I huff at him, turning toward the stairs. “Doesn’t mean I’m not tortured by it every day, Riot.”
As dawn breaks, Riot, Grace, and I venture through Southend, strolling past Lou’s, a single strip of black cloth hanging in the window, mourning the owner and warning everyone who passes. Black fabric is always hung during the day when warranted, discreetly communicating one message above all else: vampire attack.
Snow up to our calves, we slog through the forest bordering the bay that curves around the east side of the castle. Grace follows Riot, his form plowing a path ahead of her. Breath heaving from our effort, we finally break through the tree line and crouch to rest our legs and stay hidden at the edge of the forest.
Hail patters into the shimmering bay like diamonds scattering over glass, and rare sunshine streaks through spotty, heavy clouds. I shift beside Riot, my right thigh barking at me, and the stillness of the morning is eerie as fog curls across the water’s surface, blurring the castle beyond. The clouds shift, finally blotting the sun.
“The men I sent to scout last night saw no movement in or out of the castle,” I inform them.
“That’s odd,” Riot says, his boots scraping against snow as he lowers to balance on a knee and pulls the telescope from his chest pocket. “Are we still thinking dungeon access?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
No matter what anger I have toward my father, he was the best captain the Hunters had seen in centuries, and I trust his assessment, but I need to vet its current status.
Riot peers through the telescope, and a damp wind gusts past and into my bones, fog rolling back like the gods are on our side.
Grace shivers beside me, hunkering down tighter in her squat.
“There’s the usual thirty human guards on the rampart and another dozen in the turrets,” Riot says.
“Let’s go find our entrance,” I say.
We jog the three miles around the bay to the waste gate at the base of the massive stronghold, the thick, iron dungeon door beside it that opens up onto the bridge crossing the bay.
“Wish me the luck of the gods,” I whisper as Riot salutes me, and Grace giggles next to him.
I freeze the breath in my chest and step into deep sludge, the others remaining hidden against the edge of the castle wall. My magic simmers, reducing all bodily functions to a minimum to reduce the consumption of my breath and leave me with several minutes of no need for air.
And then I dive.
Under the foulness, I swim blindly for the rusted gate, and then my fingers find steel, and I yank at it.
No budge.
I feel along its edges to find the lock.
There.
My hand closes around the padlock, and I call my magic to attention. Muscles hardening, I pull at the steel, and the hinge of the lock bends and severs under my strength.
I drag the gate open in the soundless mud of waste and swim through.
Traveling to the right, I find stone and edge my fingertips upward toward a lip. Slowly, I float to the surface and peek above the flow to survey the tunnel I’m in.
The sewer is unguarded, as predicted.
I hoist myself onto the stone walkway and race toward the nearest door to test the handle.
Not locked.
Fucking idiots.
I’d worry about leaving a trail of sludge behind me as I explore, but it’s obvious no one comes down here. The cobwebs, rats, dirty pathways, and mold growth are overwhelming.
Wiping my face to clear what I can from my airways and eyes, I finally take a gagging breath, vision blurring at the stench. I make a mental note to carry sacks of water to rinse with and sealed cloths to wipe if this is our only way in.
I’m not taking down a kingdom covered in shit.
