They listen. Fleeing toward the exit in a frantic stream.
I stay.
My mind races. But there is no pulley to unjam, no shaft for him to climb, no easy path back. The hole is deep and pitch-black. I can’t see the bottom. Fifty feet? A hundred? A thousand?
Is he alive, or was he gone the instant the rock gave way?
I take a step back, bow my head as the cavern rumbles.
Then a sound. A scratch. Pebbles cascading. A long, deep howl vibrating up through the stone.
I whirl back to the edge, lean close, and stare hard into the dark, listening.
A massive white paw bursts from the shadows, claws screeching as they bite into the rock. Another follows, raking through stone as if it were paper, muscles bunching beneath ivory fur. Then, rising from the black, the wolf’s head emerges.
Luceran.
He claws his way up the wall of the chasm, dragging himself closer with sheer, feral strength. His breath steams in the smoky air, each exhale a cloud of frost, and I notice his runes pulse faintly under the thick winter pelt.
When he’s close enough, I reach out without thinking, pressing my hand to his enormous paw, trembling with effort. My fingers barely wrap around a single claw, but still I hold on, pulling with everything I have.
“Come on,” I whisper, breath shaking. “Come on.”
With a final, thunderous heave of his powerful body, he surges upward, hauls himself over the edge, and collapses beside me, panting and shuddering.
But even after the effort, something is wrong.
He lies too still. His breathing is shallow, barely there, ragged gasps tearing free in broken yelps that twist something deep in my chest.
I run a hand through his fur, then cup his trembling muzzle as his whiskers twitch beneath my fingers.
“Lord Luceran,” I whisper.
Slowly his body begins to change.
The fur recedes, shedding away to reveal pale skin beneath. Claws twist and shorten into hands and feet. The massive frame shrinks, folds inward, until at last his face is revealed, contorted with agony.
I gather him into my arms as he reaches for his chest, clawing at the place where his heart beats beneath his ribs, and suddenly I understand.
“Breathe,” I say, forcing calm into my voice even as panic surges through me, sharp and suffocating. “Deep breaths. Just breathe.”
I have no herbs. No tonics.
All I can do is stay with him. Beg him to steady himself.
He tries. I can see it in the way his body strains, in the effort etched into every line of him, but then his muscles seize, his body convulsing violently in my arms.
“What’s happening to him?” Pax asks, fear cutting through his voice.
“We need to get him back to the castle,” I say, already wrenching off my coat. The fabric tears as I drag it free, but I don’t care as I drape it over his bare body. “Help me. We have to get him to the carriage.”
It takes everything Pax and I have to move him. He’s dead weight between us, each step a brutal effort. When we near the entrance, miners who’ve made it to safety rush in to help.
We load him into the carriage as sprites flurry frantically around us.
I climb in after him. Pax shuts the door, his face pale as he watches through the window while the horses lurch forward and break into a run.
Inside the carriage, I sink to the floor with Luceran in my arms, my coat wrapped tight around him. I brush the hair from his eyes, my fingers shaking.
