Xan extends a large, callused hand, his thumb striking hard into the flesh where her neck slopes toward her shoulder. Myna exhales, a sudden gasp escaping her lips, her eyes rolling back into her head as she succumbs to the pressure.
I rush forward, my arms outstretched, catching her just in time to ease her limp body to the ground. Rising from my crouched stance, I turn to face the man looming behind me. But with the gap between us bridged, my eyes catch on the finer details of torment that had eluded my earlier observation—the deep, ominous shadows beneath his eyes, the way he favors his left side, and the many scars that speak of suffering and resilience—and any frustration I felt withers away.
“Here,” I say, passing him the pendant still clutched in my hand. “Put this on. It will conceal you from sight. Stay right behind me.”
I wait for him to slip the necklace over his head, blinking as the magic takes effect and his form fades from sight, and then lead him down the narrow corridor until we reach the guard room. When I see the four Nightwings still passed out cold, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Your handiwork?” Xan asks, and I shiver as his breath skitters across the shell of my ear.
“They’re alive. But you’ll hopefully be long gone before they come to.”
I head up the stairs, and—even though I can’t see him, his feet as silent as mine on the rough stone—I can feel Xan’s presence scorchingmy back. When we round the last bend and the door comes into view, I hold up my hand to get him to wait.
I open the door a fraction and peek out into the hallway, holding my breath as I scan the darkened corners where the light from the lamps doesn’t quite reach. Satisfied that no one is lurking just out of sight, I dart down the hall. As we near the kitchen door, I reach for the handle, but the sound of Raven’s deep voice on the other side has my blood turning to ice in my veins.
“Fuck.”
I spin and blindly grab what I think is the front of Xan’s tunic, tearing it some more in the process as I drag him into a nearby supply closet, closing the door soundlessly and enveloping us in darkness. With his massive frame, the space is only just big enough for the two of us. Our bodies brush with each rapid inhale I take, and I inch away, pressing my back to the wooden shelves.
The warmth of Xan’s breath tickles my ear again as he whispers, “How’s the plan going so far?”
I scowl even though it’s too dark for him to see, choosing not to respond. Pressing my ear to the wood of the door, I bite my lip when I hear a muffled shout and the pounding of running footsteps.
“Shit!” I hiss in frustration, running my fingers roughly through my hair. “We left the door open.”
“Then we should probably make a run for it.”
“Stay close.”
We abandon our hiding spot and rush back out to the hall. The door down to the dungeon is wide open, and I silently curse myself for being so careless.
I pause at the kitchen door, straining to hear anything beyond the thick wood. Another wrong move could mean death for us both. When nothing but the faint crackle of the hearth reaches me, I push the door open.
The kitchen is dimly lit, dominated by a large wooden table cluttered with knives, bowls, and half-prepared ingredients. Shelves line the walls, stacked with jars and sacks, while the smell of baking bread hangs heavy in the air.
Cook, a stout woman with flour-dusted hands, looks up sharply as Istep inside. Her gaze narrows, unfamiliar and suspicious. “Sparrow left it by the door,” she says dismissively, her voice rough. I remain silent, my eyes shifting to the heavy pack resting against the far wall, next to the narrow door that opens to the back alley.
Without waiting for her to press further, I rush over, hoisting the bag onto my shoulder and pushing through the door. A quick glance over my shoulder is followed by a muttered, “Thanks,” before slipping outside. I hold the door open just long enough to ensure Xan follows, then let it fall shut behind us as my eyes scan the shadowed alley.
“Xan?” I whisper, biting my bottom lip.
If he’s left…
“Don’t worry, little bird.” His voice is a rough whisper at my side. “I said I’d play along.”
“I wasn’tworried,” I lie. “Now let’s get out of here.”
I stalk through darkened alleyways, steering clear of popular paths in favor of lesser-traveled roads and bridges. By the time we make it onto Maricious, we haven’t crossed paths with anyone, but I know this will be the hardest part.
As expected, the streets are crowded, tycheroi from all over the Sorrows drawn in by the seduction and revelry of what the isle has to offer. And all of them stand between us and our destination.
The Muse.
“Still with me?”
“Yes,” Xan’s disembodied voice growls.
“Good.” I frown, pointing to where the Muse stands at the end of the street, just as a chorus of boisterous laughter sounds from the group of tycheroi lining up by the doors. “We need to go there.”
