Chapter Thirty-Five
THIRTY-FIVE
Inescapable fear refuses to let me go through every twist and turn of the halls Talon pulls me down. Their grip clenches the bones of my hand, but I don’t pull back.
If the gardai find us, if they seal the castle itself and not just the gates…
Old Ones.
We’ll be trapped. Like rats in a cage, just waiting for them to hunt us down if Cash fails.
We have to get out of here—right fucking now.
Talon leads me to the end of a widening corridor where marble turns to worn stone and the smell of hay and earth and dust fills my nose. “This way.”
They throw their whole weight against the worn wooden door at the end of the hall, and the sound of thunder cracks as it swings open. Shadows spill in from outside, black clouds hanging heavy as the sweeping outlines of beasts streak across the night sky above.
Rain soaks me through, driving sideways through the door. That feeling of being stalked refuses to release me.
A figure in crimson and black lurches from the edge of my vision.
A strange voice barks. “Get back in—”
Talon cuts them down. Their sword moves so fast, I never even see it.
A deep gash slashes across the guard’s chest. Talon doesn’t bother to sheathe their sword.
“Move, Maeve!”
We run.
We skirt the edges of the castle and duck under the thatched roofs of the outbuildings.
No one’s left in the outside kitchens, but the smell of something rich and warm still hangs in the air.
Vats of stew simmer on the hearths as if the cooks fled whatever celebratory meal they were working on for the end of the Test of Strength, for what everyone must’ve expected would be the rise of a new queen-in-waiting.
A whole boar that died for nothing lies cooked to perfection, abandoned.
“This way.” Talon kicks down a door at the back of the castle and jerks their head into the familiar darkness. It’s the same path we took down to the temple.
“No way.” They can’t be serious. “I’m not hiding in a basement.” Not while the fight rages outside. Not to mention, if the gardai ever found us there, there’d be no way out.
A sad flicker pulls at their tense gaze. “You think I’d try to trick you?”
“I think you’d try to protect me,” I answer softly. “And I don’t need protecting.”
Talon shakes their head. “You’ve more than proved that. This isn’t me trying to hide you. I’m trying to get you out. How did you think Wolf makes it into the castle without getting caught?”
I follow. Our feet echo on the worn stone, winding down a tight staircase and past storerooms overflowing with baskets of flour and grains. Whatever shortages are hitting the rest of the isle, there’s still plenty here.
For now.
Talon shimmies open the hidden door they brought me through last time, when Wolf was waiting for me, and reaches for the hem of their shirt.
A slim bronze key hangs there, a mirror to what Wolf used when he brought me to the forgotten room at the top of the staircase.
My breath puffs on the chill inside the temple, the smell of earth and stone filling my lungs.
Talon pushes aside the navy cloak on the altar and fits the key beneath its stone lip.
The altar swings back on hidden hinges and my jaw drops.
Talon points down into the darkness. “You first.”
Old Ones, the tunnel smells horrible.
Like… bones, and a dampness that seeps into my skin. Our feet nearly squelch with every step we take, and a perpetual echo follows us, playing tricks on my mind.
I breathe through my mouth and keep moving.
After what feels like forever, Talon finally comes to a wooden door and presses their cheek up against it. Eyes closing, brow straining.
Listening.
Talon shifts and leans their weight against the door.
It gives, opening enough for a sliver of purple light to spill through.
They check past it, then wave me out into an angry dawn.
Shouts ring in the distance, along with the sharp sounds of slamming doors and window shutters bolting.
Faint screams rise and fall, and massive shadows sweep over the cobblestones from the clouds above, as if the city is just waking up to the horrors of this war.
We’re in the merchant quarter, I realize with a jolt.
And every person in this city can see the caoranachs attacking the castle.
Every person here will finally know the truth.
Thick mist twines through the streets. There are no dead bodies here yet, but chunks of rubble lie strewn on the road. Talon sticks to the shadows, leading me through the quarter until we stop in front of a familiar narrow lane.
The safe house glowers in the violet tinge of dawn.
Talon doesn’t knock at the door. They don’t try the key from around their neck. They simply place their palm against the curve of the knocker and the lock clicks open.
Every hair up the back of my neck tingles.
“Get in,” they say roughly. “Before anyone sees.”
“I told you before. I’m not cowering, especially not while my sister’s still out there.” I jerk a hand toward where I think Quay-side is. It’s hard to tell without being able to see the sea.
I have to get to Finn. We have to get her out of this city, before anyone comes for us.
She is the one thing I’m not willing to lose to this fight.
“I never said you had to cower.” The corner of Talon’s mouth crooks up, but their eyes darken. “Please, Maeve. I promised Wolf I’d keep you safe.”
Exhaustion weighs on me.
