We circle one of the largest tents, possibly Alden’s, where Leigh should be with him now offering the cure in exchange for Corona’s freedom. I pray she’s successful.
In the distance, smoke billows into the night sky, carried on the desert breeze. A few wolves around the fire take notice, their heads snapping up in alarm, but it isn’t until flames engulf a nearby tent, the crackling sound of burning fabric filling the air, that someone yells, “Fire!”
The wolves leap to their feet, yipping with panic, and race off to tend to the flames that Brigid has unleashed.
“Now,” I whisper-yell to Gianna and Marlowe. We dart into the prisoner tent. Rough canvas brushes against my skin as I slip inside.
Darkness engulfs me, pressing in from all sides. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the pitch-black surroundings, and shapes and shadows gradually form in the gloom. In the corner, two slumbering forms catch my eye. Their bodies curled as if seeking comfort in sleep. It’s Jorina and Stellan.
There are no guards, and my nerves are set on edge. Were they so arrogant not to expect an ambush, or did we fall into a trap?
Jorina and Stellan sleep with their heads against a wooden beam, their hands bound by cuffs that glint in the faint firelight filtering through the tent’s entrance. The design is like the ones used at Kratos to stifle a witch’s magic. Heat twists in my gut.
“Melt their restraints,” I instruct Marlowe, who, to my surprise, hasn’t abandoned us like I had anticipated. Despitenow having what she wanted—a weapon to protect herself and a pardon from the queen—she remains by my side. There’s still time for her to change her mind, though. Flames ignite in her palms.
“Don’t move, Your Majesty, or I might accidentally burn you,” Marlowe says.
Queen Jorina blinks awake. “Are you here to save us?” she asks, her voice hoarse.
“Yes. Now hold still.”
I watch the tent’s entrance with bated breath as Marlowe works behind me. To my left, Gianna’s fingers twitch around her knife. The seconds tick by, each one an eternity stretched taut, until finally, there’s a soft hiss of melting metal accompanied by Marlowe’s whispered warning to Jorina to stay silent.
Stellan flinches as Marlowe approaches him next. He blinks his weary eyes while she works on his restraints. His gaze shifts to his daughter, and Gianna’s lips curve into a half-smile that says,Yeah, even after you abandoned me, I came for you.
A shadow flickers over Stellan’s features as he returns his attention to Marlowe, but not before I notice the tears in his eyes. He seems to understand he messed up, yet we still risked everything to rescue him. Our being here doesn’t necessarily ensure our survival or freedom—that will depend on Leigh’s ability to negotiate with Alden—but at the very least, it buys them some time.
When his restraints fall away, Stellan massages his wrists, chafed but not as raw as Jorina’s.
“Let’s collect Brigid and leave,” I whisper.
I crouch to help Jorina stand, acutely aware of her cane’s absence. Her clothes hang limply against her willowy, frail frame, the fabric worn and stained—a pungent odor of sweat and grime clings to her like a second skin.
“Where is Leigh?” Jorina asks.
“Safe, Your Majesty,” I tell her. Gianna offers Stellan her hand. He takes it and rises, towering over her.
“You look so much like her,” he notes. I assume he means Maria.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“Wait,” a soft, accented voice calls from the shadows. “Take me with you.” The words are barely louder than a whisper but carry a desperate edge.
We all pause, and Marlowe and I share a narrowed look. Neither of us noticed another presence in the room. I grip Jorina tighter as I turn toward the voice. Peering into the darkness, I find a young woman with long, matted black hair stuck to her dirty skin. Her clothes are ugly and torn, and her hands and feet are restrained.
Who the fuck is this girl?
I shift toward her.
“I sense a trap,” Marlowe rushes out. But something about the girl seems familiar, as if we’ve met before, but I know we haven’t.
“Please,” the girl says. “Don’t leave me with him. He’s a monster.”
My grip tightens on Jorina. “Who is a monster?”
The girl licks her cracked lips. “Zeus.”
“We can’t leave her,” Gianna commands.
