7. NOT A THREAT
The pain in my head persisted, and the prisoner’s words lingered alongside it.
Another will rise. Terrible as the darkest storm.
Remic’s steps quickened as he scanned each cell we passed. Some were empty, while others contained broken, battered beings hunched in corners or sprawled out amidst their own filth without a care left in the world.
The tunnel curved, and I felt a sudden pull on my senses.
Panic. Not my own, but Niall’s.
The scent of mud and the coppery tang of blood stung my nose.
“Do you smell that?” I whispered.
“If you mean the stench, yes,” Maeson muttered. “There’s no telling how long these prisoners have been down here.”
“No, it’s not that. I think I’m smelling something Niall is experiencing. We’re close now, I can feel it.”
My heart rose to my throat.
The dirt . . . the blood . . . What if he’s being buried alive?
“We have to hurry,” I urged. If Niall was undergoing something as terrible as what it felt like in my mind, time was of the essence.
The next turn had us climbing a set of stairs to another level of the catacombs.
As we launched into a quicker pace, I pointed to the left. “There. That way,” I said, following my intuition.
“Isn’t it a bit strange that we haven’t encountered a single guard?” Maeson murmured.
Remic nodded. “Not uncommon for catacombs, but for prisoner cells, yes.”
Perhaps the prisoners we’d passed were too far gone to be overseen by guards any longer. None of them seemed like they had any life left in them, except for the old crone, but even her body had looked like it would betray her at any moment, despite her enthusiasm.
The next intersection was brighter than the others, and as we peered around the corner, I could see a well-kept hallway with solid iron doors lining each side. Orbs floated back and forth along the corridor as if on patrol.
The thrumming in my chest suddenly stirred back to life, but it was dampened, muted.
“He’s here,” I whispered.
But where? Which door is he behind?
Remic pointed to the door closest to us. “Someone’s behind this door here. And that one.” He motioned to the fourth door on the same side, before cocking his head in the direction of the others. “Seventh door down on the left . . . and . . . last door on the right.”
“If I can get close enough to each one, I’ll know,” I said. “I can feel the bond now, but it’s faint.” I hoped that was only because of the magic that separated us.
“It’s the wards,” Maeson confirmed my thought. “They’re very powerful; I can feel them. No one gets in these doors without permission, and no one gets out.”
“Except for us,” Remic said. I could practically hear his jaw grinding, eager for liberation and retribution.
We were so close.
“Follow me,” I said.
Remic grabbed my arm, stilling me. “Auren, if we are seen by any guards, they cannot leave here alive. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Break the wards, and we will move quickly,” he said.
I rounded the corner and stepped quietly into the hallway, but the moment my foot hit the ground, the orbs whirled and sped off in the other direction, disappearing completely.
“Great,” Maeson whispered, lighting her palm again so that we could see.
I moved toward the first door, the one Remic mentioned held someone behind it.
My chest remained steadily thrumming with no improvement, so I kept moving.
Three more doors passed and nothing changed.
Two more went by on the right, and the sensation rose, climbing significantly as I approached the final door, furthest down the hall. I practically sprinted for it.
“This one,” I whisper-yelled, pointing at the iron door.
My anxiety was through the roof as I stood in front of it, picturing Niall on the other side.
I prayed he was alive. Prayed he was unharmed, though I knew there was a very real possibility that I wouldn’t like what I would find on the other side.
My heart thundered behind my ribs, and my power stirred along with it. I breathed in deeply, focusing on the wards.
Remic’s hand was poised on the door handle, and Maeson kept watch over the hall while I closed my eyes.
The wards felt like heavy bars—meant to keep someone in, rather than to keep others out. And thankfully, they were connected in what felt like one massive network. Exactly what Morah was counting on. I could command the entire thing to fall, but only for a few seconds.
I hoped Morah and Roirdan had found Fallon by now and were waiting for access at his door. Surely we had given them enough time.
Without further hesitation, I breathed out and reached for the wards. When I had them in my invisible grasp, I willed them to fall.
The stone walls shuddered around us, and dust stirred free from the ceiling above as the wards fell at my command. The moment Remic felt it, he grasped the door handle and shoved, and the three of us scrambled inside before the wards slipped from my grasp and slid back into place.
