Dangerous.
Because courage in a witch can get us both killed.
Or maybe—just maybe—it can set us both free.
THREE
RHEA
The grinding starts slow—stone against stone, deep in the abbey’s bones.
I look up from Brother Aldric’s journal, candlelight flickering across the torn pages scattered around me. The crypt doors remain sealed, trapping us in this circular chamber with its broken sarcophagus and binding runes. But something’s changing. The walls themselves seem to breathe.
The abbey is waking.
A doorway yawns where solid stone stood moments before. Black as pitch, breathing cold air that tastes of graves. My candle flame gutters, nearly dying.
Footsteps echo from the deeper catacombs—heavy, deliberate. Krath emerges from the shadows, his massive frame filling an archway. Ash swirls around him, and his ember eyes sweep the chamber before fixing on me.
"The walls hunger tonight." His voice carries undertones I can’t identify. Warning, yes. But something else. "Stay close."
"Close to what?" I gesture at the new passage. "That wasn’t there five minutes ago."
"I know." He steps into the chamber, and I catch the scent of smoke and heated metal that clings to his skin. "The abbey serves him now. It will try to separate us."
Him. The Marshal.
I gather the scattered pages, stuffing them back into the journal. "Brother Aldric wrote about this. About corridors that shift, shadows with wings?—"
"Read it aloud."
His tone brooks no argument. I flip through the pages, finding the passage. "’Beware the Pale Marshal. We are hunted in our own halls. The corridors shift to his will. He feeds on separation, picks off the isolated. Brother Marcus was alone for mere minutes before—‘" The words cut off in brown stains.
Krath goes very still. "Separation."
The chamber shudders. Cracks spider across the ceiling, and chunks of stone rain down. But it’s not random destruction—the walls are flowing, reshaping themselves into new configurations. Another passage opens to my left with a sound of grinding bone.
Whispers drift from both new doorways, multiple voices calling my name with false sweetness.
Come alone, little witch. Come and learn our secrets...
"It wants to divide us." Krath circles me slowly, predatory. "Lead us into mazes with no exit. Hunt us one at a time."
"So we stay together." The words come out steadier than I feel. "Simple enough."
"Is it?" He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "You wandered into a cursed abbey alone. Bled on a tomb you knew nothing about. Tell me again how good you are at following simple plans."
Heat flares in my cheeks. "I woke a cursed warlord. That takes skill, not stupidity."
"Skill?" His lips curve in what might be a smile. "You cut yourself on sharp stone. Any fool could do the same."
"Any fool could, yes." I take a step toward him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his scarred skin. "But any fool wouldn’t have had the power to wake you. The knowledge to speak the words that broke your binding." I lift my chin. "I’m more dangerous than you realize."
Something flickers in his ember eyes. Surprise, maybe. His nostrils flare slightly, and I catch him breathing deeper.
He’s scenting me.
The thought sends warmth spiraling through my chest, unwelcome and undeniable.
