I kick him in the chest and pounce on top of him, striking him twice in the neck with my blade.
"Keira," I yell and run back toward her, my knife ready to cut her bindings, free her, and get the fuck out of here.
36
KEIRA
Consciousness returns slowly, dragging me up through layers of thick fog. My head pounds, a dull throb that radiates from the base of my skull. My mouth tastes bitter and chemical.
I can't seem to get my eyes open. I instinctively try to move to rub my aching forehead, but they don't budge.
Panic flares in me. It's sharp and immediate, pulling me through the haze. I yank harder, feeling rope dig into my wrists.
I shift to try and move my legs, but they're the same—bound tight and immovable.
My eyes slowly open, the world coming into a murky view.
The warm glow of candles fills my vision, streaking out at the edges of my line of sight.
The air smells of incense as things come into focus. I'm lying on my back, staring up at a vaulted ceiling barely visible in the dim light. My dress is torn and dirty. I see dark streaks and I can't tell if it's blood. If it is, I don't think it's mine.
I lift my neck, forcing myself to look around despite my vision not entirely in focus.
That's when I see them.
Those damn red-robed figures, hoods pulled low, standing in a circle around me. They're not moving, just staring at me, or so it seems, as their faces are hidden.
Fear tries to get me to sit up, but I can't, my muscles screaming against the restraints. Panic comes back in a huge wave, though I'm not sure it ever left.
"What—" My voice sounds dry. I swallow hard and try again. "What the hell is this?"
No one moves or answers.
My fear feels suffocating now. I twist my wrists against the ropes, ignoring the burn as the fibers dig into my skin.
"Fucking lunatics!" I yell, thrashing as hard as I can. "Untie me now!"
Still nothing.
And then, as if on cue, every hooded head turns and looks upward.
I follow their gaze.
Above me, the Phantom King is still standing on the second-level balcony walkway that overlooks this chamber.
For a fearless leader, he hasn't moved since they knocked me out.
He then raises his arms and spreads them wide like some kind of fucking messiah.
"All hail the Phantom King," the robed figures chant in unison. "All hail the Morrígan. May she guide us."
They repeat it.
Again.
And again.
The chant grows louder, building in force like some ancient ritual pulsing through the air.
