My grip tightens around my blade’s hilt, and I notice Therion’s already in a fighting stance, axe poised for use.He feels it, too.
The tunnel twists sharply to the right, narrowing even more. The air shifts—subtle but wrong. Too still. No echoes of distant smugglers. No faint shuffle of rats. Just silence.
A predator’s silence.
“Where the fuck is everyone?” Merrik rumbles behind me.
I spin just as Therion does, both of us looking back toward the entrance.
Therion lunges, hand reaching through the gap, fingertips brushing metal—then the gate slams down with a thunderous clang. His knuckles scrape against the iron as he yanks his arm back, cursing violently.
But it’s too late.
The iron gate slams shut.
Torvyn’s face is there—half-lit by the torches—but there’s nothing soft in his eyes.
“Torvyn!” Therion barks, slamming at the gate.
Torvyn holds up a hand, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t want to, boss. But—” He cuts off, voice rough. “It’s Finn. They promised they wouldn’t hurt him if I did this.” His breathing is ragged, panicked, “I’m doing it for my boy.”
The words hit like a fist to the gut.
“You fucking sold us out!” My voice comes out like a snarl, lethal. “They won’t spare you, Torvyn. You’re nothing but a fucking pawn. Both your heads will be on spikes before the sun sets,” I dropmy voice low and guttural then, malice lacing every syllable, “and if they don’t, I’ll put them there myself.”
Torvyn’s hand lingers on the gate’s latch, knuckles white. “I’m sorry, Kael.” His voice cracks, barely a whisper. “I know what this means.”
“You’re already dead,” I spit back. “I’ll come for you.”
His hand lingers on the lock for a breath longer, then he’s gone—shadows swallowing him as he disappears into the pass. Therion reaches for the lock, poking his fingers through the iron gate, but he pulls his hand back instantly, gritting his teeth and seething. “Fuck!” he yells. “It’s made of lillath.”
Magic-nullifying metal.
“Kael...” Seren’s whisper is barely a thread, her wide eyes fixed on the shadows shifting ahead. “They’re here.”
I turn?—
And torches are lining the tunnel, shadows stretching long before dozens of Royal Guards emerge, their armor catching the dim light. Their blades gleam—sharpened and waiting.
Elyssara’s breath hitches, sharp and fast, but she doesn’t step back. Her dagger’s already drawn, knuckles white around the hilt. “We’re trapped.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, voice like stone. I slide one sword free, the metallic rasp loud in the suffocating dark. “But they forgot one thing.”
The darkness stirs around me—thin tendrils of shadow curling up my forearm, licking the blade.
I smile savagely.
“I’m better in the fucking dark.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
ELYSSARA
Ronyn doesn’t wait—hisarrow flies, piercing through the throat of a soldier before he can even raise his sword. The man gurgles, blood bubbling over his lips as he crumples, the crest of King Thalmyr barely catching the dim light before it’s swallowed by darkness.
I drop low into a fighting stance and move like a predator converging on its prey.
Steel screams against steel. The tunnels are a cacophony of clashing blades, strangled shouts, and the wet crunch of bodies hitting stone. The copper tang of blood thickens the air, hot and suffocating, as I twist beneath the arc of a sword—its edge grazing the braid at the nape of my neck.
