I whip my arm around Raeve’s back and tackle her into the mud with me. The pins whizz past, and we jerk up, gasping.
More of Clode’s airy song gusts from Raeve’s lips as she swipes the mud from her eyes, brandishing me with a glower that suggests she’d rather have gottenpinnedthan stuffed in the mud.
I laugh low, though I feel no fucking humor. Grab my sword from the bloody muck as Raeve rips daggers from hidden pockets in her garb, tossing them in quick succession.
They find their mark with softthuds, followed by the wetslapof bodies falling.
An arrow slits toward us. I slash it from the air with a whip of my blade as Pyrok splats into the mud beside us, groaning.
“That hurt,”he drudges out, then shoves up, tossing his muddy hood back from his face with a dash of his hand.
The three of us edge onto a firmer lump of ground, backs facing one another. Though Raeve has Rygun’s small scales protecting her chest, I keep my arm firmly shielding her heart as we scan the fog, searching for movement.
The enemy’s advance has slowed, but I know the beats of battle. Have no doubt they’re regrouping before another surge.
“How many do you think there are?” Pyrok asks, jerking his sword free from the sheath down his spine.
“Over a hundred.” Raeve’s voice is cold precision. “Líri scented the area before she dropped me off. They’re surrounding us like a flood.”
Pyrok and I curse in unison.
“Any bright ideas?” I ask, hoping to avoid pulling Rygun in. The moment he gets a sniff of danger, he’ll be ripping through this forest likehe did in Bothaim, and then he’ll have the entire nesting ground upon him.
That, and he’s petrified of the Mists. He’d charge in without hesitation, but his fear would bruise.
“Me,” Raeve bites out, like she’s chewing into a grisly piece of meat. “But I hate it.”
I arch a brow, looking sidelong at her.
“Don’t step off this mound, or you’ll get swallowed with the rest of them.”
“Swallowed?”Pyrok repeats.
Raeve sighs. “Fuckingteardrop stone,” she gripes, then lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. She begins lashing through a gutting blend of Bulder’s and Rayne’s languages, woven together like a dance I can’t see, but canfeelso deep beneath my ribs that it almost brings me to my knees.
Though I don’t understand the segments that speak to the Water Goddess, I understand Bulder’s. Hear her demand he soften so much he breaks down to a weaker, more vulnerable version of himself.
Tears streak into the filth on Raeve’s cheeks as a ripple pulses through the mud.
The Mists rush away, like Clode arched over and blew her mightiest breath upon us, offering a clear view of the bands of advancing soldiers stopping in their tracks, confusion clear from their pinched brows and widening eyes.
They look at each other.
At the ground.
Atus.
Over a hundred glinting soldiers, there one moment, gone the next. Gulped beneath the surface so fast they don’t even have a chance to scream before they’re entombed within the boggy nether.
Iopen the pliers, squeeze the tapered tips onto the metal earring hook, andtwist, manipulating it into a more rounded shape, easing small bits of tension from my trembling hands with each slow clamp of the tools.
With each ply of the metal.
My gaze shifts from my task to the closed trapdoor that leads to the treehut’s lower level, then to the thick puddle of mist that’sstilldrifting across the ground by my feet. Perhaps the longest I’ve ever waited.
Either I’m not getting answers or Borg’s fallen asleep.
Again.
