By the River.
I was dangling above a pit of more spikes, designed to catch anyone who made it beyond the death corridor so they could fall into the equally damaging death pit.
And the only way I was getting out of here was through sheer force of will.
If only I had magic that gave me the power of flight instead of unlocking rusty doors and finding lost things.
I grunted as I pulled myself up on the small ledge I’d managed to grab, my shoulder burning with pain and fire. The overhang was so slight that I barely had room to sit down, but I knew I needed to get my shoulder back into place before I could climb out . It still amazed me how many rudimentary traps the ancient fae used in their temples when they’d had untold magic at their disposal.
But perhaps they knew their magic wasn’t infallible. That it could dry up, or be taken away, as it had in Astola.
Propping myself against the rock behind me, I counted down through gritted teeth.
Three.
Two.
One.
With a low grunt, I shoved my shoulder against the immovable rock behind me, gripping my elbow tightly to angle it into place. The snap of the bone clicking back into place echoed through the pit.
A low moan of pain escaped me, as I brushed away my tears with the back of my hand.
“Well, I don’t have time to cry about it now,” I muttered, sounding like my nani telling me off after burning the chai. “There’s bigger things to deal with.”
Yeah, there was.
Like the sheer mountain of rock looking down at me, separating me from the vault and the fae artifact I’d come to take.
I still had my satchel, thank the River, and I ripped open the top, digging around for what I hoped I’d remembered to bring. The lantern hooked on to my satchel still flickered, providing what little light I had, but enough that I could see the glint of the sharp spikes below and know what they would do to my body if I failed.
“Don’t think about that.” My nani’s voice again, but it became comforting to think of her as my stern relic-hunting guide.
Another moment of digging and I found them—two climbing claws, and heel spikes, neatly packed in a canvas bag I’d originally stolen from the Citadel. A relief-filled whoosh of air released from my body, but I tried not to get ahead of myself with hope. I still had to climb up half of a cavern wall with just some foot spikes and a hook in each hand. The wall was sheer, but I hadn’t fallen too far down.
If the spikes in my boots sank into the cave wall, I could do it. If they didn’t, then I’d get nowhere except the death pit below me. The golden spikes glimmered in the darkness, as if calling to me, and for the first time I noticed the chalk white bones among them. Someone had already died here.
My heart pounded so hard it felt as though it was going to leap out of my chest and choke me. But I couldn’t afford to lose my head over a dead body, not when the Citadel excavators were already blasting a hole through the mountain to get to this place.
I clipped on the climbing equipment, slung my satchel over my shoulder, and slowly rose to my feet, pressing my back against the stone. It wasn’t a big climb, and I had done more, but it depended on whether I could even get purchase with my climbing gear.
Finally, I took a deep breath and swung my hook hard into the wall.
It stuck.
My heart lifted, but it still wasn’t enough. I hoisted myself up, then slammed the crampons from my boot into the rock with all the force I could muster.
Then again.
My shoulder screamed with each swing and pull, but I just needed to reach the top and then I could cry all I wanted.
I carried on like that for a few minutes—lifting, hooking, stabbing, and climbing. My arms shook, sweat dripping off them.
It was methodical, and the only thing I could focus on was the rhythmic act of what I was doing, detaching myself from the pain and the creeping panic of what waited below, and fixating on the cave wall in front of me, like an ancient fae scroll I was absorbed with in the archives.
I was so close to the top I could almost taste the relief. But my hands were slick from my exertion and the handle of the hook slipped from my grip and clattered to the ground below me. For a moment I was suspended in midair, before I started sprawling backward, forgetting that my feet were wedged into the stone, and I was trapped. Instead, I flung my body forward with all my strength and as much momentum as I could.
And my fingers caught the edge of the cliff.
