Chapter 41
We followKaira to the right—the opposite direction we’d come from when we fled the palace—and it takes about fifty steps for us to make it to a hidden room where half of Julj lays on one side of the rough, narrow space while the other half is dripping off the walls across the room.
I swallow.
“Herinor was thorough.” Myron bends down to pick two knives and a sword from Julj’s belt, which has magically remained intact. He wipes them down on his pants and hands me the longer of the two knives while he offers the smaller one to Kaira, who shakes her head, pointing at the weapons belt on her hips.
“Herinor brought me this from the other guard.” I can’t tell if there is some fuzzy warmth weaving into her voice at the memory of the male handing her the weapons of a freshly killed soldier or if it’s just my imagination.
From behind her, Clio reaches over Kaira’s shoulder, smoothing the collar of her uniform into place where it hangs sideways off her shoulder. “I’d fix this if I were you, or Herinor will disembowel any other male who lays eyes on you,” she notes with a smirk that doesn’t fit the horror on Kaira’s face as she realizes the front of her uniform is still unbuttoned, exposing creamy skin and the swell of her breasts hidden under a wide band of fabric. “The hair, too.” Clio gestures at the disheveled braid, studying Kaira redoing her buttons with surprising clumsiness.
Something about the way she just used her body to distract a guard while Herinor disposed of the first one makes me believe her horror isn’t from embarrassment for her nakedness but from the thought of Herinor killing on her behalf.
“You’re thinking too much,”she narrates in my head, and perhaps she’s right. We have other matters at hand.
“Don’t read my thoughts,”I complain. Even when it’s a tool to help us navigate our break-in, her mind reading is becoming annoying.
“I promise I’ll learn how to block you out once we get out of here alive.”She shoots me a quick glance before she gestures at Myron. “You’ll find your way to the right cells once we’re in the dungeon?”
Myron’s expression changes to outright offended. “How about you focus on your task, I focus on mine, and we all stay alive?” It’s not a suggestion, and we all sense that power of his rising in his blood. He’s as terrifying as he was that first day at the Crow Palace, but instead of cringing from him, I’m proud to call him mine. He might be a menace, but he’s my menace.
Clio steps into the space between them, ignoring the splatter of blood at her feet like the warrior she is, and raises a finger at Myron. “You, keep your temper under control, or you’ll be the reason we’re detected, and you”—she wheels on Kaira, brows raised and eyes stern in a way I’ve never seen her, but it works like almost any look works on Clio—“lead the way before the new guards show up and we all need to do more killing than we care for. I’ve got a mate to free, and the Crow King has some friends to save, and I’d really like to do so before breakfast.”
“I’d hate to miss breakfast,” I agree, trying to ignore the nausea rising in my stomach at the thought of food in combination with the bloodbath Herinor created in this chamber.
Myron’s lips twitch, eyes narrowing on the female then flicking to me. “Breakfast sounds like something all of us could use.”
A minute later, Kaira is guiding us through the narrow corridors leading away from the gate toward the lower levels of the palace. I didn’t know just how many hidden passageways existed in this palace, and at every new turn, I’m surprised they are abandoned.
“No one ever comes this way,” Kaira whispers as she stops at a corner, glancing left and right just in case the routine of spatial abandonment has changed while we were gone. “Herinor found me this passage and opened it.”
Because he can help anyone but me. Or because he’d do anything for her—the state we found Julj in suggests it’s the latter.
“Let’s hope that hasn’t changed.” Clio grabs her sword harder, eyes sparkling as she turns left as if she’s walked these hallways hundreds of times.
When Kaira doesn’t object, I know she’s chosen the right direction. “Not far now,” the Flame huffs, her breath stirring the dust on the walls, and for a moment, I marvel at the shimmering orange particles tinted by firelight intruding in the space through small cracks and tiny holes in the walls. My eyes work just fine in the near darkness, and I’ve never been more grateful for how the Gods turned my fate.
Our feet are near soundless on the packed dirt floor, leaving our hearing undisturbed to pay attention to the light ruffles of guards’ boots when they shift their posture along the hallway running parallel to ours. Every other turn, voices carry through the walls, echoing along the stone and precious metal the space out there is made of, and every time, my heart nearly stops as I listen for a familiar voice or a caw, I’m no longer sure, but it’s never Erina or Ephegos, or even Katrijanov talking on their way through the palace. Somehow, their absence makes me more anxious than their presence would have. At least, then I’d know where they are.