“Then promise me you’ll go find Finn.” The sky flashes above us, and I clasp their soaking hands in mine, squeezing. “Please. I need her to be safe too.”
Does she even know what’s happening right now?
“Promise,” I beg, and my voice cracks.
Talon’s hands squeeze mine back. “I can’t promise I’ll find her, Maeve. Fang ordered everyone working with us to—”
A beast shrieks above, the dark shadow of wings swooping low and circling back toward the castle looming over the merchant quarter.
We both duck, flinching at the sound.
Talon’s gaze finds mine again, and I see grim resolution tightening the edges of their brown eyes. “I’ll check your house for her. But then I have to go help the others.”
Surprise grips me before I remember.
Of course.
Talon was one of the gardai on the night they came to haul me from my bed. They know where I live—where Finn must be now. All the Whisperers probably do.
They push the door open wider and nod toward the darkness inside. “Wolf’s room is upstairs, at the end of the hall. Wait there. And if the house does anything…” Talon frowns, searching for their words. “Strange, just remember… a mage lives here.”
I step inside and pause. “What’s that supposed to—?”
The door clicks shut, separating us.
Flickering votive candles spring to life down the same hall I walked through many weeks ago with Keeva, floorboards creaking under my boots.
They spark with each step I take, as if they want to light my way.
They must have something in the wax, or in the wick, because they cast a strange greenish glow against the pure darkness of the shuttered house.
Impossible, the rational part of my mind whispers.
Magic, the rebel in me purrs.
I let the light guide me down the hall and up a set of narrow stairs at the very back of the house. Climbing up the steps makes me wince—aches flare in my exhausted bones.
At the top, the stairs open onto a cramped hall. A lone door creaks open at the end, a faint glow coming from inside.
All it takes is walking through that door, and the dangerously familiar scent of him surrounds me fully.
Old Ones, each muscle in me seems to unclench.
Every inch of this room is pure Wolf. A wall of knives, neatly arranged and polished to a high gleam.
Boots, kicked off and lying at the foot of a wide bed in the center of the cramped room.
A dresser in the corner with a small tin box resting on top.
A small twine-wrapped bundle of sage rests on a plate, one end burned black.
Safe, some quiet, content part of me purrs.
Even if it’s only for a little while, this place—his place—feels safe.
I strip out of my filthy clothes, tearing everything off me and leaving the heap in a soaking pile on the floor.
I grab a fresh black tunic from the half dozen of them folded neatly in his dresser, pick out a pair of leathers all but guaranteed to be too big for me from the next drawer down, and pad to what turns out to be a small bathing chamber at the back of the room.
Shaking, I fidget with the hand pump on the wall, and with a rush, water sprays out, filling the bottom of the deep wooden tub. And, thank the Old Ones—it’s blissfully, inexplicably warm. The water—heated by magic, I have to assume—stings every one of the scrapes across my palms.
It makes quick work of the blood all over me, except for the hardened chunks sticking under my nails. I scrub at it with numb, furious determination, until my skin feels raw.
Breathe.
My chest swells, straining against the cage of my ribs. Just like the night I ran into the rose garden—what used to be the rose garden—panic rises up my throat. I dig my nails into the wooden edges of the tub and pull myself out of the water, now a stubborn pink from all the blood.
The bathing chamber is sparse. A couple of towels, a brush for scrubbing teeth, and a small jar of minty paste. I swipe a tiny bit onto one finger and scrub at my teeth. And it might not change anything about what I’ve done, but the small shred of familiarity calms my racing heart.
There’s a small basket in the corner, full of long, clean strips of bandages just like the ones Wolf used to bind the gash down my side. I use two to wrap my scraped palms, knotting the soft fabric at the backs of my hands.
I trail my thumb along the faint red scar slashing down my side. Even though the wound is healed enough not to reopen, the muscles all around it ache. Everything aches—everything hurts. But I’ll deal with the pain, deal with all of this, later.
The black tunic pulls on easily over my wet hair. The leathers feel like slipping back into my own skin, though several sizes too big. I roll the legs up and belt the waist with one of the long strips of bandage from the basket. It’ll do for now.
But I can’t settle.
My nerves prickle with every boom of thunder outside, over-heated and charged like lightning waiting for release. I can’t just wait here—not with everyone I care about out there, fighting.
Finn, probably.
Him… definitely.
I need to find them. I need to be there, helping.
I rip the chamber door open, faint light from the hall beyond spilling across my boots, then snaking up my legs with an eerie flicker of the candles.
A cloaked figure waits there, hand raised as if just about to knock.
Black hair, and green eyes that go molten the moment they find mine.
Wolf.
“You’re alive,” he breathes out, a wild light in his eyes.
I don’t answer. I don’t have the breath left for it.
Instinct takes over, the same wild look in his eyes lighting a fire in my blood, and I surge up to close the space between us.