“Wait—” I started.
But he was already moving, already dissolving into electricity and motion, his voice echoing back through the tunnel as his form blurred. “Figure out what he’s not telling you, little human. Before it’s too late.”
Then he was gone.
I stared at the empty space, my mind struggling to process what had just happened.
Another groan from behind me.
I spun around to find Varyth pushing himself upright against the cave wall, one hand pressed to his temple, struggling to focus. Blood dripped from his nose, dark against pale skin, and when he tried to stand his legs buckled.
I was beside him before conscious thought caught up, my hands finding his shoulders to steady him as the world seemed to tilt around us both.
“Easy,” I murmured. “Don’t try to move yet.”
“Isara?” His eyes swept the tunnel, taking in the bodies, the scorch marks on stone, the way lightning had carved patterns into the cave walls. “What happened? Where is he?”
“Stormborn’s gone.” The words felt strange on my tongue, like speaking them might somehow summon him back. “He knocked all of you out. Killed his own soldiers.”
Varyth went very still. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.” I moved toward him, my hands reaching to check for injuries. “He just talked.”
Varyth’s jaw tightened, mist beginning to waft around his shoulders despite his obvious exhaustion. “About what?”
The question hung in the air between us, weighted with something I couldn’t name.
“You.” The word came out before I could stop it. “He said you weren’t who you seemed. That you weren’t telling me the full picture about why the courts want me.”
Something flickered across Varyth’s features, too quick to interpret, but it left shadows in its wake.
I moved toward where Fenric was stirring, Lincatheron’s arm thrown protectively across his chest even in unconsciousness.
Fenric’s eyes fluttered open, steel-blue and unfocused, his hand immediately reaching for where Lincatheron lay across him.
“What else did he say?” Varyth’s voice was controlled, but I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.
Before I could answer, a groan echoed from across the tunnel. Cindrissian was pushing himself upright against the stone wall, one hand pressed to his ribs where Merrick’s lightning had caught him. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“That fucking bastard,” he rasped, the words slurred but venomous. “Still hits like a gods-damned boulder.”
Lincatheron stirred next, his dark wings rustling against stone as consciousness returned. He immediately looked at Fenric beneath him, and for a heartbeat something vulnerable flickered across his usually stoic features.
“Fenric,” he said quietly. “You’re hurt.” Lincatheron’s hand moved to check Fenric for injuries.
“I’m fine.” But Fenric’s voice was tight, his gaze already moving past Lincatheron to where Cindrissian sat slumped against the wall. “Driss?”
“Still breathing, unfortunately,” Cindrissian managed, though his attempt at his usual smirk was undercut by the wayhe winced with each word. “Takes more than a little lightning to put me down permanently.”
The casual dismissal didn’t fool anyone. I could see the way he held himself, guarded, like something inside had shifted wrong and he was trying not to let it show.
“We need to move,” Lincatheron said, already pushing himself to his feet despite the obvious effort it cost him. His wings folded tight against his back as he surveyed the carnage. The scorched bodies, the lightning-carved walls. “More soldiers will come when this squad doesn’t report back.”
I wanted to press him about what Merrick had said, about the secrets and half-truths that apparently surrounded me like smoke. But he was right, this wasn’t the time or place for interrogation. Not when we were all barely standing, not when the scent of ozone and death hung thick in the air.
“Can you walk?” I asked Cindrissian, moving to where he sat against the wall.
His crimson eyes tracked my approach. “Concerned for me? How touching.”
