“Home.” She gulped. “I’m taking you home, to Saint Vivia’s Convent.”
“Seraphina’s home.”
She wiped her hand on her cloak and reached inside the tunnel.
“Come. Follow my voice.”
She thought he wasn’t going to, but he bent low, entered the tunnel sideways, and shuffled toward her. When his arm came into contact with her outstretched hand, he stopped. She fisted his cloak and pulled him gently. He complied.
Once outside the castle walls, she pushed the walking stick into his hand and hoped he’d find his way without holding onto her.
Because she didn’t want him touching her. Or her touching him.
Chapter One
She was still running toward him.
Blood dripped through her fingers. Seraphina squeezed the two eyeballs harder, afraid they might slip from her hand. She did it instinctively, not thinking about it, her brain not fully registering what she was holding, only that it was crucial she didn’t lose it again. The floor was treacherous, covered in debris. She moved fast, jumping over the dark shadows of jagged rocks and roof beams the relic in her eye socket showed her, searching for a way out. But every time she tried to turn a corner, voices would ring out from the distance, forcing her deeper into the castle.
She only wanted to be alone. For a moment or two, for five cursed minutes, she wanted to be alone somewhere, so she could think. At the end of a corridor, she halted before what looked like an abyss carved at an angle, then the relic readjusted her perception, and she understood it was a set of stairs leading underground. There were fewer chances of running into someone down there, so she started descending quickly, tracing the wall with her free hand. She reached a landing that opened into a corridor, but kept going, moving deeper into the bowls of the schloss, until the air became almost unbreathable. Ash and mildew clogged her lungs. She hauled herself from another landing onto another set of stairs, determined to find the deepest level of these dungeons, hoping there was a gate to hell she could pass through. Because meeting Satan seemed like a preferable affair than facing the world above.
Seraphina slammed into someone.
The man swore and stumbled backward, dragging her with him. He grabbed her by the arms to steady them both, and she braced herself with her hand on his chest. She felt the crossed leather straps of his uniform under her palm, and when she wassecure in her footing, she shoved him away. He didn’t let go and held her at arm’s length as he studied her face.
“God in heaven, woman!”
“Let go of me.”
“Who are you? You shouldn’t be here.”
She drove her forearm up between his wrists and knocked his hands free, then stepped back before he could grab her again. They faced each other. Seraphina was breathing heavily, but taking in big gulps of air was a mistake when it was so foul. She started coughing, bent over at the waist. The soldier took advantage and gripped her arm harshly.
“You’re covered in blood.” His tone was disgusted. “I’m taking you to the captain.”
“You...” Seraphina rasped.
“Come on.”
He jerked her toward the stairs.
“No... You...” But the hacking cough prevented her from finishing the sentence.
“What are you trying to say, woman? Save it for Captain Mayer.”
Still, he should’ve stood at attention, waiting for her order. She didn’t understand why the thrall relic wasn’t working anymore. Panic rose in her chest. She hadn’t lost it, had she?
Seraphina dug her hand into the pocket of her cloak, let the eyeballs slither to the bottom, and felt around with her fingers until she found the tiny bone. She exhaled in relief and gathered her thoughts. Maybe the intention was lacking.
“You,” she said firmly. She could feel the power of the relic course through her arm before dissipating.
“Walk.” The soldier pushed her upward.
This was not the time for the sacred bone to fail her. She knew that apex relics could be complicated. Delicate in their rules and intricacies. That was why a Sarumite could study them for yearsto learn what they could do, in what conditions, and at what cost. She’d only had the vomer bone for less than twenty-four hours, and the discovery of its ability had been accidental and certainly incomplete. It wasn’t that the bone was betraying her; she simply didn’t know how to use it. Speech was part of it, as it made her start the command with the definite “you”, but that wasn’t all.
They reached the next landing. Seraphina could’ve drawn her daggers and had him cut in a dozen places before the man knew what was happening, but she was intrigued by the refusal of the thrall relic to do what it was supposed to. She turned in place, wrenching her arm free, and craned her neck as if to look him in the eye. He was tall, safe to assume almost three feet in height, lanky, with narrow shoulders and long limbs. Strong, albeit a tad uncoordinated. She could take him, but she didn’t want to.
“What are you–” he started to say.
