Chapter 1 Rhianelle #2
I kneel beside them and place my hands over Blaire's. "Hold him still," I tell her. "This is going to hurt."
Anastarros respond to her desperate need.
This will require at least two strings. The blessings flow through Blaire, amplifying her natural abilities.
The wounds on Vayne's body begin to close and the internal bleeding stops.
Color slowly returns to his skin. His eyes flutter open, glazed with pain. They find her instantly.
"Blaire?"
Everything in her breaks at the sound of her name on his lips but then her face goes cold. The Arawynn Maiden's mask slams back in place.
His shaky hand rises, reaching for her face. "I thought they killed you. I told them to take me instead—"
She catches his wrist before he can touch her. "Of course you did."
His brow furrows. "I had no choice—"
"You always say that." Her voice hardens. "But you had a choice, Vayne. You chose to walk into an obvious trap."
"I was trying to save you."
"From what, exactly?" She releases his wrist like it burns her. "All you accomplished was getting tortured for three days."
The prince tries to sit up and fails. He falls back against the wall with a grunt of pain.
"You died right in front of me. Your heart stopped twice. Do you have any idea what that was like? Watching them break you piece by piece and knowing it was because of me?"
Silence falls between them like a chasm.
Something soft flickers in Vayne's amber eyes. "I thought... if I could just keep you safe—“
"I was never yours to keep," Blaire hisses.
I should leave. This is too private for witnesses. But we don't have time for privacy. The sound of hunting horns is already echoing through the fortress above us.
"We need to go," I say softly. "All of us."
Blaire looks up at me and I see something fierce and fragile in her eyes. Vayne can't walk.
Then we carry him, I think at her, making sure every word is distinct.
She stares at me. "You'd do that? For him?"
The suppression runes carved into these walls should have stripped her of all power. But Blaire's mind-reading ability remains unbroken.
If he matters to you, then he matters to me. I let the thought settle between us, simple and honest.
"He doesn't matter to me," Blaire says coldly, her voice cutting through the chamber like a blade.
"You cared. I saw it," Vayne mutters from the floor, oblivious to our silent exchange. The Prince of Myrkheim is delirious and in pain. He tries to reach for her again, his bloodied hand trembling as it rises toward her face.
She stares down at him for a long moment. For a moment I think she might let him touch her. But she draws back her hand and slaps him across the face with every ounce of strength she has left.
The sound echoes through the cell.
Vayne blinks in confusion, one massive hand rising slowly to his jaw. He looks up at her. For a suspended second, neither of them moves.
“Forgive me,” he starts. “I wasn’t—”
Blaire pushes herself to her feet, legs shaking beneath her. She crosses the chamber one unsteady step at a time and stops at the threshold. There she turns and meets his gaze.
"I want a divorce," she declares coldly.
Then she's gone, leaving both Prince Vayne and me staring after her in stunned silence.
I look down at the orc prince, whose amber eyes now hold pain and confusion. Despite everything, I feel a stab of pity for him.
I pull a silver dagger from my boot and press it into his massive hand. "Take this. Find another way out of here. The passages beneath the fortress should lead to the old mining tunnels."
He closes his fingers around the weapon but doesn't take his eyes off the empty doorway where Blaire disappeared. "Why are you helping me?"
Because anyone brave enough to marry Blaire deserves respect. Or possibly a medal for surviving this long.
I offer no reply and leave him there, weapon in hand, still working out what just happened.
I catch up with Blaire in the corridor outside the chamber.
She's leaning against the wall with one hand pressed to her side, breathing hard.
The benevolent Anastarros have healed some of her external injuries, but I wish I had more time to fully mend them all.
Her breathing is labored from exhaustion and pain.
"Climb on," I tell her gently, turning around and crouching down.
"I'm fine," she protests, but her legs are trembling with the effort of staying upright.
"You're not," I counter, moving closer.
Her hand catches the wall. The gasp she makes trying not to make a sound is worse than if she'd cried out.
She can be infuriatingly stubborn.
"We need to move fast," I say firmly.
Blaire glares at me for a moment, then sighs in defeat. Her arms loop around my shoulders. I feel her breath touch my ear, her heart beating fast against my back. She's lighter than she should be. Weeks without proper food and the toll of captivity have whittled her to bone.
Leaving Prince Vayne wasn't cruelty. Blaire pulled the plan from my mind the moment our eyes met, the way she always does.
She knows the elven infantry has the fortress surrounded.
The prince stands a better chance without us slowing him down.
That's the only reason she's willing to walk away from him.
"I would've understood... if you didn't come," she whispers against my ear.
"I'll always find you," I say, adjusting her weight and starting down the corridor.
"Thank you," she murmurs.
Blaire directs me through the twisting corridors, guiding us toward what she remembers of the way out.
We climb a crumbling staircase toward what should be ground level.
I hear the guttural voices of orc warriors and dozens of heavy footsteps echoing through the passages below us.
Their words are too distorted by the stone walls to understand but their intent is crystal clear.
"They know we're here," Blaire says, her grip tightening around my neck.
"Hold on," I tell her, breaking into a run as the sounds of pursuit grow louder.
We burst through a doorway into what was once a grand hall. Its vaulted ceiling is lost in shadow and rubble from collapsed walls litters the floor. Moonlight streams through broken windows, casting silver patterns across the destruction.
We can make it.
The main entrance is visible across the hall, its doors open to the night beyond. Orcs suddenly surge from every doorway, cutting off all escape routes.
There are at least thirty of them, fresh warriors who've been waiting for exactly this moment. They spread out in a careful circle, herding us toward the center of the hall. It feels like we're wounded prey surrounded by wolves.
I set Blaire down gently. She wavers a little but stays upright. Her jaw is set with determination despite the exhaustion. I pass her my short sword and draw my parrying knife.