My chest burst with the familiar thrumming, no longer stifled or muted by distance or magic. But the momentary win was quickly overshadowed with dread as my heart faltered at what I saw.
Across the cell, Niall sat on the floor against the stone wall, bathed in shadows, legs stretched out in front of him, arms hanging at his sides. The sound of chains clinked and clattered against stone, and as I stepped closer, I realized it was the chains at his wrists and ankles that shook.
No . . . His entire body was convulsing.
“Niall!” I rushed toward him and fell to my knees, ignoring the bite of the jagged stone that greeted me.
I reached out, but gasped as my hands met dozens of nails protruding from his arms and upper chest. Coagulated blood seeped from every puncture as his body tried but failed to clot around the wounds.
My hands trembled in mid-air, not knowing where to touch him.
His face was bruised and bloody, and the anguish in his expression instantly had tears streaming from my eyes.
He wasn’t conscious, and it was clear that something was messing with his mind.
I could feel the horror he saw within my own mind’s eye, and I knew that whatever Ramil had done or was making him see, was the most severe form of torture there was.
“Iron,” Remic growled as he met me on his knees before his High Lord and examined the damage. “He’s lucky they didn’t hit an artery.”
The metal spikes trailed up both Niall’s arms and across the dips of his collarbone. The shadowed wisps of his shroud seemed pinned in place by them. And his thighs . . . Remic snarled upon seeing the plethora of spikes that were driven into them, some on the outer edge, some on the inner.
“Niall,” I pleaded, not knowing where to place my hands other than his bloodied face. I gripped it and tried to hold it steady in my hands, cupping the back of his head to keep it from thrashing back against the wall.
Seeing him like this broke me.
He looked so helpless. A total contrast to the High Lord that I knew, the one who could threaten with just a look.
His physical injuries were disturbing—to say the least—but I was more concerned with his mental state.
I prayed to any god or fate that would listen, that he would only open his eyes and look at me.
“Niall? It’s me, Auren,” I said through my tears. I gripped his face tighter, coaxing him to leave whatever horrid place he was in and return to reality. “Niall, please. Listen to my voice. Come back to me.”
He continued to jerk and thrash, so I tugged his head to my chest, holding him against me as I closed my eyes and did the only thing I could think of . . .
In my mind, I could see his essence spinning wildly and lashing out at unknown threats.
I willed my own essence to approach, ever so cautiously.
A tendril of my light reached out, but the shadows snapped viciously at it in defense.
I reined my light back in and took a deep breath.
When I tried again, the shadows swarmed, and I clenched my jaw in frustration.
There wasn’t time for this.
I didn’t know what was happening to him, but it felt like I was seconds away from losing him completely to whatever form of torment this was.
All at once, I threw my essence out like a net, smothering his, reining it in and wrapping it up in something familiar.
Not a threat, I repeated in my mind. Not a threat.
I willed his essence to do as I commanded, to relay my thoughts to him as emotions that he could feel.
Not a threat. Relax. Come back to me.
His essence thrashed once more, then slowed and halted.
It seemed to sink into the embrace, finally recognizing me.
The convulsing stopped, and a few seconds later, I felt him gasp against my chest. I pulled back and gripped his face as his golden eyes fluttered open beneath creased brows.
He jerked backward, eyes wide, as if he was still seeing something or someone else in front of him.
His chest heaved as he struggled to distinguish reality from whatever terrible vision he’d been caught up in.
A pit opened up in my stomach and threatened to swallow me whole. I couldn’t form words.
Does he not recognize me?
His pulse kicked against his neck, the veins pounding beneath his skin while his eyes searched my face for any hint of—
There it was. Finally, recognition.
The second he realized who was truly in front of him, his brows pinched further in disbelief. “Auren?” he whispered. It was the most vulnerable rasp I had ever heard, and yet it couldn’t have been more perfect.
I burst into tears.
“I’m here,” I said through my sobs.
The haze cleared from his eyes as he came back into full consciousness. “You’re here.” He mapped my features, and his pained expression crumbled into relief. “You’re here,” he repeated.
“I am. And so are Remic and Maeson,” I said, looking over my shoulder.
Maeson had kept her distance and was wiping away tears, but her relief was evident on her face.
“Brother,” Remic said, placing a hand on Niall’s shoulder between the iron spikes. “You’re safe.”