“You’re sure you don’t want me to accompany you?” murmurs the captain.
If he does, he will likely be killed. Zephyrus may hesitate to end my life, but not a specter’s. “I’m certain. If I’m not back within the hour, take your men and flee.” Either I emerge from the cave with Boreas, or I do not emerge at all.
“We will not abandon you, my lady.”
“I am your queen, and that is my final order, captain. We’re wasting time.”
Pallas’ expression folds into one of discontent, but he gives the signal. It is time to move.
I creep around the forest’s edge, keeping to the darkness, until I spot the back of the cave. There, I wait. Prior to reaching the cave, I emptied my quiver of arrows, felling any darkwalkers that crossed our path. Thankfully, one of the men has loaned me his dagger. I’m not as skilled with a blade as I am with a bow, but it’s better than entering this situation empty-handed.
It doesn’t take long. Silence deepens, then shatters all at once.
Six, seven, eight howling cries rent the air. Another shriek lifts the hair on my arms, a sharp, shrill sound that screams violence. Pallas’ shout is lost to the sound of combat. I count backward from ten in my head, then make my move.
My palms hit the smooth rockface, coasting along the surface, searching for any opening I can find. Something thuds to my right. An arrow, missing its mark. I push forward, seeking high and low, until my hands fall into nothing—a fissure in the wall.
I push into the long, narrow gap. My shoulders and back scrape against the walls. Another hard push as a slot of deeper darkness pulses up ahead. Reaching forward, I’m relieved to find that the opening empties into a large chamber. Light flickers ahead, a lamp maybe, or a torch.
Resting my gloved fingers against the cool, damp wall, I follow the tunnel into a shallow descent, my heart quickening as my soft footfalls echo in the space. The path steepens. It spirals downward without end.
I am thinking of blood, of broken bones and vacant eyes, of Boreas gone, Boreas dead, Boreas dismembered, Boreas in pain. Bile rises in my throat. My feet begin to drag, and I have to stop and breathe until the tremors pass, dabbing at the sweat trickling my hairline.
But the light beckons and air rushes against me, signaling an opening somewhere beyond sight. I hasten my pace, turn a corner, and step into a small enclosure brightened by a flickering torch.
There’s a body on the ground.
Boreas: eyes closed, skin wan. His hair, splayed out, caked with gore. His poor face, nearly unrecognizable. Nothing but puffy, inflamed skin darkened by blood and blotting shadows.
That is not even the worst of it. I gasp upon spotting the multiple arrows protruding from his body. His fingers are bent at odd angles, as if each one had been individually snapped.
He doesn’t move.
My knees fold, and something collapses in my chest. My vision grows dark. He cannot be dead.
“Boreas.” My breath hitches as my eyes well. “Please wake up. Please.” I brush his swollen cheek with a gentle hand, kiss his slackened lips. Breath in my mouth—his breath.
He’s alive.
Bits of me crumble and cave, but I do not break. What must be done? Escape. Zephyrus’ demise. How does one defeat a god?
“Wren?” One eye cracks open. It is wholly black.
“I’m here,” I whisper, peeling away bloody strands of hair sticking to his face. My hands shake. I will them to settle. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
“No.” He fumbles for my hand despite his broken fingers, squeezing so hard I’m surprised the bones don’t crack. The points of his curved talons dimple my skin. “You have to leave. Zephyrus is here. He could… hurt you.”
Zephyrus has already hurt me in the only way that truly matters. “I’m not leaving you.”
“You must.”
“I will do nothing of the sort. Now stop arguing with me. You should know by now it’s a useless endeavor.”
“Stubborn woman,” he manages, each word spoken with a harsh, tearing sound.
“You’re the one who married me.”
“Yes.” Temporarily, the fog clears from his eyes. “And I have not regretted that decision for a moment.”
