All she cared about was helping her friends.
Danthan rushed towards her, fingers extended as though he had claws and wanted to tear her limb from limb. Ambrose stood her ground and held the hilt of her sword firmly in her grip. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she knew she would carry their memory for lifetimes.
“You murderer!” Danthan screeched as he reached for her.
She planted her feet and swung her sword until it met rotting flesh—and then nothing.
Danthan’s body stopped as his black eyes pierced hers one last time before his head and body fell separately to the ground. For a small moment, she saw something flash across his eyes and she told herself she hadn’t seen it. The anger she felt towards herself too strong to recognize the small glimpse of gratitude before Danthan’s body fell and the burning bodies of the fallen warriors stopped moving.
Their mana was too much, it had driven him completely mad.
How long had Casimir been holding them down here, waiting for this moment?
She looked around at the bodies. Her friends.
They no longer moved with the false life given to them, now that his magick had been severed.
Sobs racked her chest and Ambrose dropped her sword, wrapping herarms around herself as she let the tears fall. Rage she didn’t know she could produce filled her veins, her body, her soul, as her own screams of agony filled the chamber.
Rage for herself and—
Casimir.
She didn’t have time. She wiped the tears from her face and just as she had done for Felius, she pulled the ground apart and made four fresh graves that gently absorbed her friends. Flowers that individually made her think of them sprouted from the dirt. Picking up her sword, she placed it back in its sheath and whispered, “You can rest now.”
She didn’t have time to grieve.
Didn’t have time to rest.
It was time to go.
Ambrose picked up one of Podara’s daggers and placed it next to the one Adym had given her. Tucked away in her corset, she welcomed the bite of metal as the tip dragged against her skin. With one last look at where she’d just buried them, she turned and walked through one of the archways, leaving them—but never their memory—behind.
Chapter 43
The walls of the halls seemed to shrink as Ambrose made her way down them. Cold, unfeeling stone bore down on her from all sides.
Or maybe it was her grief crashing down on her as she pushed herself to keep moving. She did her best to keep her mind focused on the path in front of her, but the weight of it was crushing. She just wanted to escape this maze as fast as she could.
To get away from all of it.
The death.
The destruction.
The pain.
The royals.
All of it.
No matter where she went in the world, something horrible was waiting around every corner. Every step. No escaping the cruelty of the empire.
Her feet hit the ground in quiet steps and the moisture growing in the air made it harder to breathe, making her work for every breath she took.
The pain in her arm made her vision grow blurry, or maybe it was the tears she fought back. The rotted veins were crawling past her tourniquet and up her shoulder, it felt as though the entire thing was going to fall off. Biting back against the pain, she tucked it into her side and curled her fingers into a fist. At least she could still use it if she needed to. It was excruciating, but still functional should she need it.
She had to find a way out. She had to find a healer. She had to find a wayto get far away.
