Two more thornstalkers leapt?—
And the sky split.
The rain fell in a sudden torrent, as though a blade had cleft the clouds wide open. The droplets stung like thrown sand. I was drenched at once, the world around me obscured.
But I could still smell. The smell was astringent, familiar—so fucking familiar I could cry.
The thornstalkers shrieked and bolted, diving back into the hedge. From the ground, a green haze began to rise, filling the air and making my eyes water the way it had thousands of times. I stared into it, shock swirling in me even as my bow and arrow shook in my hands.
Acid.
The rain falling from the sky was acid.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The rain fell hard,fast. It sizzled against the earth. It burned my scalp, my skin, my eyes. Some barely acknowledged part of me liked the burn; when I closed my eyes, I was almost back in the Dip.
And for once, that rain had saved my life.
But it made dragging a fourteen-stone fae through the dirt sheer hell. Dorian’s body was as inert as a broken-off section of the southern wall—only moving him felt somehow heavier, more unwieldy, more impossible.
Every time I got leverage, my boots skidded out from under me. His soaked leather armor slipped through my fingers. We were only ten paces from the end when he fell, but those ten paces might as well have been the length of the maze for how long it took to drag him a single step.
Still, I kept at it. The veins in his face were blackened. Even the whites of his eyes had turned dark, like voids staring out. But every few seconds I checked his breath. Desperate for proof.
He was still breathing. Still alive.
The rain built a green mist around us, just like it had back home. The sight was eerie—and somehow comforting. Gods, Thalassa had been right: the Kingdom of Stormshadbeen wretched.
I dragged and fell. I dragged and screamed. I dragged and yelled at Dorian to move, to crawl, to do anything.
He never responded. He was somewhere else entirely.
At last, after an eternity of rain and desperation, I pulled him clear—past the hedge and into the barren openness. Only when both his feet were clear of the Eldermaze did I drop to my knees beside him, chest heaving, heart pounding like it might burst through my ribs.
“You,” I rasped, my voice raw from shouting, “better not fucking die on me now.”
Then I collapsed beside him.
I woketo a horse’s nose in my face, sniffing and nibbling my braid. It was a brown horse I didn’t recognize, but atop it sat a figure I did.
“Haskel?” I rasped. My voice barely worked.
Memory crashed back. Dorian.
My hand shot out and met only empty ground. He wasn’t beside me. Not behind me. He was gone.
“Seems your eyes still work,” Haskel said. “Here, I’ve got your partner.”
I raised my stinging gaze. Dorian was slung across the back of Haskel’s horse, limp and still.
Haskel led another horse—Pettifey—alongside. Some distant part of me was warmed by the knowledge that the filly had been wandering near the maze for days. “Can you ride?” Haskel asked. “We have to leave now.”
I felt like death. I nodded.
“Good.” He dropped the lead rope into my hand. “Meet me at the grove.”
My fingers closed around it. “How—how do I get there?”
