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I can’t do this.
I can’t stay here.
I should run. I could escape to the Borderlands on the other side of the gate and take my chances with the headless horseman and whatever other scary things lay beyond. Or I could try to reach the portal. Or maybe I should jump into the River of Souls and swim away. Yes, that’s it, I?—
Wings as sharp as steel flash in front of me, a giant shield that has Truman letting go of me and staggering away. The world spins, vertigo cranked to the millionth power.
Standing between me and everything else looms a huge grey beast with gold tipped claws, a mouth full of red fangs, a giant crest that could double as a helmet, and wings way too big for its body. It releases a screech so loud and shrill that I curl into a ball on the ground, cover my ears, and pray for the deafening racket to stop.
Silence descends, and the complete lack of noise screams loud in this new void. Shadows rush around me, and I flinch.
Please don’t let this be the end. My earlier thoughts make no sense. Survival outweighs everything else in this weird world, and I won’t go without a fight. I straighten to do just that, and Atticus’s face fills my view.
“Rosemarie?” He holds out his hands as if proving he won’t hurt me.
I launch myself into his arms.
Arguments resume around us, and I can’t understand anyone. It’s as if my dyslexia has come to life instead of being limited to the page. The years of struggling through sound combinations, reading comprehension drills, and lessons that seemed impossible come rushing back. In a jumble of speech I can’t decipher, I’m tossed into the past where nothing made sense, I reverted to silence rather than being called stupid, and life moved around me instead of me moving within it.
Atticus wraps his arms around me. “I’ve got you.”
That I understand.
His scent enfolds me as much as his strong embrace, wings, and shadows. I breathe in the wet stone, man, and Atticus, and it calms me more than a warm fire and cozy blanket on a cold night. He makes the confusing and overwhelming seem doable again, banishing those crazy thoughts I had before. I hold tight and focus on the only thing that feels safe and right in this or any other realm—being with the twins.
20
JACE
TEN OF SWORDS: THERE’S TERRIBLE, AND THEN THERE’S TEN OF SWORDS TERRIBLE.
The fear on Rosemarie’s face tears at my heart, and I want to rip into Cutter, the other two Diviners, and everyone else who might’ve put it there. I’ve seen the same level of terror only once before—in Dyphena’s eyes before she jumped.
At least Rosemarie didn’t cower away from Atticus. Her letting him comfort her means she isn’t scared of us.
Just everything else in this shitshow.
How could Mildrake drag his candidate through the courtyard in chains as if she’s a wild animal and not a potential queen? The poor woman’s anguish had called my twin and I back from delivering the rogue wyvern to the harpies, only to find Cutter and others fighting Darok in an attempt to get to Rosemarie.
Even more menacing, Wilborne had been muttering in the old language about prophecies and end times, hopelessness and miracles. That nerdy son of a bitch with his rituals and clinging to the ancient beliefs gets my vote for having helped bring the wyvern past the wards. But why?
I have zero time to devote to figuring that bullshit out right now. Instead, my focus has to be locked on Rosemarie. Atticus and I waded into the brawl to battle our way to her only moments before Hudyakis shed his soft feathers for his true soul guardian form.
I stand next to his scary ass now. “Thank you, soul guardian. You did a damn fine job of protecting her.” He did more than my brother or I did. Gods, I feel like such a failure right now. I won’t mention how Rosemarie looked afraid even of her favored pet in those last moments. Hudyakis protected her. He doesn’t need what the humans call an armchair quarterback critiquing his actions when all I did was arrive too late. “She’s safe and scared right now so you might want to transform back before heading into the tower. I don’t know if she’d snuggle you as you are right now.”
Hudyakis zaps into the tiny, fluffy owl form she prefers. The blue ring in his eyes and the shade of his feathers remain the same, but the rest goes from spine-tingling soul guardian to cute and cuddly once more.
“I’m sorry,” Truman babbles. He’s soaking wet, water dripping from his bare head—not a single hoop or bead to show he’s done anything of merit in his life. “I didn’t mean to.”
“What did you do?” While the wingless gargoyle may have Atticus’s trust, I don’t give mine so freely. Not anymore.
He holds up the translator Rosemarie wore around her wrist. It’s ripped. “This came loose.”
“You mean you tore it off?” Rage rises inside me. How dare he put his hands on Rosemarie?
“No, I swear.” He covers his face with his claws. “I only wanted to get her to the tower where it was safe.”
Hudyakis flaps his wings and hoots at him, but he doesn’t transform into his soul guardian form and rip off his head, so that’s a plus. Besides, in this crowd, who knows which threat triggered his change?
