"Can you stand?"
She tried to push herself up, got as far as her elbows before the chamber tilted sideways. "Not yet."
He knelt beside her, his hands surprisingly gentle as they checked the bite on her throat. She felt him tense when his fingers came away bloody.
"I took too much."
"You took what you needed." Her voice came out rasping, raw. "We're alive."
"Barely." But his arm slipped under her shoulders, lifting her against his chest. Her head fell against his shoulder, and she breathed in the scent of him—forest and rain and something darker now, something that hadn't been there before.
"The others?" she managed.
"Karse has a burn on his arm. Thaine's upright. Ferria's whole." He stood, lifting her with him as if she weighed nothing. "We need to move."
The world swayed as he carried her toward the chamber entrance. She could see the others through blurring vision—Karse cradling his left arm, several scales blackened and cracking. Thaine leaning heavily against a broken cell door, blood matting his hair. Ferria standing apart, her illusion magic flickering around her like nervous energy.
"Can you all walk?" Eliam's voice carried command even though he looked barely better than the rest of them.
"Better than staying here," Karse said, though his usual snark sounded strained.
They moved toward the stairs, Eliam still carrying her. The moss had gone dark, no longer responding to their presence. Her blood had left a trail across the floor—she could see it in the dying light, dark splatters leading from the cell to where they walked now.
The sound started soft. Slow.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
They all froze.
"Bravo," Malus's voice drifted down from the stairway, each word precisely enunciated. "Truly. A magnificent performance."
He descended into view, and Briar's heart sank. He looked perfect. Immaculate. His dark burgundy jacket without a wrinkle, his hair copper-bright in the dim light. No sign that she'd drugged him. No indication that bloodshade had touched him at all.
Behind him came more Withered. Six, eight, a dozen, she lost count as they flowed down the stairs like water, spreading out to block any possible exit.
"I particularly enjoyed the bloodshade," Malus continued, reaching the bottom of the stairs. "Clever. Though you might have used a stronger dose. I was only unconscious for—what? An hour?" He examined his nails, casual as if discussing the weather. "Síocháin suffered beautifully for her part, by the way. Did you know fae as old as her can survive quite extensive damage? We're still discovering exactly how much."
No.
Briar tried to push herself up in Eliam's arms, but he tightened his grip, keeping her still.
"Malus," Eliam said, his voice flat.
"Brother." Malus smiled, and it was all teeth. "How lovely to see you free. And feeding on humans, no less." His gaze fixed on the blood still staining Eliam's mouth. "How the mighty have fallen. All those principles, all those years of refusing to take human blood, and look at you now. Covered in it. Reeking of it."
"Let us pass."
"Let you pass?" Malus laughed, the sound echoing off stone. "After the trouble you've caused? After what she—" his eyes found Briar, "—put me through? No, I don't think so."
The Withered moved closer, their antlered heads turning in unison. The temperature dropped, frost beginning to form on the wet stones.
"Though I must say," Malus continued, his attention still on Briar, "she was delightful. So responsive once properly motivated. Did she tell you how sweetly she submitted? How her body sang when I—"
"Don't." Eliam's voice was barely human, more growl than word.
