I didn’t watch as the others hissed in displeasure twice,apparently needing a double dose because they’d both been poisoned in battle, not an intentional injection like I’d received.
“Now are you going to tell us what the fuck happened?” Artton said with a bit more bite than needed.
Endymion was calm, but his eyes darting to the door betrayed him.
“Wymond’s bairn,” he finally said, voice thick. “He… he died.”
The room went silent.
“Lanacia?” Sidrick asked.
Endymion’s deep-blue eyes gave it away before he spoke. “Dead.”
“Fuck,” Artton muttered, and I didn’t miss how his hand moved to where he usually hid a dagger, only to come up empty.
And just like that, I knew exactly what had happened to me before Endymion showed up—how the shadow wanted vengeance. “Wymond,” I said, almost choking on his name, “he blames me for their deaths.”
Endymion’s face was unreadable as he looked down at me. “Yes. And he’s coming for you.”
Chapter 54
Something Fixed. Something Broken.
Following Endymion out of the cell, I gasped, steadying myself against the corridor wall as a wave of energy flashed through me.
“Are you okay?” Endymion said, checking me over.
I shook my head, reorienting myself. “I think so.”
I hadn’t realized just how oppressed magic had been inside that obsidian tomb, but with every second I stood on the other side, I could feel the Mother again. I tried to conjure, to no avail.
My gaze snapped to Endymion’s. “I thought you gave us the antidote.”
“I did. But it can take hours to flush your system.”
Feeling exposed, I made for my bandolier, hating that it was displayed on the wall like some sort of trophy.
“You can’t,” Endymion said, stopping me.
My brows furrowed. “What do you meanI can’t?” I said with more bite than intended.
He glanced to the exit, then back to me, as if weighing the time it would cost to explain. “If I lead the three of you out of here clad in weapons, we won’t make it out of this palace.”
“Prisoner transport?” Sidrick asked coming to my side.
“It’s the only way,” Endymion said, “unless one of you has a light-weaving unara.”
“Like, invisibility?” I asked, feeling stupid for even saying it aloud.
“Invisible, no,” Artton offered. “But if we did—which we don’t”—he threw a look at Endymion that I couldn’t quite read—"then the unara could make us blend in by looking like autumn soldiers."
“Really? That’s possible?”
“Not that I’ve witnessed in this lifetime,” Artton said.
“But it is theoretically possible,” Sidrick added.
“Regardless,” Endymion said, growing impatient, “your weapons have to stay here.”
