“Give or take,” she says, stepping lightly onto a circular staircase. “We’re going down, aren’t we?Below?”
Yes. Yes, we are. Yes, we need to. But—“Can I have a second?” I peel the armor from my breast and throw it to the floor. I can’tbreathe.
“What did you see?” she asks, her gaze narrowed. “What was it?”
“The cult,” I say, collecting myself for another moment before joining her. Though I try not to stare at her beside me—terrified yetalive—I fail miserably. My eyes search hers with a hunger bordering desperation. As if they’ll never drink their fill. “Just the cult.”
“Right.” She glances down the stairs. There are no railings on the sides. We could easily fall off. “Let me know when you’re ready, warlock.”
I glare at her, though I know beneath the surface, she’s trying her best. She’s just trying to be strong. I need to do the same. I would have succumbed to a fucking music box and a mirror if it weren’t for her. This entire castle would have devoured me in minutes.
“Come on,” I snap, though I take her hand gently and begin our hike down, down, down the stairs. Before we can make it far enough, the castle groans. Rumbles. And the corridors begin to rotate.
“Shit,” she hisses.
And then the staircase moves too—upward. Smooth and liquid, like a snake.
“Down, stairwell.” Her hand lurches to my elbow at the sudden, jarring movement, and her fingertips bite into my skin as her eyes clench shut. As her expression crumples.“Down.”
The staircase doesn’t listen to her, and her voice breaks again. This time on a soft plea. “I don’t know how much more I can fucking take, so please don’t send us back up there.Pleasetake us downstairs.” Her voice comes out frail, like a child’s, and I can imagine her here—right here—as a young woman of seventeen or eighteen, pleading with the cursed walls to take it easy on her. And I know they never did.
I glance between her and the stairs and the surrounding pitch blackness. She shifts closer to me as we rise higher and higher intothe sky, and she’s fuckingterrified. She’s been terrified this whole time, and I’ve beenuseless. My magic thrashes between my ribs like a wild animal, begging to be released. Demanding freedom. The sorcerer could arrive at any moment, and we’re no closer to finding the heart now than we were—what? An hour ago? Two days ago? Who knows how long we’ve been here? I promised Zephyra I would get her out. Ineedto get her out.
This fucking place is cursed. And I’m done with it.
I am Warlock Arion Stone, and I am not going to let my mermaid die here. This isnotthe end of us.
“Fuck this,” I growl.
Seizing Zephyra around the waist, I haul her against me and dive over the side of the staircase. Straight down the center of the stairs. Cool, damp air rushes past us.
More and more and more fuckingdarkness.
Zephyra screams again, but I’m not waiting around any longer. I am Warlock Arion Stone, and I can—andwill—save her.
When we land, it’s in a rough-hewn chamber of jagged limestone.
Bits of iridescent shells gleam within the rock from the faint light above. Starfish. Mollusks. Petrified crustaceans that appear centuries old, if not older. There are no doors or windows here, and as soon as our feet touch the floor and my wings relax, the staircase folds up on itself like an accordion. Disappearing into nothing.
“Fantastic,” Zephyra seethes. “Great plan.Nowwhat are we supposed to do—”
I clap a hand over her mouth, thinking. Magic riots inside me, painful and bruising as it bears down on me. As if it’s attempting to grind me into the floor. As if we haven’t gone low enough yet. But there are no exits here. The stairs are gone. Zephyra grumbles against my hand, biting at my fingers so I might release her. But—
My eyes snag on the wall beside her.
She follows my gaze, and her own eyes widen. My hand falls from her lips, and she whirls around, snatching the sapphire dagger from her bandolier. I quickly brandish my sword.
“You havegotto be fucking kidding me,” she hisses.
Seven guards begin to break free from the walls in a crescent-moon formation, their faces chiseled from the limestone itself. Barnacles hardening their jaws and crusting their lips. Long-dead crustaceans fill in gaps of their missing flesh and broken bones. They are revolting, hideous creatures, and each of their beady black eyes are fixed solely upon Zephyra.
“You want to try talking your way through this one?” I ask, sliding her behind me. But it’s no use. They’re going to surround us. She pivots swiftly, back-to-back with me, her dagger pointed outward.
“I hate to say this, but I have never seen these guards in my life.”
The sound of her voice splinters their stony expressions, their faces twisting into ferocious scowls.
“Oh good. They seem friendly,” I mutter. “Where are we on the whole ‘no killing’ rule?”
