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Anthea nodded, hands still trembling. He guided her to the wall. She leaned into it, watching as he dragged the bodies into a pile and removed his daggers from them, cleaning the blades into the Iron guards’ cloaks.
“We have to go, now!”
He led her hurriedly through the corridors. It wasn’t long before they stopped at a worn door leading to a narrow spiral staircase. Eldrion went first, and she followed. They moved in silence. Her heart was still pounding in her ears, her hands still trembled. She had helped, had played a part in killing someone. She had killed someone?—
After many steps—too many to count, they finally reached the bottom, the sight of Beldor and an unfamiliar fiery-haired elf brought a sense of relief to Anthea.
Beldor tilted his eyes, scanning her ruffled dress and shaking hands. “What happened?”
“It . . . we had to. I had to . . .” Her voice trailed off, the words dissolving into the heavy air.
Beldor’s expression softened slightly, understanding dawning in his eyes. “It’s never easy the first time. Or the second,” he said quietly.
Eldrion, still tense, interjected. “We don’t have time for this. We need to move.” His words were clipped, his usual composure frayed at the edges.
Beldor agreed, glancing at Anthea with concern. “Right. We need to get out of here. The Iron court’s patrols will be more vigilant after this.”
The fiery-haired elf stepped forward. “I’m Syrafina,” she introduced herself briskly. Stepping even closer, her brown eyes examined her with an intensity that felt almost intrusive. “You’ve gotten blood on your hands now,” she said softly, almost sympathetically. “It changes a person.”
Anthea could only nod, feeling a strange mixture of numbness and acute awareness coursing through her. She felt as though she was watching herself from a distance, disconnected from reality. She had helped kill someone. The thought of it was suffocating.
Eldrion kept a secure grip around her elbow, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.
“The path to the right is clear,” Beldor confirmed, nodding toward it.
Syrafina added, “We will meet you at the shed. Kaelan and Haldrian are already there. Remember, move swiftly and keep quiet.” The last part was clearly addressed to her. Unnecessarily so—Anthea hardly dared to breathe.
Eldrion nodded in agreement as Beldor handed him two backpacks and Anthea a black cloak. She hurriedly wrapped it around her, the warmth of the fur-lining a small comfort.
“The shadows are our friends tonight,” Eldrion said, locking eyes with her. “Keep your head down, listen to me, and do exactly as I do.”
Anthea nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.
He gave her one more assessing look and turned, ready to lead the way into the uncertain dark.
They stepped out. It seemed to be some sort of an inner courtyard, nestled between the fortress and the rocky mountains. Every corner they turned, every whisper of the wind, set her nerves on edge. She followed Eldrion, mirroring his every move.
The wooden hut in the far right corner appeared like a haven.
The door creaked softly as they entered. Anthea’s relief at seeing Kaelan and Haldrian was palpable. But before she could even muster a greeting, Eldrion tossed one of the backpacks into her hands, pointing to an adjacent door. “Go. Get dressed.”
Anthea clutched the backpack as she made her way to the small room.
Upon opening the bag, she found a set of traveling clothes—sturdy, simple and practical.
Every piece seemed carefully chosen, from the leather leggings that protected against the cold to the linen shirt that allowed her skin to breathe. Three leather harnesses: one to her thigh, one to her ankle and one to her arm, were also in the bag. Anthea adjusted the straps, trying to find the right fit.
A knock on the door?—
“Can I come in?” Eldrion’s voice sounded slightly muffled from the other side.
“Yes,” Anthea replied, straightening.
The door creaked open, and the warrior stepped inside. He had also changed clothes. Now clad in unmarked black leathers, straps and buckles adorning his chest and shoulders. Gray eyes roamed over her, taking in every detail of her outfit, assessing, then pausing on the collar still attached to her neck. “Let me,” he said, his voice gruff as he reached out, fingers brushing against her skin as he unclasped the golden band.
Anthea couldn’t stop the blush as his gaze paused on her bared neck, eyes darkening. Her eyes dropped to his lips?—
“You have the fastenings wrong,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. The elf got down on one knee, fingers deftly re-adjusting the buckles. Anthea watched him, noting the precision with which he worked. “Always keep these in front,” he instructed, eyes not leaving the harness. “You should be able to access them easily. And the sheaths, they go on the side.”
