeped from his nose.
“He’s alive.” Fairbridge knelt beside them and pressed two fingers to Evander’s throat. “His pulse is weak but steady.” He swallowed and met Viggo’s panicked gaze. “He’s simply spent.”
Fear kept its vice-like hold on the Brute’s heart despite the spy’s reassurance.
The sound of voices reached them then, distant but growing closer. Viggo’s head snapped up, his body tensing instinctively even as exhaustion dragged at his limbs.
Torches bobbed in the darkness, descending a mountain path. The orange glow illuminated figures in uniform. At the head of the group, his blond hair unmistakable even in the dim light, was Inspector Richter.
“Over here!” Fairbridge shouted in German, rising to his feet and waving his arms. “We need medical assistance!”
The response was immediate. Officers broke into a run, their boots crunching through the snow as they converged on the shore. Richter reached them first, his weathered face tight with concern as he took in the scene.
“Mein Gott,” he breathed, his gaze moving from the unconscious Evander to the shattered ice on the lake and the burning ruins of the monastery above. “What happened?”
“We’ll tell you about it later,” Viggo said flatly.
Richter accepted this with the pragmatic attitude Viggo had come to expect from the Austrian inspector. He barked orders in German. A pair of medics with a stretcher appeared and began tending to Evander.
The half-Codex remained dry where it lay against Evander’s chest, as if the sphere of magic he had summoned had refused to let the lake touch it.
“Evander!”
The voice cut through the chaos, sharp and shrill. Viggo’s head jerked up.
Rufus was pushing through the crowd of Austrian officers, his face haggard but alight with relief.
Behind him came Solomon, his arm around a limping Ginny.
And there, bringing up the rear with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her arm in a splint, her slight frame supported by an officer, was Shaw.
“You made it,” Rufus said, dropping to his knees beside Viggo. His eyes went to Evander’s still form. “Is he—?”
“He’s exhausted.” Viggo hoped he sounded more certain than he felt.
Ginny broke free of Solomon’s support and stumbled toward them, her green eyes bright with unshed tears. She fell to her knees on Evander’s other side and took his limp hand in both of hers.
A commotion at the edge of the crowd of officers drew Viggo’s attention.
Some of the Austrian medics were still seeing to a cluster of bedraggled figures—the rescued mages and researchers, Viggo realised.
He spotted Lina Velghe among them, her face a focused mask as she spoke rapidly to one of Richter’s officers.
The young woman reminded him strongly of Princess Elo?se in that moment.
“We found them making their way down the mountain,” Rufus explained, following Viggo’s gaze. “Solomon got them out safely.”
Viggo nodded, too tired to feel more than a distant satisfaction.
“We need to get him warm,” one of the medics tending to Evander warned.
“There’s an inn in the village in the next valley,” Richter said, materialising at the man’s elbow. “I sent word ahead in case we ended up with wounded officers. They’ll have rooms prepared.”
Viggo didn’t argue. He simply gathered Evander more securely against his chest despite the medics’ protests and rose to his feet.
Though the mage’s head lolled against his shoulder, his breathing had steadied somewhat.
The Brute started walking, carrying Evander through the snow and up the slope toward the waiting horses.
The first rays of dawn were painting the eastern sky pink and gold by the time their horses reached the village. Viggo entered the inn with Evander in his arms, passed the wide-eyed innkeeper, and followed an officer up the narrow stairs to the room that had been prepared for them.
He laid the mage gently on the bed, peeled his clothes off, and dried his body and hair before putting him in the warm shirt and trousers that had been provided.
The Brute changed quickly in front of a roaring fire before slipping under the covers with Evander.
He pulled the blankets up to their chests and rolled on his side.
His heart clenched painfully as he studied Evander’s pale complexion. He carefully took one of the mage’s cold hands in his own.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the mage’s knuckles. “You know that, don’t you?”
Evander didn’t stir. But Viggo could have sworn he saw the ghost of a smile flicker across his lover’s face.