I let my smile spread right across my mouth. Then I tug. I yank. I groan. My shoulder – the bad one with the scar – clicks right out of its joint, pain spearing into the center of my brain and a whole host of curses flying from my mouth. But that arm also slips right through the binds. With a great deal of effort and pain, I hold my hand out in front of me. There’s blood running down to my fingertips, my wrists slashed to shit, and I can’t move my arm like I should be able to. However, I can also feel some of my magic running that way too.
I bring the other arm, with the bind still wrapped around the wrist, out in front of me, and with my shadow magic I blast it to hell.
“There we go,” I say, shaking out my relatively good hand as if the whole thing was fucking easy. Which, just to be clear, it wasn’t.
I examine my shredded wrists carefully, and use my magic to heal the wounds while the others both stare at me in shock. I’m guessing they weren’t expecting that. Then I take ahold of my shoulder and with a grunt and a grit of my teeth, haul my joint back into place. It hurts just as much, white light streaking right across my vision. When I’m convinced it’s worked, I stretch my arms above my head, groaning and leaning first to one side, then to the next, the pain making me nauseous – not that I’d admit it.
“Just fucking untie me,” Beaufort snaps, obviously tired of my little display.
I bring my arms back to my sides, wriggling my fingers. “Please,” I say.
Beaufort frowns. I tilt my head to one side and wait.
And wait.
“Please,” Beaufort mumbles eventually.
I wink at him and stroll toward my other bond brother, sending my magic shooting at the binds on his wrists and freeing him instantly.
“Dray,” Beaufort growls, “this isn’t time for fun and games.”
“There’s always time for fun and games, Beau,” I say. But sensing he’s definitely reached his limit now, I shoot my magic at his binds next, and they snap open, falling away to the floor.
Both my bond brothers copy my earlier movements – rolling their shoulders, stretching their arms, and feeling for the magic in their fingertips. Then we’re diverting our attention to the door. We don’t even need to say it. All three of us are shooting shadows at it in the next breath.
Only, of course, it isn’t that damn easy. It seems the door is made of the same stuff the binds were. It absorbs our magic like a giant sponge and stands there just as solid and just as fucking annoying as it always did.
“Shit,” I mumble.
Then my eyes dart to the window with its bars. I stroll that way and examine the material. It’s also made of the same shadow-absorbing stuff, but brute force worked before, and I think it can work again. I use my magic to tie ropes around the bars.
“What are you doing?” Beaufort asks.
But Thorne understands, quickly doing the same with his, and finally Beaufort catches on and copies us. Then we’re all heaving the shadow ropes towards us. At first, nothing much happens and despite the agony radiating through my shoulder,I keep on yanking at the rope. Then there’s creaking, groaning, and the sound of metal grinding against stone.
“It’s working,” I tell them through my gritted teeth.
With relief, we haul with all the strength we have. The frame of the bars start to shift in the stone opening. A little at first, barely a quarter of an inch, then a little more, and then a lot more. Then the whole damn thing comes crashing out of the window-frame and tumbling to the floor, nearly sending the three of us flying backward too.
“Shit.” I laugh. “That actually worked.”
I’ve always hated plans, but it seems sometimes they do actually pay off.
Thorne strides to the now-open window and peers out. “There are no guards down there,” he says.
“So what are we going to do?” Beaufort asks. “Shimmy down like Ra-fucking-punzel?”
I shrug. “Don’t see why not.”
Beaufort shakes his head. “It seems too easy. This place must be crawling with guards.”
“Possibly,” Thorne agrees, “then again, what do we have to lose?”
But I think these fuckwits underestimated us – expected us to rely only on our magic, forgetting we have other skills and talents too.
“Come on then,” I say.
My shadow magic still lies on the ground, a shimmering dark coil of rope. I tie it to a hook on one of the walls, hoping it’s secure enough, and then I toss it out the window. The window itself is fucking small and I have to squeeze, push, pull, and manipulate my body until I’m through. I don’t know how Thorne is gonna get out – he’s even bigger than me.
