The sound that followed made something snarl in my chest.
Impact. Flesh on flesh. The wet, meaty sound of fists meeting skin and bone. A grunt of pain that Varyth tried and failed to suppress.
Another blow. Another.
The black fire erupted beneath my skin, cold flames licking up my arms before I could stop them. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting copper, forcing the magic back down through sheer will.
Not yet. Not until we had a plan.
Lincatheron pulled us back, away from the passage opening, into a small alcove where we could crouch together in the darkness.
“There’s a lot of them,” he murmured, pitched so low it was barely more than a breath. “We have to be careful. No room for error.”
Fenric nodded once, steel-blue eyes already distant. “At least a dozen. Maybe more. They’re spread out through the chamber.”
“Formation?” Lincatheron asked.
“Loose. Overconfident.” Fenric’s mouth quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “They think they’re safe.”
“Good.” Lincatheron’s attention turned to me. “You stay close to Cindrissian. He’ll keep you?—”
“Alive,” I finished flatly. “I know.”
For a moment, I thought he might argue. Might try again to send me back, to keep me out of whatever was about to happen. But another sound echoed from the chamber ahead—Varyth’s voice, hoarse with pain but defiant—and Lincatheron’s jaw tightened.
“Just don’t die,” he said. “Varyth will have my head if anything happens to you.”
“How touching,” Cindrissian murmured from beside me. He leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing my ear, pitched so low that only I could hear. “I’m looking forward to watching those daggers sing.”
The words sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear.
I nodded once, my fingers already moving to the hilts of the moonsilver blades strapped to my thighs.
Lincatheron gave one final series of hand signals, a battle plan condensed into gestures so precise they could have been a language unto themselves. Then he moved, and we moved with him.
We slipped down the stone path like shadows given form. The passage widened gradually, opening into a larger space, and with each step forward, more of the chamber came into view.
An open cavern. High ceilings lost to darkness above. Lanterns hung from iron hooks driven into stone, their flickering light casting dancing shadows across rough walls.
And soldiers. So many soldiers.
A dozen at least, scattered throughout the space in loose formation. Some standing guard at what looked like other passages leading deeper into the cave system. Others clustered near the centre of the chamber, their attention focused on something I couldn’t yet see.
But I could hear it.
Another blow. Another grunt of pain.
And underneath it all, the sound of chains.
My fingers tightened around the dagger hilts, warm against my palms.
Varyth was in there. Collared. Chained. Bleeding.
25
We exploded from the shadows like a storm given form. My body moved before my mind could catch up, muscle memory taking over with the fluid ease that came from years of training I’d tried so hard to bury.
The first soldier didn’t even see me coming, just felt the moonsilver blade slide between his ribs, finding the gap in his armour like it had been marked for me.
