“But we can’t feel you like you can feel us,” says Quinn. “It doesn’t make sense. Come on, Ronan. I know you love her, but think rationally.”
My pulse picks up when I hear those words. Of course Quinn can tell. Hell, I think the entire court can tell.
As much as I’m grateful for Quinn and Taran, I wish I had a shadow-born here to help me. We’ve been trying to hire a shadow-born guard after Sylvie’s rescue pointed out the holes in our security, but they’re in short supply. Maybe we’ll find one in whatever room they have Sylvie in.
“Fine,” I say. “Taran, go around that bend. There’s no one in the hall, but I expect there’s a door nearby. Look, listen, and make no sound. Then we can decide. I’ll keep the light here around the corner. Signal if it isn’t enough for you to tell.”
He creeps in the darkness, his footsteps almost completely silent in spite of his armor. It’s something the Orsa must have taught him because I have no other guards who can keep as quiet.
“There’s a single door on the left. Then the passage continues, but the light didn’t reach far. I see no one around and no obvious traps.”
“Should we knock?” asks Quinn.
I chuckle in spite of myself, and I’m glad she’s here to help lighten the mood. “I’m going.”
They both start to protest, and I silence them. “I know. But she’s there, and she needs me. Wait around the corner. If you hear anything—anything—that sounds like a struggle, come in.”
“Yes, sir,” says Taran.
“Go get her, you idiot,” says Quinn.
I walk to the door, and I reach for the handle, but then—
Sylvie is gone again. Her feelings vanish, and I’m filled with the sudden terror that I’ll find her dead on the other side. That I won’t find her at all, and thatthisis the trap. They’ve somehow impersonated her, or she’s tricked me somehow. That Quinn was right, and this was all part of her plan to kill me.
No. I don’t believe it. I could never believe it.
She’s here, and she needs me.
I fling the door open, traps be damned.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ronan
The room is silent and still when I enter it, with only the flicker of a candle in the corner to let me know someone has been in here recently.
And then I see her on the table.
“Sylvie! She’s here!”
I hear Quinn and Taran rush in behind me. “What’s that?” asks Quinn, pointing to something on the floor as I rush to Sylvie. “Cracked door,” says Taran. “Footsteps. Looks like someone left in a hurry—”
I don’t know what they’re talking about, and I don’t care. Sylvie is here. I touch her—she’s alive; thank the gods, she’s alive—but she’s hurt. Some light bruises on her hands and wrists, and gods, what’s that? There’s blood flowing from her arm. Now I see what Quinn meant. There’s some kind of tube coming out. Quinn picks up a bag from the floor. I can’t tell what either thing is made of. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.
Quinn moves to detach whatever it is from Sylvie’s arm, but I stop her. “She needs that,” I say about the blood in the bag. There’s so much of it. “She’s weak.”
“Can it just…go back in?” she asks, giving the bag a gentle squeeze.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I say, holding the bag up. “Yes,” I say, feeling Sylvie’s pulse. I squeeze the bag again. “I think that’s working.”
“Where’s the trap, Ronan?” asks Quinn. “There was meant to be a trap.”
“I don’t know, but I’m getting her out of here. Find Taran. The other shadow-born may be here somewhere.”
Quinn takes off down the hall. I lift Sylvie into my arms, carefully holding the bag above her.
Once Quinn’s footsteps are gone, I feel the slice of steel at my left ankle.
