“Oh.”
Growling, I shake my head. “The ignorance of youth.”
The recent rain still lingers, mingling with the metallic scent of blood, stone, and damp earth. I check the blood moon’s position and nearby flora types for bearings. Lots of thorns. Not much else but stone, moss, and dirt. There was a structural shift during my escape. It was only minutes ago, but it could mean finding Flori again is difficult.
Our best option will be to walk on top of the walls, even if that means risking being caught in a shift. Walking along the base of the nearest wall, I search for a way up.
“How’s your balance?” I ask.
No response.
I glance over my shoulder and catch Demaya staring at the discarded mask with too much interest.
“Don’t,” I caution. “It’s cursed.”
“But it made you strong, right?”
“Foolish girl.” I start hiking up the wall, using the scimitar and my fingers to find footing. “The word ‘cursed’ is all you need to know. Hurry up.”
She releases a huff that sounds so like Florienne that I have the fleeting notion a daughter of ours would sound like Demaya. Incorrigible, defiant, and willful. It’s enough to make me check to see if she’s following. Brown, bouncing ringlets directly below me. Good.
We move swiftly through the Labyrinth atop the walls, aiming for Amara’s courtyard of ruins. I follow a trail of fresh blooming roses, thinking it could only lead us to that sanctuary, but as the maze walls grow darker and colder, I fear I’ve been misled. But then I glimpse a flash of blue moving through a passage below. My heart lurches.Florienne.
The Baron’s men are herding her through the passage. Her steps are slow, measured. Resigned.
“There,” I whisper, pointing.
“I count six,” she utters.
I scan the wall tops. Last time, the Baron had a few strategic archers up high, but no one keeps guard. Looking down at the passage, I pick out more shadows lining the walls. “They’re all on the ground,” I murmur. “Too many to count.”
They think their job is almost over. Probably lining up for payment.
“I’ve got the hunters. You get Flori.” Demaya nocks an arrow. “Wait until they notice me. I’ll lure them away.”
I nod, muscles coiling as I jog further along the wall, preparing to leap down. A guilty part of my mind tells me Demaya won’t be able to fend off so many soldiers, but she made this choice. And then I see him—the Baron. He strides behind Flori, hunger in his eyes. His hands are already working at the fastenings of his breeches.
Red fills my vision. The urge to rend and tear surges through me. Forgetting Demaya’s words, I launch off the wall and land hard, rolling to absorb the impact. My scimitar flashes as I cut down the nearest mercenary. Blood sprays across my face, hot and sticky. I lick my lips, tasting copper. It only reminds me of what stands in my way.
The Baron sees me but says nothing. He steps before Flori, blocking my view. A horn sounds somewhere, and more hired hunters and brutes rush at me. Blue hair flashes between the gaps in their moving bodies. I give chase, heedless of the gathering mob.
She didn’t notice me.
Or didn’t want to.
I should have shouted, should have—a sword lances toward my neck but doesn’t connect. Demaya fells him with an arrow to the heart.
“Snap out of it, Drayven!” she shouts, nocks another arrow, aims, then fires at another mercenary. When it hits him in the center of his forehead she pulls another arrow, muttering, “Love also makes you stupid.”
Love.
I love Flori.
I grin.
From here on, I am a force of deadly shadow. I dance between my opponents, blade singing. Slicing. Gutting. One, two, three fall before they even raise their weapons. But there are too many. They press in from all sides, forcing me back. An arrow whistles past my ear, embedding itself in a mercenary’s eye socket. Then another, and another. Her supply is almost dry, so I become a madman. Desperation lending strength to my strikes, I fight toward each glimpse of blue hair.
She’s so close. Just a few more steps…
