Page 72 of Witch’s Ruin

“Mina!”

I turned to Rixon at my side. He stood in shining armor like mine, shoulders back, face grim, ready for what was to come. And beyond us, pennants whipped in the wind, the crests of noble families. I blinked again. My eyes widened. It wasn’t Rixon beside me. No, it was…it was his father, crowned, atop a white battle horse.

“Mina!” My name again.

I gasped, bolting upright, dragging down air like a drowning person. My arms lifted, ready to protect myself from a sea of demons. I blinked, and my cell came in and out of focus. My hands dropped as I gathered my bearings.

“Mina!” Pounding footsteps.

I shot out of bed. “Rixon?!” I screamed, my voice dry from disuse. “Rixon! Down here!”

He’d found me! Even despite what the king had said, somehow, he’d found me. I let out a huge breath.

My wielder. My rock. The male I loved—would do anything to protect—had found me.

The footsteps grew louder, and then he was there, skidding to a halt before my cell, a bloodied body cradled against him. A—

“Hurry!” he hissed, eyes darting over me, assessing, ensuring I was whole. “We haven’t got much time. Heal him.”

I staggered back, shock, even confusion, coursing through me. He lowered his father’s body to the ground, crouching beside him. A knife protruded from the king’s leg. Blood seeped from his shoulder, soaking his tunic red. He looked dead, save for a subtle rise and fall of his chest.

“Save him, Mina.” Rixon looked at me, eyes hard. His breaths were quick and shallow, panicked. I’d rarely seen him like this. “Mina—”

My nostrils flared. Something dark settled inside me. “No.” The single word fell from my mouth like a hammer upon an anvil. With it, something surged deep within me, pleased. If the king died, so be it.

“Mina, I—”

“No!”

“I know what this looks like, and I’ll explain everything. The portal. The blood. The blackness deep.” I jolted, then blinked, coming back to myself, clamping down on my dark thoughts. “He knows what it is, Mina. He’s been guarding it, protecting Raeria, but there’s no time. I need him alive.”

My insides turned to ice. The dream I’d just had flashed through my mind. I knew. In that instant—I knew. Still, I hesitated, crouched on the floor, looking over the king’s body. He’d lost so much blood. Already, his organs were shutting down, his body lapsing into a coma. Any minute, his heart would fail. I opened my mouth—

“Mina! Save him!” Rixon demanded, his voice strangled.

“Rix…I…I can’t.” My voice cracked.

“This isn’t about your revenge—”

“No! I mean—” I lifted my wrists, displaying my shackles. Never mind the bars. “I cannot save him, Rix,” I cried, eyes darting between Rixon’s shocked expression and the half-dead king on the ground.

“Nebrine shackles?!” he hissed, making the realization. My heart sped up, pulse roaring in my ears. He looked down at his father, eyes blinking rapidly. “Where is the key?!” he demanded, shaking the king, as if he might open his eyes and tell him.

I sagged, looking over the pathetic scene before me. Getting me out of the cell was one thing. Removing the shackles was another matter entirely. Hunting down the key would take time, precious time we did not have.

Blood pooled on the stones, seeping out of King Kozma’s shoulder. “The other witches,” I blurted, jumping to my feet, gripping the cold bars with my hands. “Elianna, Anna. They might be able to heal him, Rix, enough to keep him alive.”

It was a mere possibility. A hope. Rixon’s lips parted, brows drawing together.

“Go!” I cried. “If you want to save him. He has minutes—if you’re lucky. Go!”

Rixon nodded, eyes distant, then gathered up his father and sprinted away. I listened to his receding footsteps until they faded entirely. Silence fell. I staggered back to my cot, sinking down onto it. My eyes went unfocused. I tried to make sense of it. Rixon’s father, bleeding out. Rixon’s knife protruding from his leg—the same knife I’d used to cut Ms into the tunnel walls. Rixon finding me down here, when his father told me he never would.

A picture crystallized in my mind.

But it was the other things he’d said—things about the portal, about the blackness deep—that had my stomach twisting. Somewhere beneath the palace was a portal to hell. And somewhere beyond that portal was the blackness deep.

And that blackness deep? It wanted to get out. Goosebumps spread over my skin. I shivered. I’d felt it, the pressure, the power. I’d seen the murals—understood them for what they were. A warning, a foreshadowing, perhaps even a possibility that history might repeat itself.