The dagger hovered inches from his face, her arm locked in his shadows—why not just take it?
Quick as a flash her gaze darted to Ivan's, the answer right there in his eyes.
Because he couldn’t.
He needed her to give it willingly.
But why?
Osin’s lip twitched, the darkness around her coiling tighter, snaking up her throat—andflinched.
A deafening crack shook the Pit, a sound like the sky splitting apart. The massive iron doors at the far end exploded inward, shards of metal and splinters of wood raining down.
Rebels poured through the breach, their war cries echoing off the cavern walls, a tide of fury.
At their head was Dominic. His eyes blazed with unrestrained rage, his sword dripping crimson, each step carrying the promise of vengeance. Without hesitation, he raised his hands, fingers curling into claws, and the earth beneath them roared to life.
The ground fractured, groaned, then erupted in a towering wave of churning rock and soil. The sheer force of it split the Pit’s floor wide open, serrated cracks racing outward, sending Legionnaires sprawling as the surge of earth barreled straight for the king.
Osin whirled, a rush of shadows spiraling outward from his hands. They solidified midair, forming a thick, roiling barricade that collided with the oncoming wall of earth. The impact was catastrophic—shadows and stone clashing in an eruption of dust and raw power.
The shockwave blasted through the Pit, sending debris raining down, and the binds on her wrist loosened.
The Wound of Light gleamed in Elara's hand as she swung down with all the strength she could muster, cutting clean through the writhing tendrils, severing them in a burst of sizzling power.
A scream ripped from Osin's throat—cracked, guttural, a sound so strange, sohuman, that she almost froze, almost took that precious heartbeat to watch the pain contort his face. But she forced herself to turn, her heart hammering as she sprintedacross the cracked floor of the Pit, veering right toward the tunnels.
Chapter 59
Don’t look back.
Elara’s lungs burned with every breath as she pushed herself faster. She ignored the ache in her chest, the maddening pull begging her to stop. Just one glance. One look to see if Ivan was still alive.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t.
She kept running.
Her legs shook, muscles screaming as she tore down the narrow, winding tunnel that seemed to stretch endlessly before her. The stale air was heavy, oppressive, every breath tasting of iron and earth anddeath. She pushed herself faster.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out the world—the distant clash of battle, the faint cries she couldn’t place. Each frantic step hammered down the panic rising in her throat, the guilt that churned in her gut.Too much time.You’ve wasted too much time.
She passed one empty cell after another, her eyes desperately scanning for any sign of life. For Reynnar.
Please, gods.The prayer was a rasp in her mind, fragmented and broken.Just… please.
Her mind stilled, her feet halting abruptly as she reached a cell that wasn’t empty. One figure stood inside, barely illuminated by the flickering torchlight.
“Aoife.”
The Sidhe whipped around at her name, her eyes cutting through the gloom like a beacon.
Elara swung the Wound of Light, slicing through the wards on the cell and the shimmering barriers dissolved, vanishing like morning mist under the sun.
Before Elara could catch her breath, Aoife yanked the door open, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her forward.
“Where are the others?”
Elara couldn’t bring herself to say his name, couldn’t force it past the knot in her throat.
