No, I wasn’t putting a fucking time limit on my sister’s life.
“See you in thirty?” I bumped Varian’s shoulder.
“Definitely,” he said with a smirk. “Unless, of course, we beat you back here. I’ll bet you ten gilder we’re here before you.” Then he sobered. “Good luck.”
“I’ll take that bet. Twenty gilder, I’m back here with my sister waiting for you two losers to show up.”
I turned to go when Ryland grabbed me, grazing his lips over mine so quickly I wondered if I’d imagined it before he pulled away, emotion overflowing his green eyes as he gazed down at me. “Be careful. And if you can’t get her out, remember…we live to fight another day. Don’t be a fucking hero, commander.”
“Well, if this arsehole gets a kiss…” Varian spun me around, then his mouth crashed into mine, our tongues tangling before we broke apart, leaving me off kilter, my head a mess of a thousand things I needed to say.
The look in his eyes was the same as when he’d told me to run, then he tipped his forehead against mine for one brief second.
“I’m not losing you again,” he whispered. “Don’t take any chances, Lyrae, I mean it.”
I pressedmyself against the cold stone wall as boots echoed through the corridor ahead, my heart hammering against my ribs as I slid seamlessly into a darkened crevice. Every patrol of those enhanced Fae soldiers moved with powerful, otherworldly grace, their magic crackling through the air—with a biting sensation that prickled my skin.
They passed by, the last soldier pausing, testing the air, tilting his head as the rest of them thundered ahead. I held my breath until my lungs burned, not daring to move even as a bead of sweat traced a wobbly path down my spine. Finally, the soldier moved on, and I allowed myself a single, silent exhale before continuing my desperate search.
This entire castle was a labyrinth designed to ensnare invaders, its corridors twisting back upon themselves in ways that defied normal architecture. I was sure I’d passed the same gargoyle twice, its stone mouth leaking some foul, blackened water into a basin carved with runes I didn’t recognize. But then, with a flash of relief, I saw what I’d been searching for—a narrow archway framing a round, spiral staircase that only wound upward.
I’d found the westernmost spire.
I knew with a bone-deep certainty this was the path to Ariel’s tower.
To my sister.
Voices drifted from behind me, closing in on my position, their tone carrying an edge of taut urgency that sent ice racing through my veins.
I wondered if they’d put the fire out, killed theGrimbeasts, captured the runaway horses, and realized the driver of the wagon had disappeared.
Maybe they were already searching for us, and I stood no chance against their magic, not by myself.
I moved like a shadow, every lesson I’d ever learned about stealth turning into muscle memory as I rushed toward that archway, the torches flickering miserably against the cold darkness. I slipped through the opening a second before the patrol rounded the corner, my back pressed against the rough stone of the stairwell wall. Ten soldiers passed within arm’s reach of my hiding place, and I started up the winding stairs into the darkness above, praying that each step would bring me closer to my sister.
My thighs burned during that brutal climb, more than a thousand steps straight up, the rough stone scraping my hands raw. At every turn, a small opening looked out over the black clouds rolling in, the chaos down in the courtyard, the acrid smoke from the still-burning fire, the mass of Grimbeasts still hurling themselves against the gates.
I may have underestimated the creature’s rage—or maybe their hunger—because even up here, I felt every battering blow of those huge bodies against those thick doors.
But the Fae soldiers were slaughtering machines and once the beasts were dead and the fires put out, once they figured out this was a ruse, someone would come looking.
One of Rooke’s crows swept past and tipped its wings, as if telling me to get my ass in gear.
Fucking finally, I reached the top, the view dizzying as I pressed myself flat against the cold stone, every breath a sharp, painful gasp, the freezing wind tearing loose strands from my braid, my cheeks so cold I couldn’t feel them anymore.
As expected, Ariel’s door was padlocked from the outside, humming with some foul magic that skated over my skin with wicked, invisible claws.
Gravelock might be clever, but Rooke was even cleverer, and I pulled a vial of clear liquid from my pocket, thanking the gods this hadn’t broken on our bumpy wagon ride.
I dumped the contents over the padlock, watching the iron melt away like softened butter, drops of molten metal pooling at the bottom of the door. Next, I pulled out a piece of paper, flattened it with my fingers and—awkwardly and not at all well—read off the spell Rooke had written down.
Light spread across the stone framing the door, trickling into every crevice, then onto the door itself, like embers eating away at the edge of a piece of paper, glowing, hungry, voracious.
Runes flared to life, then faded away, one after another, and I held my breath as that light ever so slowly crawled down the entire length of the door, and outward across the stone until finally, it disappeared altogether.
I sent up a prayer to the gods, flattened my hand against the warm wood and pushed. Wonder of wonders, I didn’t die a horrible death, and the door swung open, revealing the sparsest bedroom I’d ever seen. One rickety bed with a paper-thin blanket, a chair with three legs, a small table with a scuffed top.
The room was barely warm, a pitiful fire guttering in the blackened grate.
