The other two used the distraction to lunge for the Crown. I swung my sword—an awkward, one-handed strike—and still managed to lop off a few fingers, carving through solid flesh with a mist of foul-smelling blood, our swords sparking against each other as I clumsily parried their blows, holding them off as I managed another step towards freedom.
Heavy.
Everything was so fucking heavy.
I was moving too slow to be much help, but Varian was threatening enough they both kept their distance from theThorn, eyes darting to the rotting, gelatinous pile of their friend, and I was half tempted to put the Crown on my head and see what happened.
Probably shouldn’t.
My brains would melt out of my head, most likely.
We herded them backwards, one painfully slow step at a time, a few inches at a time, but at least we were moving in the right direction. Toward the section of the temple where Varian could disappear us back to the island. One touch of his fingers and we’d be in the wind.
Because as bad as our situation was right now, there were at least twenty of these fuckers on the island.
And Lyrae was there alone, with Rooke, who I doubted was much use in a fight.
“We have to move faster,” I muttered. “How much further before you can get us the fuck out of here?”
“Don’t you think I’m trying?” Varian hissed. “I know where the rest of these guards are. She’ll fight them, you know she will.”
Yes, Lyrae would take on an army of these things.
Gladly.With a fucking smile on her face.
Gods, I’d be holding my own right now if I weren’t bogged down by a pair of cursed magical objects that were heavier than a horse. But we were only fighting two guards.
Lyrae was facing at least twenty.
And the Butcher himself.
Alone.
Varian and I kept up our united front, herding them ever so slowly backwards, but like us, they worked in tandem, hurling spells that cracked the stone walls and sent bursts of fire and shadow exploding around us, until we were suffocating.
I’d managed to get in a few shallow blows; one of theguards was missing most of his fingers, but our adversaries were relentless, incapable of feeling pain, taking on impossible amounts of damage and still on their feet.
And they’d decided Varian was the real threat, and were focusing their efforts on him.
But we were nearly free from the cursed part of the temple, away from the screaming faces and angry runes. Even the Triune felt lighter here, and with one final step, I could move again, every swing of my sword faster, deadlier, more accurate.
My next blow cleaved into a shoulder, cutting through thick armor into flesh, and the Fae’s shadows choked off, black blood flowing down the front of his spotless silver breastplate before I managed to yank my weapon free.
“We’re nearly there,” Varian panted, stabbing at them both with that thin sliver of metal, no thicker than my pinkie.
Something they were far more afraid of than my broadsword, not that I blamed them.
The reek of their rotting friend stank up the hall, there was nothing left of him but a slick spot on the floor, and none of us wanted to end up right beside him.
A plume of blue, devouring fire engulfed us, choking off my air. “Varian!” I shouted, my friend collapsing behind me, the Thorn clattering to the ground, the magic in the hallway pulsing madly. The other two guards dodged away from the weapon, the tip spinning wildly like some deadly spin-the-bottle game.
Comical, almost, the way they danced away, fear gleaming in their eyes.
Varian pushed lithely up from the floor, scooped the Thorn off the ground, our eyes meeting as he covered thefive feet between us, his hand clamping down over my shoulder. Chill air gathered around us like a storm, the edges of the world blurring together.
We were actually getting away with the Triune and I wasn’t even dead.
A godsdamned fucking miracle.
