"You're welcome for the rescue," Karse shot back, sending another gout of flame at an approaching Withered. "Though if you're going to complain—"
"Behind you!"
Thaine's warning came just as a Withered reached for Karse from his blind side. The Drak spun, but not fast enough. The creature's fingers brushed his arm, and where they touched, his scales immediately began to gray and flake.
Karse snarled in pain, fire exploding from him in all directions. Briar threw herself flat, feeling the heat sear over her head. When she looked up, another Withered had been reduced to ash, but Karse was favoring his left arm, several scales now dull and cracked.
"Can you fight?" Ferria asked Thaine, pressing something into his hand—a broken piece of chain from his own cell.
"Do I have a choice?" He swayed on his feet but wrapped the chain around his fist. His movements were weak, uncoordinated, but his eyes burned with fury.
Four Withered left, and they were adapting. They moved more carefully now, using the pillars and shadows, making Karse work for his shots. The air grew thick with smoke and the stench of burned moss. Briar's eyes streamed, her throat burning with each breath.
The warmth in her chest pulled desperately toward the remaining sealed cell. Eliam was there, so close, but the fight had spread across the chamber. There was no clear path.
One of the Withered lunged for Ferria. She threw herself sideways, but it caught her dress, and where its fingers touched, the fabric aged decades in seconds, crumbling to nothing. She screamed, more from shock than pain, and Thaine swung his chain at the creature's head. The impact did little damage, but it turned its attention to him.
"Any time you want to burn the rest of them," Thaine gasped, dodging the Withered's grasping hands.
"Working on it," Karse growled, but Briar could see he was tiring. The cold of the dungeons had weakened him, and each blast of fire took more effort than the last.
They were losing ground. Being pushed back toward the stairs. Away from Eliam.
The fight was spreading, pushing them away from where she needed to be. Another Withered fell to Karse's fire, but three remained, and they were learning—keeping distance, using the shadows.
Briar saw her chance when Karse drove two of them toward the far wall with a sustained blast of flame. The third was focused on Thaine, who was barely managing to keep it at bay with wild swings of his chain.
She ran.
Her bare feet slapped against the wet moss, skidding on the slick surface. The sealed cell was just ahead—twenty feet, fifteen, ten. The warmth in her chest burned so hot it hurt, pulling her forward with desperate need.
She reached the bars, her hands wrapping around them without thinking. The metal was cold and rough with rust, flaking under her grip. Through the gaps, she could see him.
Eliam sat against the far wall, wrists shackled with heavy chains. His head was down, white hair falling forward, but at her approach it lifted slightly. Even in the dim moss-light, she could see how pale he'd become, how the days without eating had already hollowed him out.
"Briar." Her name came out cracked, disbelieving.
"I'm getting you out." She pulled at the bars uselessly. They didn't budge. The lock was massive, ancient, and she had no key. Behind her, she could hear the fight continuing—Thaine cursing, Karse's fire roaring, Ferria shouting warnings.
The warmth in her chest pulsed, almost painful now. It wanted out. It wanted to reach him.
"Go," Eliam said, his voice stronger but still rough. "Get out while they're distracted."
"No." She pulled harder at the bars, her palms tearing on the rust. Blood smeared the metal. "I'm not leaving you."
A crash behind her—someone hit the wall hard. Thaine's voice, pained. They were running out of time.
The warmth surged, and she felt it building like pressure under her skin. Not gentle like before, not subtle. This was desperate, violent almost in its need to reach its other half.
"Please," she whispered, not to Eliam but to the magic itself. "Please."
Heat flooded down her arms. Her hands began to glow, that familiar golden light but brighter, more solid. Then the vines came.
They burst from her palms, from her wrists, even growing up from where her blood had touched the bars. Not delicate things—these were thick, woody, thorned. They wrapped around the bars like living things, growing into the gaps, pushing, pulling.
The metal groaned.
"Briar, stop—" Eliam started, but she couldn't. The magic had taken over, pouring out of her in waves.
