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The sun finally slipped behind the mountains, plunging the valley into shadow. Somehow the darkness was not so terrible as the cursed red light.
Sorasa kept stride next to him, her jacket torn open, the chain mail still glinting beneath. Bruises already bloomed on her neck, angry as a brand. They followed the pattern of Mercury’s fingers. Dom could still see the Amhara lord’s hands wrapped around her throat, her face turning blue, her eyes rolling as he squeezed the life from her.
Her heart still beats, he told himself as they ran, letting the sound ofher pulse fill his head. The rhythm thumped until his heart matched her own, the pair of them in perfect tandem.
He listened beyond Sorasa’s heart, searching the castle with his senses. Waiting for a familiar voice or scent to cross his path.
A horn blast sounded instead, echoing through the castle.
From the opposite direction of the battlefield, Dom realized, slowing his pace.
Sorasa paused, her bloody face tightening with concern. “I heard it too.”
“Gallish reinforcements?” He winced at the thought, impossible as it felt. There were already so many legions bearing down on them. He hardly believed there could be more.
The horns rang out again and Sorasa grinned, showing equally bloody teeth.
“Who are they?” Dom asked, though he feared the answer.
“A chance,” she breathed. As much as the Amhara despised hope, Dom saw it written all over her face. “The Temur have come.”
He knew little of the Temurijon, but trusted Sorasa Sarn above almost all others. If she dared to believe in the Temur army, Dom would too.
His feet followed the familiar path through the endless corridors, until they reached the garden at the center of Tíarma. He let out a gasp of relief, stepping into the weak torchlight of the courtyard. Rose vines curled beneath his feet, still bare, the first buds still fighting to be born.
His eyes went to Corayne first, safe in Isibel’s shadow, with Andry and Charlie on either side of her. All three gave a shout, calling to them across the courtyard.
“Domacridhan,” the Monarch said, a tremor in her voice. She still had her sword and her armor, her silver hair loose across one shoulder.
There was little time for reunion, as much as Dom wanted to sweepthe younger Companions into his arms. Instead, he crossed the garden, his brow furrowed into a hard line.
“Taristan is in the castle, along with the wizard,” he barked, beckoning for Corayne with one hand.
Her eyes went round, eating up the weak light of the rose garden. “Shit,” she murmured.
Shit indeed, Dom thought.
Sorasa spat blood on the ground. “We’re going to get you out of here. The Temur have arrived. If we can make it to their army—”
At that, Isibel made a low noise in her throat, her pearlescent eyes flashing. With a weary sigh, she lowered her ancient sword, resting the blade against the dirt.
“The dead walk in my castle,” she said bitterly, shaking her head. The Monarch gave a mournful look at the walls of the courtyard. Battle echoed through the open air. “I suppose this place has always been a tomb.”
Even as time ran against them, Dom felt a pang of true sorrow for his aunt. Already he saw her staying behind, to die defending her throne.
“Come with us,” he said, taking a step toward her. Again he beckoned, one hand outstretched to her.
Isibel squared her shoulders to her nephew. Her words took on a hard edge. “A graveyard for all of us, our souls trapped here, doomed to waste so far from home.”
“The Ward is our home,” he answered sharply.
“We need to go,” Sorasa muttered next to him. “Leave her if we must.”
The Monarch offered the assassin the lightest curve of a smile before her eyes returned to Dom.
“You do not know, Domacridhan,Wardborn. And you never will,” she said, showing too many teeth. Her voice deepened. “I have seen the light of different stars. And Iwillsee them again.”
A sound like roaring wind filled Dom’s ears.
