We press ourselves into the shadows of an alcove, backs against the cold stone, breath low and shallow. The clatter of boots grows louder. Too many of them. We’ll be cornered if we don’t act fast.
Lorne creeps forward, his hand cupped around his mouth, eyes glinting with anticipation.
“Hold,” Dante murmurs.
Lorne’s calls out, clear and sharp—but it’s not his voice. “All of you—back to the east wing! Double the guard there, now!” Torbin’s voice. Commanding. Absolute.
The guards stumble to a halt mid-stride. For a heartbeat, there’s confusion—then swift obedience. They turn on their heels, boots hammering the floor as they rush in the opposite direction.
When their footsteps fade, Lorne turns back to us, a smug glimmer in his eye. “That’ll buy us a bit of time.”
I flash him a nod. We push deeper into the dark, the path ahead clearer, though the stakes only grow heavier with each step.
We climb a narrow, stone stairwell, the steps slick with frozen dew, and Giorgi motions to a heavy, wooden door up ahead.
Aila gives me a look, fierce and certain, as she readies her sword. Mylo hefts his hatchet, Isaac holds up his crossbow, and Giorgi readies a short, wicked blade.
Kormak looks back at us with a nod before throwing open the door.
We mean to barge in and strike fast, but for a heartbeat, the world stills.
The corridor is filled with chained carnoraxis. They surge from the shadows—hulking beasts of twisted flesh and sinew, their black claws gleaming under the guttering torchlight. Their snarls are low and guttural, their eyes burning red as they lunge toward us with terrifying speed. Their collars are connected to chains bolted to the brick walls, but they can still reach us.
“Hold the line!” Kormak roars, his sword already singing from its sheath.
The first carnoraxis slams into me, claws raking out. I pivot, driving my sword clean through its throat, but not before its jagged claw tears a deep gash across my forearm. The blood splatters warm and fast against the icy stone before I even feel the sting of pain. I grit my teeth and swing my falchion, slicing it through before shoving the creature’s body aside.
I continue to slash through the horde, but I take in the battle in my periphery. A beast barrels toward Isaac, who twists just in time, but not fast enough. A curved claw scores a brutal line across his cheek, blood spilling bright against the pale stretch of his skin. Isaac staggers but doesn’t fall. His crossbow releases a bolt, and the creature crumples at his feet.
Aila looses an arrow at another beast, striking it clean between the eyes—but the recoil jolts her injured arm, and she hisses in pain, clutching it against her chest.
“Mylo!” she snarls, backing toward him. “You better be ready to cover my ass!”
Mylo swings his hatchet in a vicious arc, cleaving through another carnoraxis with a roar. “I was born ready, lieutenant.”
But in the chaos, he doesn’t see the creature lunging at him from the blind spot behind his shoulder.
Aila does.
Battered arm and all, she steps in, wielding her sword one-handed. It hits home, the beast collapsing mid-lunge.
“You owe me.” She pants, flashing him a wild grin.
“Buy you a whole tavern if we survive this!” Mylo growls, swinging again.
A stairway comes into view, and everything inside of me is telling me I need to climb up. Celeste is near. I can feel her presence like a pulse beneath my skin, a frantic drumbeat calling me home.
“Go!” Aila shouts to me, planting her boot into a carnoraxis’s chest and slamming her sword into its throat. “We’ll hold them!”
I bolt through the chaos, boots pounding up the narrow, stone stairway sodden with ice and blood. My lungs burn with each breath, the wound on my forearm slick and seeping, but I don’t slow.
Nothing matters but getting to her.
ChApter
Fifty-Seven
Celeste
