Something fell, striking the side of the fountain and breaking a piece of it off that was about the size of my head. When I looked up, I realized it was the head of Sir Coriand’s statue. It stared at me from the ground with one accusing eye.
Only something of great power could hold this place together and keep it from falling apart for a thousand years. And that something had been the demon in the ceiling. A demon that no longer existed.
I hardly cared.
I gathered Brindle up to my chest and stood, lifting him, clinging to him. A hot tear spilled down my cheek and my mind was empty, empty, empty with no Sir Branson to speak into it ever again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Poisoned Saint
Cleft is moving before I can, running down the stairs five at a time. I don’t dare let him get to Victoriana first. Not with her back unguarded. I see him in my mind’s eye smashing her with his stone fists and it spurs me to action.
I fly down the first ten steps, nearly tripping in my haste, and then I scramble over the banister and drop over the side. My landing is awkward, my muscles exhausted from being forced to run and fight and run and fight on little sleep and no food.
I see her immediately, standing in the fountain, soaking wet, her hair plastered to the side of her face and tears streaming down as she clutches her massive dog to her chest, awkward with the weight of him.
To my utter relief, Brindle is dead.
Which means the demons are gone.
Which means … with a mighty crack, the floor splits in two. I glance over my shoulder and I break into a run again. Cleft is behind me, racing across the ground. Whatever he means to do, I must not allow him near my lady paladin. She’s earned her right to flee this place if any of us have.
I glance at Sir Sorken’s body as I run past it and stumble when he meets my eyes. His legs are dead, unmoving, but his hands claw forward and his eyes are burning.
“Look on what you’ve done, paladin,” he croaks as I pass.
I shudder as his voice claws up my spine.
I reach Victoriana just as she’s stepping out of the water, as a piece of one of the statues falls and hits the edge of the fountain. We both look up instinctively.
I want to catch her up in my arms. I want to tell her she’s done so well.
I do not. There’s no time.
I revel instead in the brief catch of our gazes, on the way our hearts interweave in that intangible touch. I dare not savor it. I spin, sword up. It’s only just in time as Cleft brings his fist down.
I barely deflect it. My sword shatters, sending a terrible shudder down my arm.
I find my lady paladin’s gaze one more time.
“Run,” I say calmly, and then I dance to the side, drawing Cleft after me. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I have nothing but a stub of a weapon to defend with, but it hardly matters. This is a game of ducking and leaping, a game where stamina wins. And I have none left.
I catch a glimpse of Victoriana as she passes me. She’s a strong woman, but she’s stumbling and panting with the effort of carrying a dog that surely must weigh as much as she does. I hope she’s strong enough. I hope her feet fly with a strength beyond what she has.
“Merciful God, make it so,” I whisper as another chunk of ceiling falls down, narrowly missing me.
A second chunk hits Cleft and he stumbles.
“This whole place is coming down, Sorken,” I call out. “We ought to flee.”
“We?” Sorken laughs, a wracking, coughing laugh. He hasn’t moved more than an inch, if that. His back is surely broken.
I look to the golem, meet his glowing eye with mine.
“We must go, golem. Bring your master.”
