The fourth man tried to flee, and then Ren, Riven, and Sam were there, backing him into a corner. Riven held out his hand and the man froze, fingers digging into his temples as he began to scream at whatever horror the elven made him see in his mind. Sam lunged then, his sword driving straight through the man’s chest, cutting his screams short.
The hall reeked of smoke and charred flesh now, the entire crew covered in blood, but none of it wastheir own.
“Someone surely heard that,” Jak said out of breath, sheathing his dagger.
“Move!” Draevyn bellowed.
They all stormed ahead, and Atlas let that fury pound through him. The walls themselves felt too narrow, too suffocating for what burned within him. The halls twisted downward, merlights thinning as the air grew colder and damper, as if the castle itself sought to drag them down into its rot.
At last, they reached the iron-barred doors of what he could only assume was the castle’s dungeon. It was thick, crusted with barnacles like the underbelly of a ship, and locked with a heavy clasp of steel.
Atlas growled, slamming his palm against the door as shadows snapped like wild dogs around his boots.
Draevyn cursed under his breath.
But then Jak stepped forward, rolling his shoulders with infuriating calm. “As I’ve told your brother,” he drawled, twirling his dagger, “locks are never a problem.”
Atlas’s brows furrowed.
“Unless, of course, they’ve got your shadows dancing around them,” he grumbled.
The crew let out a rough laugh. Even Atlas managed the ghost of a smirk, remembering the lock on Blackwood’s cell in his own dungeon.
Atlas’s head tilted to the side as the woodland male blew lightly on the lock, a gust of violent wind flowing from his lips and through the metal. A sharpcracksounded, and a heartbeat later, the lock snapped in two, tumbling to the stones with a clang that echoed through the dungeon corridor that now lay ahead of them.
Draevyn placed his palm on the wall, and a blaze filled every crack in the stone and ceiling, appearing as fire-fueled veins as they filled with molten embers, lighting the way.
Endless doors lined the narrow hall, each one possessing a large lock that mimicked the one they had just broken through. These cells were different from the ones in Lephyrin and in the brig. In place of the barred cells he knew, there were thick, iron doors guarding each prisoner.
Jak stepped up to him and let out a low whistle. “That’s a… that’s a lot of locks.”
If his magic can break through locks, perhaps mine can too.
Jak twirled the dagger in his hand and went to take a step past him, but Atlas raised his arm to halt him.
Shadows surged, rushing ahead as they raced along the walls before burrowing themselves in each and every lock. They slithered into tumblers, prying, breaking, forcing them apart with a shriek of tortured metal.
One by one, locks snapped open in a cacophony of echoingclangs.
“Holy hells,” Jak whispered.
“Elowynne!” Atlas bellowed, shoving past him and through the door.
Everyone rushed in after him, every step faster than the last.
Atlas tore open the first door they came to, shoving his shoulder into the rusted iron until it gave way. “Wynne! Wynne, I’m here!”
“Atlas, we need to try and be quiet!” Draevyn barked, but he didn’t care.
Chest heaving, he crashed into the room, but it was empty. There was nothing but a pile of straw and a rusted bucket.
“Fuck!” he barked, not even bothering to look back.
They sprinted farther down the corridor, the glowing red veins in the walls illuminating the endless stretch of cells. Atlas ripped open another door they passed, hope clawing at his chest, only for it to wither away when nothing greeted him inside.
Every door led to nothing but an empty room.
Every. Single. Fucking. One of them.
