“I’m still standing,” he replies, stepping back. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
The cold hits us the moment we break free from the fortress. It slams into my lungs like stone, stealing the air from my chest. Snow whipsthrough the darkness in thick, biting flurries, swirling around our heads and coating the already-treacherous ground in a fresh, deceptive sheen. Behind us, the fortress burns, torches flaring in confusion, the distant din of shouts growing louder by the second.
We won’t have long.
Even if the guards aren’t fast on their feet, the carnoraxis will be rushing out at breakneck speed.
We stumble down the slope, boots slipping on ice, then crest a low hill. For a heartbeat, I think we’ve gained ground—but the snarling erupts behind us. Shadows streak forward, hulking and too fast, their claws tearing through the snow. The carnoraxis are closing in. My chest seizes with dread—until a blur explodes from the treeline.
Wolves. Dozens of them. They hurl themselves at the beasts, silver pelts flashing, fangs snapping into scaled flesh. The night splits with shrieks of pain and fury as wolves and carnoraxis collide, blood spraying across the drifts. A few of the creatures are dragged down, but others barrel past, relentless, the pounding of their pursuit vibrating through the ground beneath us. And over it all—shouts. The guards are closing in too.
Nadya’s hand slips into mine, fingers trembling with adrenaline and cold. “I can do it again,” she murmurs beside me, her breath fogging in the air. “Just—Just stay close.”
I nod, squeezing her hand. “We trust you.”
Around us, the others gather—Aila nursing her injured arm, Mylo still hauling Dante’s unconscious form across his shoulders. Sir Holden trudges grimly beside him, his sword dripping with blood, his face ashen but determined. Lorne, still gripping his sword, looks like a mountain torn from the earth, blood streaking his cheek but his shoulders unyielding. Isaac’s bow is slung across his back, the string frosted with ice.
Giorgi glances up at the keep behind us, then toward the twisted sprawl of woods ahead. “We’ll take the western ridge,” they say, already mapping a path in their mind. “Snow’s thicker there. Should cover our tracks if the wind keeps.”
Uncle Kormak steps closer, his presence like a wall of stone againstthe storm. “Giorgi says there’s a way out,” he says. “There’s a river—hidden underground, near the cliffs.”
“The Schierling River,” Giorgi adds quickly, urgency in their tone. “If we reach it, we can vanish. It’s the only way out.”
“If my soldiers followed my orders correctly,” Uncle Kormak continues, “there should be a ship waiting for us where the river meets the sea.”
My heart hammers. The shouts are closer now. The snarls too.
“Ready?” Nadya whispers beside me.
Her free hand lifts, fingers tracing invisible symbols through the air. Her eyes flutter shut, her lips moving in a whisper I can barely hear. The wind seems to hush for a moment—just a moment—and then the air thickens around us. A shimmer curls like heat off a summer stone, then vanishes. I send up a silent prayer that Nadya’s magic is working.
“I can’t promise it’ll hold if we stray too far,” she whispers, sweat beading on her brow despite the cold. “Stay close. No sudden moves.”
We begin to move—one cautious step at a time, boots crunching softly in the snow. The castle falls away behind us, swallowed by the storm. No one speaks. The only sound is the wind, howling low like wolves in mourning.
I glance at Dante’s unconscious form over Mylo’s shoulders, his face slack and pale, lashes dusted with frost. Fear claws at my chest. “Survive this,” I beg silently. “Please survive whatever the seer did to you.”
The snow covers our tracks almost as fast as we make them, but I glance back, anyway—just to be sure.
The glow of torches wavers through the trees, distant but searching.
We push deeper into the woods.
Nadya stumbles. The veil ripples, like gauze torn by a knife.
“Hold!” Giorgi hisses.
We freeze. Footfalls crunch through the snow. A patrol approaches, their faces stern. I don’t breathe. None of us do.
The guards pass within arm’s reach. One glances to the side, eyes narrowing, as if he senses something just beyond his reach. My heart seizes in my throat. I swear he’s looking right at me.
“Over here!” a voice shouts through the storm.
The guards jolt, heads snapping toward the sound. Without hesitation, they take off after it, crunching through the snow in the opposite direction.
I turn my head toward Lorne—his jaw set, one hand half-raised, his power flung into the night like a lifeline. He doesn’t even look at me, but I know the strain it takes, know he just saved us all.
The relief lasts only a heartbeat.