All the way, Myron’s fingers linger on the small of my back as he walks in silence beside me, gaze ahead and magic at his fingertips. The crackling sensation of his power wraps around us as he tries to form a shield that will take the brunt of any surprise attack should we run into guards after all, but it isn’t more than a second skin. It won’t hold off anything magical or something sharp like a blade. His powers are recovering slowly, and hopes are that, by the time we make it to the dungeon, he’ll be able to produce something stronger than this. As if in response, his magic crackles along my skin, intensifying as it weaves another layer, and another.
“There—” Clio’s voice is so low only our superior senses can pick it out of the twilight of the stairwell she’s diving into, braid swishing behind her like a streak of fire.
The entrance to the dungeon. How do I know? The door at the bottom of the stairs opens, and Herinor steps aside, inclining his head at the princess before looking Kaira over. His gaze skips over me as he nods at Myron. “Silas and Astorian are in their cells.”
He doesn’t need to mention what that means for Royad.
“How long?” Myron’s tone is dry, emotionless, an assessing king readying for a decision neither of us wants to make.
“The guards picked him up two hours ago. I overheard them from the side corridor. They mocked him it was going to be his last time in the torture chamber.” Herinor’s words hit right in the chest, and I grab for Myron’s hand in silent support.
“We’d better hurry.” It’s all he says as he takes the lead into the narrow space between the iron bars framing empty cells.
This is a different part of the dungeon than where Erina brought me to see Myron. Abandoned and reeking not even half as much as the active regions of this Guardiansforsaken place.
“Change of plans,” Myron says with that lethal calm informing me he’s gone into fighting mode. “We free Silas and Astorian first. Clio and Ayna make sure they get out alive. Kaira knows the way out and will guide you.”
That leaves Myron and Herinor to retrieve Royad.
My stomach ties into a knot. “I’m not leaving you behind.” It’s a fact he’ll need to accept.
Myron doesn’t disagree—or agree. He simply marches into the dungeon, followed by Herinor and me, Kaira and Clio bringing up the rear.
After a few minutes’ walk in silence, we turn a corner where torches line the walls and the stench of mold and vomit fills the air the way I remember. What I don’t remember is the odor of blood—iron and salt and a sweetness that makes my head swim.
“I leave you here,” Herinor says, sheathing his sword and bowing to Myron, still ignoring me.
I try not to take it personally. Considering his deal with Ephegos and the risk he takes if he accidentally intentionally aids me, his life would be forfeit in a heartbeat.
“Ephegos has been waiting for you to return. Be careful. And don’t get caught,” he advises before he strolls off down the larger one of the two corridors the main path splits into. “Especially don’t get caught by me. Ephegos might order me to kill you all, and I don’t know if I can defy a direct order.”
His gaze swings to Kaira last, and my heart breaks at the way his mouth tightens when their gazes collide.
Only when his footsteps fade into the distance does Myron nod and start down the smaller corridor, blade in his hand and magic at his fingertips, his shield tightening as I pull on my own power to ready myself for whatever might come our way.
It comes our way exactly half a minute later when we turn the corner and a pair of guards step into our path out of seemingly nowhere.
Myron’s invisible power flies out in a surprising blast to cover their mouths and muffle their screams as Clio freezes the blood in their veins with one heart-stilling touch. Apparently, his magic is recovering faster now that his focus is on his target and it’s about life and death—not only his own. My breath only returns to normal once Kaira and I grab the two iced-over corpses and drag them a few feet back into the direction we came from and hide them behind a sharp corner.
“That was almost too easy.”
I can’t help but agree when Clio wipes her hands in her tunic, frost disappearing from her fingers like she didn’t just annihilate two lives with a mere touch. I don’t know whether to be in awe or be slightly unsettled.
Awe wins as the female shoots me a grin and waves me closer to her side so I’m wedged between her and Myron, leaving Kaira to follow as we continue our path, eyes and ears open for more guards.
We’re luckier than we deserve. Not one single soldier patrols this part of the dungeon as we move silently along the rows of empty cells. My heart is lighter than it’s supposed to be. Perhaps we’ll get to the cells fast and get at least Silas and Astorian out before we are detected and someone raises an alarm.
“Careful with the bars,” Clio warns, letting Myron take the lead again as the corridor narrows and the ceiling drops into a low, looming structure that will give me nightmares. This is a cage just as bad as my cell at Fort Perenis, and my breath can’t move past my clogged throat. “They might be painted with the magic-nullifying drug.”
