Aster slowed suddenly, his gaze sweeping the battlefield ahead, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. His shoulders rolled, muscles tensing as his transformation deepened, the Minotaur’s strength asserting itself more fully with every step.
“He’ll be near the front,” he said, confirming my earlier thoughts with a low voice. “He always is.”
The knowledge both steadied and terrified me. Because what I knew of Atlas, then he would have never been one to hold power from a distance. He would have met it head-on, only because he chose to, not because he could not do otherwise. The idea of him out there somewhere, fighting alone or surrounded, sent a cold blade of fear sliding between my ribs.
We pressed on, weaving through skirmishes and fallen banners. Past soldiers who barely spared us a glance as they fought for every inch of ground. Every second stretched taut, fragile as glass, and with each step closer to the castle, the certainty grew heavier in my chest.
Whatever waited ahead of us, whatever we were about to find, there would be no turning back. I squared my shoulders and followed Aster into the thickening dark, my focus narrowing to a single, burning point.
A sound cut through the clash of steel and screaming voices, enough to rip my attention away from the chaos.
I knew that sound.
My heart lurched painfully as I turned toward it, breath catching hard in my throat. Another cry followed, strained and pained, and then I saw him forcing his way through the smoke.
A massive black stallion stumbled into view, his coat streaked dark with blood, one powerful leg favoring the ground beneath him. Burn marks scarred his flank, and a deep gash split the muscle of his haunch. Each step a visible effort. Yet even injured, there was no mistaking him.
“Acelin!” I called out.
“Acelin?” Aster questioned, looking for him in the chaos. The disbelief and relief crashed together so hard that my knees went weak. The stallion’s dark eyes found me instantly. His ears flicked forward, his pace faltering as he reached me, and he lowered his great head to press his muzzle against my shoulder. I lifted my hands, my fingers burying themselves into his sweat-damp mane as I leaned into him, my forehead resting briefly against his neck.
“Hey,” I whispered, voice shaking. “You’re all right. I’ve got you.”
I could feel the tremor running through him, the heat of his blood beneath my palms, the sharp metallic scent that twisted my stomach. He was severely hurt, but still standing, still searching.
Aster’s hand closed over mine.
“He’ll heal, and quickly at that, don’t worry,” he said without hesitation. “He’s not mortal.”
I nodded, comforted at this and not at all surprised. My gaze lifted instinctively, scanning the battlefield beyond Acelin’s impressive frame, now searching for his owner. Smoke, fire, bodies, soldiers, both human-shaped and mythic, moving through the carnage, some radiant with light, others warped and wrong beneath crawling shadow. Harpies streaked overhead, wings beating hard, and the difference was unmistakable. Those untouched by the darkness were fierce and terrible, beautiful in their own right. Those taken were sagging, twisted, their forms distorted by something that did not belong to them.
Yet Atlas was nowhere.
“He wouldn’t leave him,” I said. “Not like this.” Unless he had been thrown. Unless he had been surrounded. Unless he had made a choice I wasn’t ready to name.
Acelin nudged me insistently, pushing his shoulder against my chest until the stirrup pressed hard enough to knock the breath from me.
“He’s telling you to ride,” Aster said. “You won’t reach Atlas on foot.”
Guilt twisted in my chest as I looked down at the stallion again.
“But he’s hurt.”
“He’ll carry you,” Aster replied. “And if Atlas sent him away, then it was so you could get through.”
The thought landed like a blow. There was no more time to argue this. So, I took hold of the reins and hauled myself up, the saddle feeling wrong beneath me, no longer familiar without Atlas behind me. I forced myself not to think about it as I settled awkwardly into position.
Aster stepped back, his form already larger, darker, the Minotaur fully present now, tar-like blood streaking his sword and chest from his fallen victims.
“Ride like the King’s life depends on it,” he said.
“But what about you?” I asked, not trusting my survival without him.
“Don’t worry, little mortal, I will keep up,” he said, winking at me before he smacked Acelin’s rump, causing him to surge forward, making me shriek. The battlefield blurred into chaos after that, and we tore through smoke and fire, the thunder of his hooves drowning out everything else.
The wind was tearing at my hair and stealing my breath as we hurtled forward, smoke and ash stinging my eyes. I was shocked to find that he was running faster and faster, making me lookdown at his body. Aster was right; he was healing more and more with every heartbeat.
Then, as we neared the castle, the press of bodies thickened, forcing Acelin to slow, his injured leg now a thing of the past. Darkness pooled thicker here, finger-like tendrils reaching out, brushing against us with a sickening awareness that made my skin crawl.
