There’s no sign of goblins, underfae, or any of Sira’s other servants, but even if there were, I wouldn’t hide. I’d cut them down right here in the street if they dared try to prevent me from getting to my family.
George keeps pace with my sprint, and I’m once again impressed by his fortitude. Though he can’t feel the sorrow piercing through the bond, I think he senses it in me.
Shapes appear in the distance, moving fast toward us. I touch my token, materializing the Hammer of Hope. “Get behind me—” I begin, readying an attack.
But it’s not goblins or ogres or trolls barrelling our way. It’s all manner of creatures, none known to be inhabitants of the Below. Many I’ve only glimpsed in the wild or heard about in legend. Dire spiders, gryphons, white elk, queen’s winter foxes, firebirds, all in a stampede.
I grab George tight to my side, and we go still, letting the herd charge past. I glimpse a pink-haired woman, clad only in a dirty blanket, running amid the animals. Her large, webbed ears denote her as a siren.
She skids to a halt before me. “Don’t try to stop us from leaving.”
“I would not dare.” I recognize her from Caspian’s revelry day celebration, which feels like ages ago. Another prisoner of the Below. My hammer dematerializes from my grip. “Please, tell me have you seen a party of four fae? Three men of Autumn, one of Summer?”
She tilts her head, observing me for a moment before deciding I can be trusted. “They’re at the menagerie. Very south of town. Keep following this street, then take a left when you see the cliffside.”
“Are they safe?”
“They were when we departed.”
I don’t have time to ask how she met them or where she’s going. Snatching George’s vest, I yank him behind me. “Come on.”
We bolt through the animals, leaving them to their mission and them leaving us to ours.
My lungs burn and my legs are on fire by the time we cross into the southern quarter. I don’t know if I’ve ever run so fast. George is red-faced and wheezing, about ten steps back now. I suck in a deep breath and nearly vomit. The scent of death sits heavy on the air, thick and cloying. George is not so lucky, heaving over the cobblestones.
I give him under a minute to collect himself, then we’re off again, heading straight into the fog of death. A broken sign hangs before us:MENAGERIE.
Dozens of corpses, days old by the smell, litter the ground, all clad in the golden armor of Autumn. My feet slow as I scan the narrow pass between two rock walls, lined with cages. At the very back, I catch sight of someone pacing.
Dayton.
He looks sickly, eyes hollow and struggling to focus, face a pale sheet. Behind him, one of the twins—Dom, must be, as a hand axe dangles from his belt—sits on the ground, arms around his legs, shaking and crying.
And Farron is curled over the thin body of a boy, who, if the world were fair, would never have known the taste of war.
“Oh no,” George breathes. “Not the lad.”
My chest echoes with anguish, Farron’s sorrow passing into me like an unwanted visitor.No, I’ve got enough of my own grief. Keep this. Keep it.
A pained sob escapes Dom as George falls to his knees and wraps him in his arms. Dom clutches at George, burying his face in his chest.
I’m struck still, staring at Farron.
Something is different. Something about the echo in my chest.
I charge over to Dayton, grab his jaw, stare him in the eye, then look him up and down.
“Ez, stop,” Dayton says, his voice cracking.
“What happened?”
“We were surrounded by Green Flame soldiers. Ones Farron changed himself. Billy…” His words shatter into a gasp.
“How did the soldiers pass on?” I say lowly.
Dayton squeezes his eyes shut. “I think Farron let it go.”
It.
