THIA TORE DOWN A TUNNEL,DIFFERENT FROM THE ONE THEY HADused to enter the cavern. She had no idea where she was going; her only thought was to give Dess and Oskaren time. She hadn’t cut herself that deeply; the wound might have started that way, but she’d released the pressure before crossing to the middle of her arm. She was counting on Xercae not to know that.
She turned left, then right, nearly tripping on a pile of bones as she moved too quickly to watch where she was going. Footsteps echoed through the tunnel behind her, and Xercae’s high voice chased her.
“You can run, Ssslayer, but you cannot hide.”
That was true. This was Xercae’s domain, and Thia was probably two turns away from getting lost.
She had a better idea. She took a left, angling back in what she hoped was the direction of the cavern. She’d counted at least four other tunnels; one of these turns had to lead back there eventually. Xercae’s footsteps stopped, leaving Thia in silence, save for the scuff of her own boots on rock.
Another left.
Right, and then left.
And then—
She made it. She was on the other side of the cavern, Oskaren facing away from her. The girl was sitting up now, which meant she was no longer unconscious. But to Thia’s dismay, Dess hadn’t moved from where Xercae had tossed him, which meanthewas now unconscious, or worse, and Oskaren was still chained.
Thia tucked herself against the stone, knife braced, ears straining for the sound of Xercae’s approach in the tunnel. She didn’t have Oskaren’s fighting prowess, but she thought, with the element of surprise, she might just have a shot to reenact their original plan. She pressed herself flat, forcing deep breaths.
And skeletal hands yanked her into an iron clasp.
The witch had clearly taken another path, a shortcut perhaps. Xercae moved too quickly for Thia to resist; one moment she was pressed against stone, the next those hands were around her arms, pinning them to her side, a chest crushed against her back, and fangs sank into her neck without preamble.
Thia screamed. She twisted, and the witch’s teeth sank deeper, tearing several inches into her flesh and depositing venom that burned white-hot.
At the sound of her cry, Oskaren turned, eyes widening in horror. Thia struggled, trying to yank her arm free, but the witch was as solid as concrete. For all their practice, she couldn’t do what Oskaren had taught her, couldn’t reach anywhere else on the witch if she tried, and shame burned through her. A tear slipped onto her cheek as Xercae cradled her lovingly, crusted mouth slurping Thia’s blood.
Behind Oskaren, Dess was blinking slowly awake; the two of them said something to each other that Thia didn’t hear. Oskaren struggled against her binds, only to sway and clutched her head. Dess stood, and Xercae waved a hand without pausing her feast to slam him back into the rock yet again.
No,Thia tried to say.Please.She was cold now, the pain in her neck fading to a distant buzz. She wondered when she’d reach hypovolemic shock. She wondered when the witch’s magic would bring her back, and if she’d feel it, or if all her sense of being Thia would be gone by then. She wondered at the terror on Oskaren’s face, the tears that spilled as her mouth formed Thia’s name. Distantly, she thought a bird was crying; a silver bolt appeared, only for Xercae to raise another hand against it, and then it was gone.
At some point Thia stopped feeling cold. The world was too dim; she could only see faint shapes and blurs as she blinked slowly, her eyelids made of wood. It probably wouldn’t be long now. The blood on her neck had dried, and the brutality of Xercae’s sucking motions told her that her blood was not as free flowing. She was only sorry for what the witch would do to her friends, sorry that it was her fault things had come to this.
She wished she could have seen Grandma Winnie one more time and thanked her for raising her, even if she had lied.
She wished she’d told Oskaren how she felt, even if Oskaren couldn’t say it back.
She was falling.
Why was she falling?
Xercae’s hands were no longer supporting her. Cold rushed in again, and Thia’s chest gave a painful squeeze as her heart thumped back to life. There was a strangled cry, masculine and desperate, a crunch, and a spray of moisture that fell on Thia like rain. She crashed into the stone floor, bones howling at the impact; she might have screamed, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Beside her, another body crumpled, its black cloak a billowing banner that fluttered through the air as it fell.
Xercae’s severed head hit the rocks with a splatter, bouncing once, twice, before rolling to a stop beside Thia’s own.
Thran was standing above her now, sword dripping black fluid, his blue gaze wide and terrified as he looked not at his conquest, but at Thia.
Thia tried to move, to thank him, to rejoice, but she was frozen. She was afraid she’d lost too much blood, that she’d been injected with too much poison, and, for all that Thran was victorious, she was going to perish here, or awaken Unfleshed.
There was another cry as someone shouldered past Thran, falling to their knees to collect her into their arms. Oskaren—perhaps Dess had freed her. She cradled Thia to her chest, tears still falling; they splattered on Thia’s cheeks to mingle with Xercae’s blood, and her own. She wanted to reach up and cradle the other girl’s face, to tell her not to worry, that she would be okay.
But she couldn’t. And maybe she wouldn’t be.
She could hear Dess and Thran debating. Their voices sounded distant, hollow. They were wondering if she was dead.
She could be dead.
Shefeltdead.
