But instead I feel a sharp point in my abdomen and, as I look down, I see the dagger in her hand.
“I already told you,Brag.” She hisses my species at me as if it’s something she’s found at the bottom of a well. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
“But you belong to the sword and to the tavern, my lady,” I rumble.
“They belong to me” she snaps.
“Are you sure about that?”
Lady Ryle opens her mouth, pulling in a breath for her latest retort, the blade digging into my ribs. But she doesn’t get the chance, not as the ground opens a yawning maw and swallows us both.
Whole.
HAZEL
Iam Alice. I am falling down the rabbit hole. I don’t even know who Alice is or why she fell, only that I am too. I don’t even think I’m screaming.
Someone else must be.
Arms wrap around me from behind, heavy, muscular, a mouth beside my ear.
“I have you, my lady,” it whispers, and the screaming stops.
And the falling stops as suddenly as it began. The mist which accompanied the drop in huge swirls thins to a light fog which is pierced by a thin light as if nothing much matters anymore.
“Where…” My teeth chatter. “Where are we?” I ask the arms.
“The Underhill,” the arms reply in a deep, familiar voice. “And it is not where we should be, nor any creature living.”
“I can take care of myself.” I wriggle against the arms, despite the fact my entire core is telling me to stay in them.
“I’m counting on it.”
I am released, and I turn to face the owner of the appendages.
“You!” I spit out at Warden. “You did this,” I add with a growl. “I need to get back to the Dark Gibbet. There’s work to be done.”
“I don’t think that will be possible.” Warden lifts his head, shoving his chin into the damp air as his nostrils flare. “Not immediately.”
He looks back at me, dark eyes burning into my soul.
“And you are correct, this is my fault.”
I feel my jaw drop.
“It is?”
“There is a reason my presence interrupted the good running of your tavern.” Warden stares off into the distance.
“What?” My head spins. “I don’t understand.”
“And I don’t understand how you can have no magic but wield the sword at your side,” Warden says.
My hand instinctively goes to the hilt. “It came with the tavern. The owner always wears it,” I say, far too swiftly for my liking, as if the words are not my own.
Warden rubs at the scruff on his chin, scratching at it with dark claws I don’t recall he had before. “And when did you come to own this tavern?”
“I’ve always been there,” I respond.
