"I'm sorry," she found herself saying, the words escaping before she could stop them. "I didn't mean to—"
"Oh, don't apologize. It's actually quite considerate of you." He shifted, chains scraping. "Lord Solandis wanted me to suffer for weeks. Very vindictive, that one. But a bunch of hunt-crazed fae tearing us both apart? That'll be done in minutes. Much more efficient."
A hunting horn echoed above them, closer than before. Too close.
She had to go, she had to keep moving, but… her hand went to her hair, fingers finding one of the few remaining pins. The metal felt cold against her fingertips, but then again, everything felt cold. Her fingers were stiff, clumsy, barely cooperating as she worked the pin loose. She couldn't free another creature, couldn't risk another Malus situation. But leaving him here to be torn apart by the hunters when she had even the smallest way to help seemed wrong.
"They're using a grid pattern," he observed calmly. "Smart. They'll find this ravine within, oh, five minutes? Maybe less if your blood trail is as obvious up there as it is down here."
The pin was in her hand now. Such a small thing. She wasn't freeing him, she told herself. She was just... giving him the same chance she had. To try. To possibly escape. Or not. It wouldn't be her fault either way.
"The lock's quite clever, actually," he continued, seemingly talking to himself now. "Multiple tumblers, false mechanisms. Even if someone had the right tools, it would take considerable skill to—"
Another horn, from a different direction. They were converging.
"Ah, there's the eastern group," he said with something almost like satisfaction. "They'll meet right above us. Should be quite the gathering."
She tossed the pin. It landed near his bound hands with a soft clink. He stopped mid-word, his eyes tracking from the pin to her face, that sharp attention returning.
Briar didn't wait for whatever he might say. Using the stone wall for support, she pulled herself upright and limped deeper into the ravine as fast as her damaged body would allow. Behind her, she heard the soft scrape of chains against stone as the Drak began to move, and then a low chuckle.
"Interesting," he murmured, but she was already too far away to hear whatever else he might have said.
Chapter three
The ravine had become a maze of stone, walls rising fifteen feet on either side, sometimes opening to show darkening sky above. Briar stumbled through the narrow passages, one hand pressed against her ribs, the other trailing along the rough stone for balance. Each breath burned, shallow and insufficient. The makeshift bandage on her leg had come loose somewhere behind her, and she could feel the warm, steady seep of blood down her calf.
The sky visible between the stone walls had shifted from afternoon gold to the purple-gray of approaching evening. She'd lasted the whole day. Somehow, impossibly, she'd survived until dusk. But her body was done. Each step took conscious effort, her muscles shaking with exhaustion, threatening to give out entirely.
The passage she'd chosen narrowed, then opened into what looked like another route—no. A wall of stone rose before her, smooth and impassable. A dead end.
Her knees buckled. She caught herself against the wall, fingers finding the grooves between stones, pressing her forehead against the cold surface. The stone felt good against her fevered skin. She could rest here. Just for a moment. Just—
"Well, well." Sarelle's voice floated down from above, honeyed and amused. "I'm genuinely impressed. A whole day. No one expected you to last past noon."
Briar forced her head up. The fae woman stood at the edge of the wall above, silhouetted against the dying light. Two others stepped into view. She recognized Lord Ashford, his face still bearing marks from whatever Thaine had done to him.
"You look tired," Sarelle continued, beginning to descend as the stone itself seemed to reshape into steps beneath her feet. "All that running, all that bleeding. And for what? To die exhausted instead of fresh? Pity."
Briar's fingers scraped against stone, trying to push herself up, to run, but there was nowhere to go and her legs wouldn't cooperate anyway. She slid down the wall instead, leaving a smear of blood in her wake.
"The huntsman made such a fuss," Ashford said, following Sarelle down. "Claiming you were already his. But he's... indisposed, indefinitely if we’re lucky." Something cruel flickered across his face. "Unfortunate timing."
They reached the bottom, approaching slowly, savoring her helplessness. Briar pressed back against the wall, her hand going to her throat where Eliam's marks had once blazed. Nothing. No warmth, no protection, no connection to call on.
"How should we do this?" Sarelle asked, those silver threads beginning to weave between her fingers again. "Quick would be merciful. But you did lead us on such a chase..."
A wet sound interrupted her. Like meat tearing.
Ashford's expression went from smug to confused. He looked down at the hand protruding from his chest—a hand covered in iridescent scales, holding something red and pulsing.
"You walked right past me," a voice said from behind Ashford. "ME. To chase this bleeding disaster of a human. I'm genuinely insulted."
The hand withdrew. Ashford crumpled, revealing the creature from the ravine. He looked different without the chains—taller, broader, patches of scales catching the dying light like oil on water. Blood painted his arms to the elbows. His reptilian eyes fixed on Sarelle with an expression of mild annoyance.
"A Drak," Sarelle breathed, silver threads going bright with alarm. "You're that thing Solandis was transporting—"
"Thatthing?" His voice dropped, losing its casual tone. "Now I’m offended."
