“Call me Lory.”
Aiden nodded, lifting her to her feet as he got up from the floor. “I will. Once we’ve made it out of here.”
With a few efficient movements, he ripped a stripe of fabric from the hem of his shirt and held it out toward her. “Cover your nose and mouth. Whatever is coming in through that gap in the stone is messing with your head.”
Grimacing, Lory took it. “It’s definitely messing with yours, too, or you wouldn’t be all warm and fuzzy.” She laid the cloth over the lower half of her face, tying it at the back of her neck, observing this new side of Aiden Bellmont. “How veryunfrostyof you.”
Aiden just shot her a half smile as they started searching the room once more, the ice wielder never more than two steps away, despite numerous confirmations that she wasfeelingfine.Whatever had happened when she’d inhaled that smell, it must have been some sort of poison that only affected her—or the good thirty pounds he must have had on her were enough to hold off the effect of the substance.
“There’s nothing useful in this room,” Lory summed up the heap of paper and wood, and a chipped clay vase they’d piled up at the center of the room during what felt like an hour out search, but could, in reality, not have been more than fifteen minutes.
Aiden shot her a sideways glance, flipping a small, flat piece of wood over in his fingers as he strolled around the heap of junk. “Useful is in the eye of the beholder.”
With keen eyes, Lory followed his gaze to the slit in the wall. “You want to stick the board into that?”
“To block it or to set off a hidden mechanism.” Aiden shrugged. “If I’ve learned anything from Falcrest’s tests so far, it’s that you can’t rely on anything. The door is locked now, but perhaps closing that gap will trigger the lock, and we’ll be free.” Gesturing for her to stand back, he approached the source of the sweet gas slowly seeping into the room. “And if it doesn’t do anything other than block that poison from attacking you all over again, it’ll be worth something.”
Lory picked up another piece of wood, picking the crumpled paper sticking to it off the edge. “Does Falcrest ever come to your rescue when you don’t manage to get out?”
The look on Aiden’s face as he half-turned toward her told her she already knew the answer.
“Of course he doesn’t. We’re criminals, nothing more, nothing less; our loyalty questionable and our motives forbeing here even more so. We’re of some obvious value for the academy, yes, or we wouldn’t be here, but not enough to mope over our deaths if we fail to get out of a simple room.” Paper still between her fingers, she rubbed her temple, where the remains of the haze had turned into a subtle headache. “He’s probably watching from somewhere, laughing his ass off.”
“Our loyalty is tied to our instinct for survival. As long as we’re loyal, they let us live.” Surveilling her over his shoulder, Aiden shook his head. “And Falcrest doesn’t usually find failure to be entertaining.” Aiden’s serious tone didn’t leave room for interpretation. “Quite the contrary, the captain always makes it a learning experience.” He squatted in front of the wall, working to wedge the slimmest edge of the board into the gap. “Last time I was in a room like this, there was no furniture, no gaps in the walls, no windows; even the floor was smooth as ice. It took me four hours to figure out that the ceiling was different. Wooden beams and layered rocks. Water was dripping from one corner. It was the only thing I could work with, so I froze it over drop by drop until I had a lump big enough to step on and reach the ceiling.” As if expecting to find a similar setup this time, he glanced at the smooth stone above their heads, then shook his head. “Don’t get excited. I’ve already checked the ceiling. There is no way for my magic to work with solid rock like that. I need water to make things happen.”
Lory unfolded the paper, scanning it for any hint of how to get out, but it was as empty as the rest of them, so she tossed it back onto the pile—a pile like for a bonfire, shenoticed. Instead, she carried the board over to the wall, kneeling next to Frost, who eyed her like she’d lost her mind.
“Trying to get another episode of whatever that gas triggered in you?” The board in his hand refused to slide into the gap only half as wide as the wood. “I need you alert and thinking to get out of here. If Falcrest brought both of us down here, I’m pretty sure it will take both of us to get out.”
Lory placed her board next to her, on the floor, shaking her head, then reached for her dagger. “The wood is too thick.” Angling the weapon at the stone, flat of the blade aligning with the gap, she pushed.
The metal on stone made a tortured sound, but the blade slid in. A finger wide at first, then two, then three. “Forget the wood,” she said with a grin. “Use your dagger.”
Aiden followed her lead without hesitation, discarding the board with one hand while he drew his weapon with the other, shoving the blade into the slit. “It fits. Great. What now?”
The momentary sense of victory left Lory’s system as fast as her consciousness had tried to leave her earlier.
“I don’t know. Perhaps move it around? Search for a mechanism behind the wall?” She was already following her own advice, sliding all the way to the corner, the blade screaming against the stone with every inch of progress she made, but this was the only place in this Guardians-damned room that could lead them somewhere. The ceiling was smooth, the floor inconspicuous, no hidden trapdoors or escape routes. If there was a way out, this was it.
Aiden was halfway to the other end of the wall when Lory’s dagger caught on something solid behind the wall. “I’ve got something,” she half-shouted, half-panted, her breathing labored again, despite the cloth protecting her. “It’s at the end of the gap, right before the corner. Move.”
The urgency rising inside her reminded her of the earlier onset of panic, but this time, excitement mingled with the sensation of it creeping up on her.
A loud click filled the room as Aiden stopped near the corner, his blade stuck the same way Lory’s was, and as they shared a look of victory and anxious anticipation, the wall started moving. Slowly, the massive rock lifted, leaving only a ten-inch-high obstacle separating them from the small stone chamber coming into view.
“We did it.” Lory was of half a heart to wait if this was truly the way out, but the wooden door at the side and key stuck in the lock told her it was. They’d done it. Only a few more steps and they’d be out.
As she got to her feet to dart to the door, her vision became blurry once more, and the familiar sweet smell became overwhelming. “We need to get out—now,” she managed, before her skin started burning—literally burning.
At first, a flicker of flame was all she spotted as she glanced at the hand she used to reach for the key. Lory didn’t yield to examine where it came from, already used to the racing of her pulse as she imagined a hundred ways of telling Falcrest what a prick he was for locking them up. But it didn’t stop there. Heat spread over her skin, climbing up her arm, until she could no longer ignore the flames dancing along hertunic, nibbling on the fabric with each passing moment. Like a river of gold and orange, they expanded to her shoulder, chest, and back, the heat increasing with every panic-bated breath. Eroth, save her. A few more heartbeats, and the flames would eat away at her skin. The agony would set in at any moment. This was the poison. Ithadto be the poison. Whatever was in the air made her burn, and the flames now consuming her entire body were proof Falcrest was ready to kill her after all. He’d just waited for the right moment. He didn’t even need to be present to eliminate her.
If only she could get out of there, the poison would wear off, and she’d stop going up in flames.
With her full weight, Lory threw herself at the door and grabbed the key, ignoring the searing sensation as the fire spread over her face. Her hair, her eyebrows, her skin—all of it would burn, melt. She’d die in this room.
“Lory!” Aiden’s shout convinced her she wasn’t hallucinating.
The door didn’t budge, her hands too slippery on the key to turn it—or the key turning into liquid in her grip.
