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Veradin tightens his belt. “I’ll handle these fools and find a way to contact you once things settle. But you must go. Now.”

Pushing off the table, I throw myself toward him. “No⁠—”

Agnar catches me by the arm, holding me upright as I trip over my feet. He drags me backward, away from Veradin.

“Let go!” I resist by digging my heels in, but they slip over the dust and water pooling on the floor. “I have to help. I can’t just⁠—”

“You can and you will.” Agnar doesn’t slow, towing me by hooking his arm around my waist. “Your mentor has given you orders, trainee. Follow them.”

Hot, bitter tears stream down my cheeks. My shadow spinners are scattered somewhere in the chaos, and my mentor is facing a horde of attackers.

Alone…because I’m running away.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Agnar

The tunnel spits us out into a darkness that smells like umberheart trees and river water. Esme’s weight sags against my side as her knees buckle. I catch her before she collapses, lowering us both to the ground as soon as we’re fifteen feet away from the escape route.

She curls forward, her forehead pressed to her knees as she shakes.

The river rushes down the mountainside somewhere to our left, the roar loud enough to provide cover.

Which means it’s also noisy enough to hide anyone who comes looking for us.

I scan the tree line for enemies and whatever the fuck else this godsforsaken kingdom is going to hurl at me. Seeing nothing, I place my hand on the ground and send out my magic in a wide circle around us, searching for anything that might cause trouble.

Nothing stirs except shadows cast by the canopy-obscured moon.

My head throbs where I caught a piece of flying debris. The blood has dried in a tacky line down my neck, pulling at the skin whenever I tilt my head. My ribs ache on the left side. They’re probably bruised. It’s difficult to tell with the battle fever pounding in my veins, demanding action.

In the calm forest night around us, insects chirp and frogs croak. No monsters from the literal bowels of the earth sneak up on us, waiting to rip away our thoughts and memories.

From beginning to end, nothing about today has made a bit of sense.

Something about that attack just doesn’t sit right with me.

Esme said the way to the sanctuary was a secret. The entrance was warded.

So how the hells did those bastards in black not only discover the place, but do so in numbers without being noticed by Veradin or Esme? Not to mention, how did they get their hands on explosives?

Esme’s breathing finally returns to normal. The tremors fade, and she uncurls slightly, though she stays pressed against my side like she needs the contact to stay grounded. Movement snags my eye, and I tense until her iridescent beetles appear from the underbrush to clamber back into the pouch at her waist.

I wait for Esme to open her eyes before I speak. “Veradin didn’t seem too surprised.”

Esme sways as she stares at me, and once again, I wonder if she also suffered a blow to the head. “What?”

“The attack. Your mentor.” Rising to my knees, I examine her pupils for signs of a concussion by cupping my hands around them to check their response to light. “Veradin wasn’t surprised. He had an escape route ready, like he expected something bad to happen.”

“That’s…” Esme sputters and tries to push my hands away as she hunts for a defense against my implication. “Veradin is always prepared. That’s how he is. Decades of experience have made him cautious.”

Satisfied her pupils are normal, I take my hands away from her face, already missing the contact. “Experience might give you a secret escape passage you never told your own student about, but the timing feels off. Why move us into the laboratory? Why not stay at the table?”

Her expression cycles through denial, confusion, and hurt, and ultimately lands on a combination of all three. “He said his potion needed stirring. I didn’t know about the passage.” She looks back toward the tunnel mouth hidden behind trees and underbrush. “I’ve studied under him for years, even lived there sometimes, and I never knew.”

I can see in the way her shoulders curve inward that the admission costs her.

“I’m not saying he’s the enemy.” Though I’m not saying he isn’t either. “I’m saying he knew enough to expect a reaction, and he didn’t warn you.”