We all keep our arms close to our bodies, careful not to touch the iron framing our path.
“Breathe,” Kaira instructs the same moment Myron glances over his shoulder, face drawn with concern.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, directing my attention to the details my human eyes were never able to see: hues of green where moss grows between the rocks making up the structure above, fragments of quartz so tiny I’d usually overlook them sticking out of the smooth rocks. The whisper of Clio’s braid against her shirt. My own hair getting caught on the rough-spun linen of my shirt.
And footsteps. Heavy, arrhythmical footsteps.
Myron picks up pace, leaving the rest of us to scramble after him as he turns into a mostly open space where the smell of blood and infestation dominates that of all others.
“Silas.” He stops in front of the closest cell, staring at the still form in the corner.
And, damn if they didn’t punch the male into a pulp. Blood is oozing from his nose like he just passed out a moment ago after a heavy beating. His back is scattered with cuts and burns, and his arm?—
My stomach turns as I notice the iron needle sticking out of his flesh as if forgotten by his tormentors—or left in there on purpose.
“Silas,” Myron whisper-shouts again, doing his best to rouse the male from his oblivion while at the same time cautious not to draw the attention of potential guards lingering nearby.
“You haven’t forgotten us after all, Crow King,” a husky, mocking voice prompts from a few feet away, and I realize who the footsteps belonged to.
“Tori—” Clio storms past me, stopping a mere inch from the bars that would mean losing her magic all over again. Thank the Guardians, her rational mind is still in place at the sight of her bruised and battered mate limping up to face her through the iron fence.
“If I’m far enough gone to hallucinate you, Cliophera, I might be beyond saving.” His voice breaks as he reaches through the bars with one shaking hand, stopping a breath from Clio’s face as if anxious she might disappear at a touch.
True to herself, Clio swallows her sob before it can wrestle up her throat. “Stop the serenades and tell me how to get you out instead.” She wraps her fingers around his, a shiver visibly running through both of them as they connect, and pulls him a step farther toward her so his face is mere inches from the bars. “You stupid male got yourself trapped and caught searching for me.”
He’s so still I don’t believe he’s breathing, and neither am I—neither are any of us as Clio’s panic and frustration break out of her in the only way she seems to allow herself to let them.
“I couldn’t sit by and wait while you were the Guardians knew where.”
“You could have trusted me to get myself out. I wouldn’t have to sneak back into this fucking shithole had you not gotten yourself trapped.” She’s speaking to both Tori Astorian and Myron now, even when her eyes never stray from her mate. “Erina could have never bullied Ayna had you not gotten yourself caught and imprisoned and strung up on a fucking torture table.” There are tears in her voice—tears of anger—but she wipes them away with the back of Astorian’s palm as she leans her face against his hand.
“You’d have done the same.” It’s a weak defense, but I’ve known Clio long enough to be convinced he’s right.
“I wouldn’t have gotten myself caught.”
Astorian raises a brow. “Then why did I have to come looking for you in a foreign realm and find you in a servant’s uniform.”
Clio kisses his hands over and over again like that alone will set him free, will heal him and un-break him where he’s obviously broken in so many places he struggles to keep upright.
“Your brother would have had my head if I’d let anything happen to you.”
“Just as he would have mine if anything happened to you,” Clio retorts with a smile, tears streaming down her face.”
“Much as I hate to break up the reunion,” Kaira interrupts, “we need to get out of here before anyone can have anyone’s head.”
“You completely missed the point, Kaira.” Myron stalks closer, eyes darting back to Silas every other step until he stands right next to Clio.
“Find one, find both,” he says to Astorian, who inclines his head at him, deep respect shining in his unusually reddish-brown eyes. I can’t see much else of his features other than that; beneath layers of blood and grime, they must be as flawless as any other fairy’s. His longish hair is tangled and knotted, caked with blood, and shaped into stiff tresses that could be of any color beneath the dirt. The cuts and bruises on his bare chest seem older than those on Silas’s skin, and thank the Guardians that at least one of them is awake and coherent.
“Find one, find both,” Astorian echoes, and a deep understanding seems to pass between the two males that only those who’ve shared a lifetime—or deep trauma—can ever achieve.
I promise myself that I’ll ask Myron to tell me the whole story once we’re out of here and safe, but first we need to get the others out and actually survive.
I wish, for once, things were easy.