61. Vera
Vera
FOUR YEARS AGO
Atremendous boom tore through the tunnels.
I woke with a jolt, wincing at the cramp in my neck from laying against the wall. The ground convulsed and sent dust raining from the ceiling.
“Swift,” I hissed. “Are you there?”
“Yeah. Did you hear that?”
“Yes,” I responded. “I thought it might be you.”
“I’m good, sweetheart, but I’m not that good.”
There was a scream from somewhere down the corridor outside my cell. “What was that?” I asked.
There was another explosion, this one closer. Torches farther down the hall flickered, and shadows danced along the ground. “East wing breach!” a gruff voice shouted. Boots thundered past our cells.
I raised a hand to the wall separating Swift and me. “What’s happening?” I whispered. Magic crackled through the air like lightning. Something heavy smashed down the tunnel, and more screams echoed.
Whatever it was was getting closer.
Something hard—hooves?—pounded on the ground, and two figures came flying right in front of my cell, hitting the wall and falling on their faces.
Daggers whizzed through the air, along with shouts coming from people I couldn’t see.
Adrenaline pumped and pushed against the drugs still lingering in my veins.
I heard Swift scrambling on the other side of the wall. “Swift, can you see what—”
Bam! Something heavy smashed into his cell, close enough to shake the wall between us. His muffled cry made my blood turn to ice.
“Who are you?” he shouted.
“Get him,” a deep voice rumbled. “Before they regroup.”
“No!” Swift cried. “Not without her!”
I hammered my fists against the wall. “Swift? Swift! What’s going on?”
I couldn’t see anything through the hole, just smoke and silhouettes. The same male voice grunted. “He’s weak. Just take him!”
Sounds of a struggle echoed back to me—boots scraping stone, more grunts of pain and fists punching, and a strangled, despondent howl coming from Swift. “I can’t leave her! Don’t make me leave her!” he cried. There was a loud thud, and he went silent.
My chest seized. Was it Scarven’s men? Were they finally separating us?
“Go, go, go!” a female voice shouted. I screamed Swift’s name until my throat was raw and threw myself toward the cell bars as far as my chains would allow. I could barely see his heels thumping the ground as someone dragged him down the hall.
“Swift!” I screamed, clawing at the floor. My cuffs burned as I tried to summon as much magic as I could, but I was so weak, not even a spark lit my fingertips. “Don’t touch him! Don’t take him!”
“Hush!” the female voice called. “We’re not—oh, Fates, he’s coming.”
A roar burst from the hallway to the right, so powerful it sent air blasting down the length.
The shadow of an enormous lion appeared first, then dark gold fur, then claws as sharp as steel.
Kane Scarven in his devastating lion form emerged from the darkness, spit dripping from his maw.
A horde of guards gathered around him. When he roared again, they charged the strangers who had broken into Swift’s cell.
Not being able to see was the hardest part. A slew of screams, steel clashing steel, and hisses followed, then explosions of light and smoke. My heart raced so fast, I thought it was going to come up my throat. I pressed my forehead into the cold ground, body trembling uncontrollably.
My cell door creaked open. Darkness from above blocked the hazy torchlight, and I looked up with a choked sob. Mortep loomed over me. “Unchain her from the wall,” he commanded, and someone else rushed into my cell. “We’re taking her to the Hollow.”
The guard yanked me to my feet. I stumbled, then lurched for the wall leading to Swift’s cell. “What—what about—”
“Oh, him?” Mortep’s lips curved into a smirk. “Dead. Along with the others who tried to escape.”
Someone punched a hole through my stomach. “You’re lying,” I wheezed.
He merely shrugged. “See for yourself.”
The guard unchained my cuffs from the wall and tugged me into the corridor, where flickering firelight lit the carnage before me.
Blood streaked the floors and walls, pools of it smeared and gathered all the way down the hall and out of sight.
Several hunks of unidentifiable bodies were lumped together against the walls.
A guard kicked one of them, and an arm rolled to the ground, the underside exposed.
I saw the familiar scar.
72.
My knees hit the stone floor. Something cracked, but I didn’t register the pain.
All sound dropped away beneath the rush of blood in my ears, until all I could hear was the ragged, broken rhythm of my choked breaths.
It wasn’t true. He couldn’t be dead. We were supposed to get out of here. We had a plan. A future.
A sharp, tearing pain split through my chest, so violent I doubled over with a gasp. My hands slapped against the ground, fingers digging into cracks between the stones as if that could hold me together. I stared at that scarred arm lying in the blood, and my vision went out of focus.
Mortep lowered to his knees, his mane of black hair blocking the view. “This is what happens to those who defy Lord Scarven, little bird.” He lifted my chin with a finger. “Now who’s left to make you sing?”
He moved, and I collapsed farther to the ground. My arms went numb. I tried to breathe, but my throat was too tight to take in air.
“Bring her,” Mortep said. Hands grabbed me, and I didn’t try to stop it. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t scream. There was nothing left to anchor myself to.
If Swift was gone…there was no reason to keep trying.