“Let’s move.” Jakobav’s voice dropped to command, and the three of them ran.
30
THE HUNT AT THE GATE
Bryn had broken off toward the castle, disappearing down a side path without explanation. Ella and Jakobav kept to the route from the roses that cut toward the outer ward, the air humming with a low metallic resonance that did not belong to wind. Jakobav set the pace ahead of her, jaw locked tight, every line of him carved with focus, as if the taste of her wasn’t still clinging to his mouth like sin.
Ella matched him step for step, ignoring the sting of his bite and the ache between her thighs, each movement a reminder. There wasn’t time to talk about what had happened or make a battle plan; the warning horn pulled them forward. Still, her time in the rose garden had been life-altering, and she felt as though the truth of it was written across her face for anyone to see.
She prayed no one would notice her torn neckline, her scent, or the wild disarray that clung to her like a confession. And under her dress she wore nothing, not even the armor of modesty. She didn’t make a habit of running half-clothed into battle, but tonight, her dignity would have to fend for itself.
They cleared the final archway, and torches flared in the courtyard, flames bending as the night wind rushed across the stones.
A small unit of First Guard had already formed a staggered line, shields locked and angled, spears braced like teeth ready to strike. Maeren stood at the point, leather and linen strapped close to her frame, hair braided back tightly, her entire posture radiating vengeance as though the breach had personally insulted her. Thane was beside her, sword propped against his shoulder, smile lazy and sharp-eyed, already watching the darkness like it belonged to him. Soren was nowhere to be seen, and in an instant, he was there, rising soundlessly from the ground just beyond the flagstones, his form condensing into flesh.
Bryn came skidding in from the opposite corridor, his satchel thumping against his side where he'd clearly dashed back into the castle for supplies, purple shoes flashing with every ridiculous step, utterly wrong for battle. Then again, she was barefoot in a torn dress, so who was she to judge?
Bryn grinned despite the chaos and called out, “Oh good, everyone’s dressed. That’ll save time.”
“Report,” Jakobav barked.
Bryn’s gaze traveled to the far side of the courtyard, his nose wrinkling as though he could already smell the wrongness waiting there. “Something is pressing through the breach, and fast. The ripple is vibrating like fury-eating shit bunnies with a death wish.”
Maeren scanned the dark. “Is the Veil holding?”
“Barely,” Bryn said. “It’s straining like something inside wants to rip the gate off its hinges.”
Thane’s grin deepened, slow and feral. “Excellent. I was starting to get bored.”
Ella kept to Jakobav’s right where his sword could sweep wide without striking her, close enough that the heat radiating from him felt like a shield. The night beyond the gate carried an icy chill that did not belong, colder than the Dravaryn climate this time of year.
Between the moon and the heavy ring of torches at the gate, the courtyard was almost bright as day. The ripple hovered ten paces beyond the gatehouse, a wound in the air that bent and twisted, like glass struggling to remember it had once been water. Its edges folded inward, warping against a wind that did not exist, and black smoke bled steadily from the center, curling downward in patient coils that never touched the cobblestones. The stench was wrong—bitter and metallic. It pressed against her, a pressure that lodged behind her eyes and made her stomach churn.
The guards shifted restlessly, the line faltering by fractions. One lifted the chain at his throat, fingers closing around the Dravaryn crest and pressing it to his lips without ever taking his eyes off the breach.
“Hold,” Jakobav commanded, his voice steady.
Maeren’s hand flexed once over her weapon, her stance ready. “Holding. Bring on whatever dares to breach this close to the stronghold.”
“Do not get cocky,” Jakobav said, his gaze never leaving the shimmer at the gate. “I need every one of you alive and standing in that arena tomorrow.”
“Who, us?” Thane grinned. “We’re the model of restraint.”
The breach thrummed louder, smoke funneling through it, thickening into a rising column that began to take form, condensing into limbs, into mass, solidifying as it stepped through.
Humanoid, but wrong. As tall as Thane, broader still across the chest, its body corded with muscle that looked carved toodeep, tendons drawn too tight, every movement strained against itself. Its skin gleamed the color of old oiled wood, slick with a sheen that caught torchlight.
Its face could almost have been handsome, if not for the warping: cheekbones cut like razors, a mouth stretched too wide, filled with teeth that shifted and scraped when it opened, sound spilling out like a chorus of broken echoes. The noise vibrated against her bones, uncanny and dissonant, a sonar call that twisted Ella’s stomach.
The creature floated just above the cobbles, carried on smoke that puffed at its ankles and dragged upward as if bound by invisible chains. Each time it shifted, the shadows beneath it smeared across stone, gravity bending around it.
Its mouth yawned wider, that echoing shriek rippling through the air. It had no nostrils, yet the noise bent as if it were smelling, hunting. The creature’s head snapped and locked onto Jakobav like a predator catching the faintest trace of scent.
The smoke bunched like muscle as it slid forward. Not a run, but a glide, a speed impossible for its size until it was suddenly there, closing half the courtyard in a breath.
Spears met it first. They pierced, biting into the corded flesh, reddish-black fluid spraying hot against the ground, drops fizzling into smoke. The creature didn’t slow as Thane’s blade ripped across its shoulder, shallow but clean, earning another spill of ooze. The sound it made in answer scraped down Ella’s spine.
“On me,” Jakobav snapped, pivoting low and driving his sword hard along its ribs where any mortal ribs would have given way. It lunged at him, and black-red fluid hissed against his steel, searing down the blade.
