Page 146 of Fallen Nocturne

We move through the halls of the Palace of Bones silently.

The name fits. Massive rib cages form archways above us, vertebrae rise in stacked pillars, and thousands of skulls have been pressed into the floor to create grotesque mosaics. Ancient magic hums through every polished surface. It’s so powerful that I feel it vibrating through the soles of my boots.

Her Highness leads with Svenn—Arescaine, at her side. The vampire’s shadow keeps us hidden from patrols.

I glance at the others following behind them. Lord Rainer walks with one hand resting near his weapon while his Grimsbane, Shade, moves beside him. Cedwyn keeps close to the center of our group, pale but determined. Then there is the wolf.

The creature pads alongside us, massive and silent. Every time I look at it, I feel something twist in my chest. I am certain it is the same wolf that broke into my room and sank its teeth into my right arm. The scar still aches whenever I remember that night. Because of that injury, I failed to protect Rhianelle properly when the Ashmedai attacked us in the human world.

Svenn once told me the wolf was an elf. I could never decide whether he was telling the truth or merely amusing himself at my expense. Yet, watching the creature now, I can almost believe it. There is something disturbingly familiar in the way it moves and tilts its head whenever someone speaks. No ordinary animal should possess that much intelligence in its sapphire eyes.

It reminds me of someone. A person I have tried very hard not to think about.

A Grimsbane who broke my fucking heart when he abandoned me the moment his contract ended.

No. I shake my head, forcing the thought away. That was a lifetime ago.

It is almost amusing that the assassin’s codename was Wolf. Perhaps the gods have decided I have not suffered enough and sent this creature to torment me.

Love makes fools of us all. It finds the weakest place inside a person and hollows it out until nothing remains but longing and regret. I look at Svenn walking beside Her Highness. He loved her, and it destroyed him completely. His devotion is useless because she doesn’t even remember him. I used to think love was noble. Now I think it just looks like a different kind of dying.

The wolf keeps glancing at me. Each time it does, that ache in my chest grows stronger.

“Garrett.” Svenn’s whisper pulls me back to the present. “Stay focused.”

“I am focused,” I bite back. We’re here to save Landon and stop this war. Personal ghosts and mysterious wolves can wait.

We round a corner and Rhianelle stops so abruptly I nearly run into her.

“What is it?” Svenn asks, already scanning for threats.

She points through an archway that opens onto an interior courtyard. “Dorcha.”

I follow her gaze and feel my blood run cold.

Landon’s wyvern is chained in the center of the courtyard, massive iron links wrapped around her neck, wings, and legs. Her head hangs low. I can see deep gouges, open wounds, and burn marks where scales have been torn away.

“They’re torturing her,” Rhianelle whispers, her voice breaking.

“To break Landon,” Svenn says quietly.

I’ve heard of it. The connection between rider and wyvern is almost as strong as the mate bond between lovers. If Dorcha suffers, Landon suffers. From the state of the wyvern, Landon must be in agony.

Rhianelle darts through the archway before any of us can stop her. Rainer seizes her arm while Svenn catches her around the waist. They drag her back into the shelter of Svenn’s shadow before the guards patrolling the courtyard can see her.

“Let me go.” She struggles against them, reaching toward Dorcha. “We cannot leave her like this.”

“We can’t free her now,” Rainer says, keeping his voice low despite her attempts to wrench herself free. “We’ll come back for her after we have Landon.”

Rhianelle nods, but I see tears streaming down her face. The wolf whines softly, pressing against her leg in comfort. She absently runs her fingers through its fur.

We move on, descending deeper into the palace. The beauty fades the farther down we go. Crystal gives way to rough stone, starlight to torchlight, elegance to something older and darker.

We press against the walls, weapons drawn, as footsteps echo down the corridor.

“The deep cells should be—” Svenn stops mid-sentence, his head snapping up. “Wait.”

“What?” I whisper.