They stepped out onto the damp stones of the market square.
The pain blackened his vision—or maybe it was the darkness trickling from his eyes. A thousand knives carved into his chest, and the agony rose over him like a flood. He was drowning in it.
They both crumpled to the ground, the doorway still swirling angrily behind them. Sweat and misty rain dampened August’s skin as he struggled to stay conscious, his hands splayed on the ground. If he passed out, he wasn’t sure he’d wake up.
A harsh cough tore from Felix’s chest, and he spat a glob of black onto the cobblestones before dropping back to sitting. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked like an anchored, and darkness still snaked beneath his pale skin. But he was alive, and that was something.
August eyed his hands as pinpricks crawled up his fingers. His veins were dark all the way to his fingertips. He was still dying. He needed to finish closing the tear. Needed to end this.
“Auggie, are you alright?” Lottie’s voice.
His gaze snapped up. She was sitting beside him, her expression drawn. She came back. He’d been so worried she wouldn’t forgive him. That he’d never see her again. But she was here.
“I’m so sorry, Lottie,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean to do that to you.”
She wiped his cheeks, the black sludge smearing on her fingers. She was solid again.
“Don’t worry about me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “They’ll be here soon. You need to run.”
“Who?”
“Ashcroft and his ministry. They were waiting at the edge for you.”
The edge of the tear had been far from here. Would Ashcroft be able to find them?
August winced as he sat back. The market square was covered in brittle vines, the faces of the buildings worn and cracking, like they were centuries old. The stalls had crumbled. The people were gone. Of course Ashcroft would find them. They were out in the open in the most obvious place. They needed to move, get out of sight.
He glanced at Felix. He was still conscious, but only just. There was no way he’d be able to run.
“I can’t leave him,” August said.
Felix tilted his head to meet August’s gaze, brow furrowed. The question hung in the air, unspoken yet powerfully present:Why not?
Why couldn’t August just leave him here?
Felix’s eyes lingered until footsteps sounded. A handful of black-clad officers poured into the square, one leading Marlow, her hands covered and bound with metal wielder cuffs. A man pushed through to stand in front of the others, and though August didn’t know him, he recognized the uniform. Neat black, gold trim, with three golden lines that sat over the heart.
High Commander of the Ministry. A position that now belonged to Ciaran Ashcroft.
The air hummed with Felix’s magic for only a moment before he groaned in pain.
August wouldn’t let them take Felix, and he wouldn’t go back to the castle.
He couldn’t stand, but he summoned his courage and straightened his posture. “You can go.” His voice was stone rough, and it scraped on the way out. He swallowed and tried again. “Leave us. That’s an order.”
One of the officers grabbed his arm, and August fought to break free as the man slipped a set of metal cuffs over his hands and latched them at his wrists. Wielder cuffs. They were arresting him.
“I’ll have you executed for treason,” he barked at Ashcroft.
The man smiled. “I’m only following orders. If it were my choice, you’d be on your way to my operating table.”
Following orders? His mother wanted this? It was a lie. It had to be. His mother wanted him back. She was worried. She missed him. Had it been an act? Why would she pretend?
“Release him,” Felix ordered. The words rippled the air, and Ashcroft tensed as they landed, but Felix must not have been able to hold his focus. The man’s mouth twisted into an oily grin.
“How did you think this would end, Connolly? You threatened the well-established order all so you could, what? Pretend you’re like us? Pretend you’re not a crime against nature?” He shook his head. “The people will praise me for your death.” His gaze jumped between Felix and Marlow before he went on, this time speaking to his officers. “Kill those two. Take their hearts. No use wasting resources.”
“No,” August snarled.
