“I caught a glimpse of it,” he says. “Are you sure it’s still down below? We did blow a huge hole in the first floor. It could have climbed out. It could be anywhere by now.”
“Youblew a hole in the floor,” I say.
“Fine, I blew a couple holes in a couple places, and I destroyed part of the stairs. And you obliterated half the rooms on the first floor, plus a few on the second.”
I wince. “It’s not a contest.”
“It might be a contest. A race to get out of here before the Stewards return.”
The idea of the Stewards chills my blood. I imagine them as tall, somber Fae with merciless eyes and lethal magic.
“I don’t ever want to meet them,” I admit.
“On that, we can agree.” He lifts a sphere and sets it atop a pedestal. “Does this one go here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Let’s see if we can catch a glimpse of that beast, or of Grisly.”
“Your last companion,” I say smugly. “Let’s hopeheisn’t fixated on torturing me and cutting off my clit.”
Ravager casts me a sly look. “At least you got to enjoy it one more time.”
My fingers twitch near the hilt of my knife. “Shut up.”
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about your sexual needs, Devilry. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what you let me do to you. Just a few of my mates in the Puzzled Coin, and theentire staff of the Night Goose, and my landlord, and maybe my tailor—”
“Shut up,” I say again, urgently. I slink toward the open door, head cocked, listening.
He’s instantly alert, all humor gone. “What is it?”
“Something on the stairs.”
I press my back to the wall by the door. I start to lean out and look, but Ravager exclaims, “Wait! If it’s Grisly, he’ll shoot you with his crossbow. Let me check.”
He braces his back against the wall on the opposite side of the door. Both of us have our daggers again—the ones we stole from each other. They’re a link between us, one I’d rather not share. I’m uncomfortable with our mirrored pose, too. It makes us feel like allies, when in reality I’m only pretending to be on his side. He tried to kill me after he made me come. He’s certainly not someone I can trust.
Ravager peers around the door frame, his gaze pointed at the stairs. Something is definitely coming up—I can hear it. But it sounds wrong. Not like a man’s footsteps.
“Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me,” a voice wails, and then a second voice bawls, “I don’t want to die like this! I don’t want to be eaten!”
Every bit of courage drains out of my body at the sound. Ravager’s skin goes a shade paler, too.
A step creaks beneath the creature’s ponderous weight as Ravager and I slowly back away from the door. Ravager points up at the intricate web of rafters above our heads.
He’s right. With no other way out of this tower chamber, our only chance for a surprise attack, concealment, or escape is to go up. We have to climb.
Quietly as I can, I sheathe my knife and race back to the map table. I plant one foot on it and jump, grabbing the beamabove me and pulling myself up. Balancing on the rafter, I reach up and haul my body to a higher one, then another.
My thighs are covered in shallow wounds from Slaughter’s attacks, and they scream at me while I climb. But my fear is so strong it floods over the pain, muting it under the force of necessity, the imperative of survival.
Ravager climbs up, too, from the other side of the room. His movements are sluggish, and I can see his arms tremble when he uses them to lift his body.
I don’t pause until I’ve climbed as high as I can. I hunch against the inner curve of the dome, my feet braced on a slim rafter. Ravager stands within arm’s reach.
“Comfortable?” he whispers, with a wry twitch of his lips.
I show him my middle finger.