Back to back, we face the ring of enemies closing in.
We both know this is hopeless. There are simply too many of them. They try to flank us, forcing us toward the corner.
Their leader, a lean brute scarred from temple to jaw, sneers at us.
"Well, well. We finally found the elven witch and her broken bird. Akaloth will pay well for you both." His grin widens. "After we're done playing."
They charge all at once.
The first orc reaches me and my dagger finds the soft flesh of his throat. The nonfatal hit I favor has no place here. I can't afford to hesitate, not with Blaire counting on me. Svenn's voice echoes in my mind from a hundred training sessions.
Strike true or don't strike at all.
The second comes faster. I evade his wild jab and drive my blade up through the underside of his jaw. Each life I take weighs on me even as survival demands it. But I push the remorse down, lock it away in some corner of my heart to examine later. If there is a later.
Blaire is dropping bodies faster than I am.
They expected a helpless maiden. What they got was a Maiden of Arawynn, trained by Madame Corvaine herself in the ancient art of the Order.
My friend may not compete in tournaments like Garrett, but her efficiency is lethal.
Her mind-reading ability makes her nearly untouchable as each strike finds its mark with unerring precision.
She can anticipate the attacks before they come.
For every one we drop, two more take their place. My arms grow heavy. Blaire stumbles, barely avoiding an axe that splits the stone where she stood.
They're learning to stay back, using their reach to their advantage. One of them scores a hit across my shoulder. The blade catches on my pauldron, slicing through to flesh beneath. Warm blood flows down my arm.
This isn't good. My grip is slippery now. I grit my teeth and keep fighting.
Behind me, Blaire screams. An orc has grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back.
The maiden slashes upward with her borrowed blade, cutting through her own golden locks before he can finish the pull.
Her hair falls in a curtain of severed strands as she spins and plunges her dagger into the rebel's gut.
He staggers backward and clutches at the wound.
Bodies begin to pile in front of us, creating a macabre barrier of the fallen.
The remaining orcs pull back slightly. Their leader stands among them, still grinning despite the corpses of his warriors littering the hall.
"You should surrender," I call out, trying to keep my voice steady despite my ragged breathing. "The fortress is surrounded."
The orc leader throws back his head and laughs. His warriors join in, their mocking voices echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
"Surrounded?" He tosses his massive axe from hand to hand with practiced ease. "Brave words, little elf. But you're bleeding. Your friend's limping." His amber eyes gleam with cruel amusement. "We both know you won't make it through another charge."
My arms shake with exhaustion. Blood drips steadily from my wounded shoulder. Blaire leans heavily against my back, her breathing labored and uneven.
"So this is it," Blaire breathes, a faint smile on her lips. "At least we'll die together."
But I am not ready to die. Not when there's still one desperate option left to us.
I drop to one knee and begin carving symbols into the stone floor with my knife.
"Rhianelle…" Blaire breathes as she watches me finish the first curve, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing."
"Miss Bernadette is the only one powerful enough to get us out of this," I reply, continuing to carve despite the way my hands shake. Blood from my wounded shoulder drips onto the stone, mixing with the grooves I'm etching. "She owes me a favor."
Blaire grabs my arm, her eyes wide with panic. "She'll kill us all!"
"Maybe," I admit, adding the inner sigil to the summoning circle. "But she'll kill them first."
The orcs have started to advance, their confidence growing as they realize we're trapped with nowhere left to run.
"Surrender, elflings," the leader rumbles from behind the bodies. "Come quietly and we might let you die quickly."
Blaire responds with a vulgar gesture entirely unfitting for a Maiden of Arawynn.
Let her taunt him. I need more time to complete the circle.
My blade carves the final curve, connecting the last sigil to the first. I place my palm flat against the center of the summoning mark. "From the darkness before the first dawn, rise Ender of light. By my will, I bind you to form. Come forth, Devourer of gods—"
The air in the hall suddenly grows cold. My breath mists white before my face. I pause, my raised hand hovering above the incomplete summoning.
The torches die one by one, snuffed by invisible hands. The orcs notice it too. Their advance falters as darkness pools around their feet.
One steps back, his weapon trembling. "What is this—?"
Tendrils of shadow wrap around him and lift him off his feet. He releases one strangled scream. Then the darkness swallows him entirely, leaving nothing behind but the echo of his terror. The remaining orcs panic and desperately scatter toward the entrance.
They don't make it far.
Another orc is seized mid-stride, pulled backward into the void. He vanishes without a sound. Then another and another. One by one, the darkness takes them.
Their swords swing uselessly at shadows that flow like smoke. Some try to run for the side passages, but there's nowhere to go. The darkness is everywhere now, flowing across the walls and ceiling like a tide of absolute night.
Relief floods through me.
Aelfric and Darstan did it. They found the human deed-holder and forced him to speak the words… or perhaps the merchant did not survive the fighting. I hope the man lives, even if his death would serve as well as a spoken invitation.
Either way, the vampire has been invited in.
And now the fortress belongs to death.
The last orc disappears into the hungry dark with a strangled whimper. The shadows begin to recede, flowing back toward the broken windows like a tide returning to the sea.
Blaire seizes my hand. "We need to leave. Now."
“Wait—”
She tightens her fingers around mine.
“Rhianelle, something is eating them alive.” Her voice trembles like it did back when we were in the forest.
"It's all right," I tell her gently.
"How can you be so calm?" she whispers, pressing closer against me. Her whole body is shaking.
I watch as the final tendrils of shadow slip through the windows, carrying with them the last traces of our enemies. A smile touches my lips at the familiar presence I feel within the darkness.
"Do not be afraid of the shadows," I tell Blaire softly. "That's just my husband."