Unfortunately, forever lasts less than a minute.
Voices echo through the Tower. Fast footsteps across sand. The crackle of torches.
“Keep searching! Their footprints led this direction.” A voice I know all too well barks orders.
Declan’s body goes rigid beneath me, every muscle wound tight as a spring.
“If they’re not dead now,” Dav snaps, “they will be soon.”
I tilt my head back, gaze searching the dark ring of sand that surrounds the top of the Tower like the rim of an ancient hourglass. The blanket falls to the floor as I move, and Declan slides out from under me. He snatches up his pants. Then my wrap. Then my bra and panties.
“It’s the guards,” he says, handing me my bundle of clothes. “We missed our performance.”
Twenty
I’m halfway into my wrap, one arm through the sleeve, hair sweaty and sticking to the nape of my neck when a shout rips the air above us—a muffled command that plainly says Dav and the others are close.
Prickles of energy start to snap against my skin. This is more than the adrenaline of throwing on clothes and knowing we’ll have to pay the price for not performing for the queens and their court. Magick coils in my chest. A low, patient pressure that settles behind my breastbone and won’t be ignored. The Tower hums through the stones under my soles. Its magick is talking, speaking directly to me, warning me, and I’ve learned enough about the Tower and this kingdom not to ignore it.
“I don’t know how,” I say, breath shallow, fingers fumbling with the ties of my wrap. “But we need to get away from here before the guards find this place.”
Declan finishes pulling on his sandals, his browdrawn tight as he studies the ring of packed sand. “We could try to climb it.”
We cross to one of the walls that hems the Tower in, a smooth curve of compacted sand rising above us. I press my hand to the wall. The surface gives, melting beneath my palm, grains slipping between my fingers like flour.
“Canwe climb it?”
As if on cue, the sand along the wall shifts. A few grains sift over my toes, then a soft, hissing cascade slides down the face with a lowshh-shh-shhlike someone tipped the hourglass. The sand bulges and settles. Holds take shape—ridges, shelf-steps, and fist-sized nubs push out where there were none. Sparks drift along the new features in two parallel columns, markers lighting side-by-side paths up the face of the wall.
Declan tests the first handhold, then grins. “We can now.”
He gives the sand an approving tap and nods for me to try. I edge closer, skeptical, and slip my foot into the lowest pocket. I press my weight into it, and it doesn’t budge.
With a wobbly smile, I say, “Seems solid enough.”
He rubs his hands together then shakes them out and rolls his neck. The motions are small, muscle memory, but there’s an eager looseness about him I haven’t seen before. “Don’t think of it as pulling yourself up with your arms. Push with your legs,” he instructs. “Let those bigger muscle groups do the work.”
“The only thing I’ve ever climbed is a ladder, and that wasn’t even recently.” My throat tightens as I track the lit paths up the sand. “What if I fall?”
“You won’t.” He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”
He points to a shallow ledge. “Plant the toes of your right foot there. Keep your arms extended and grip the holds for balance, then drive up.Push—don’t pull.”
I do as he says—press my toes into the pocket, feel the wall take my weight, and reach for the first set of ridges.
When his hand steadies my hip it’s a coach’s touch, firm and correcting. “Watch your feet and use your toes. Push, Amanda. Good. Now reach.”
My lungs work. My stomach churns, but motion settles the panic, and Declan’s voice is a rhythm I can lean on.
“Keep breathing,” he murmurs, a buoy I can cling to. “I’m right here.”
Sparks gather like moths, signaling where I should place my hands and feet next, then moving up as soon as I pass. A breadcrumb trail built of flames and magick.
Declan climbs beside me, damp hair sticking to his forehead, grin wide and boyish and beautiful. He moves naturally, the muscles in his back and arms tightening and relaxing in easy motions. Every so often he throws me a glance, and his smile is not just about the climb—there’s adoration in it, like he’s watching something precious learn to move.
Halfway up he glances over at me, eyes bright with the reflection of the sparks guiding our path. “So this is magick.”
I breathe, then laugh, and the sound is thin in the open air. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
