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“Ach, that’s wicked as it comes, and no mistake,” Thad said on a yawn, peering around them. “Are you sure it’s not a natural rift?”
“Nay, lad.” Mag nudged the capped edge with his toe. “It’s too perfect here the way it’s scooped over, see? And this”—he slid his foot to the center, where a clever chunk had been taken out in a vee shape to mimic the splitting path—“is definitely on purpose.”
“Seems a bit silly to go to the trouble down here, if you ask me.” Thad put his nose to the air, scenting. “Why put a trap that depends on tricking the sight when there isn’t light to see it by? I think we want to go to the right.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t always the case. This part of it seems old to me, unlike that last cavern.” Magnus followed Thad’s example, wanting to sense what his cousin did, but came up with the opposite. “Why the right?”
Thad checked again, then, “Shite. There’s a weird current in here, because that time the answer was down, and that can’t possibly be the way. Or, if it is, I’m going back.”
Again, Mag’s nose told him to go to the left. “Are you feeling alright, Thaddeus?”
“Aye, as well as any other Thodeleborian feels these days.” Thad chuckled, shrugging. “Why?”
Magnus glanced away, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. Thad was worked to the bone because he was doing Mag’s job for him. That was the Sisters’ honest truth. Meanwhile, Mag was running back and forth all over the realms, barely sleeping himself, doing everything in his power to help in place of Brand. And for what? To put his young cousin through shite he shouldn’t have to worry about. To find out the ones he was doing it for barely appreciated it. To be forced to listen while they talked about his people, about Thad, like they were nothing more than numbers on a page and coins in a vault, and not worth basic kindness.
I…think it might be nearing time to come home, Pet. Regardless of what happens with Brand.
—I think you might be right. Soon, anyway—
Aye, soon. Because he couldn’t stand the idea of walking away and leaving them to fend for themselves, even for his own good.
Weeping moons, he was a fool.
“No reason, but I think you might want to get Sorcha’s snout checked,” he teased, trying to lighten things for himself, if nothing else. “I’ve gotten left every time, no question. Does anyone object?”
Thad shook his head as Lyriat said, “No objection. Jump, or skirt the edge?”
“Jump. But go ahead and throw your stone over so we can see where we’re headed.”
Lyriat did just that, the rock bounce, bounce, bouncing before it settled a few feet down the left passage.
“Perfect. I’ll go first, and then—”
—Watch out, lad!—
No sooner had Pet’s warning come through than the ground rumbled beneath their feet, pebbles skittering with the vibration, and the hairs on the back of his neck shot up on end. Magnus didn’t think. He shoved Lyriat as hard as he fucking could, chucked Thad across right after him, and followed himself as the first wisps of living shadow swept up from the depths.
“Run!”
Lyriat’s light was left behind as they scrambled, the natural darkness ahead little comfort when he knew its evil twin was snapping at their heels. The pounding beat of their sprinting steps echoed against the groaning cavern walls, both louder and louder, like the land itself was displeased with the poison flowing through its earthen veins.
“There!” Thad shouted above the din. “The surface.”
The first lash caught him around the wrist, but Magnus broke free, finding levels of speed he didn’t know he possessed on two feet. The second and third tore at his robe and hair respectively, and he was fucking done.
Get us the fuck out of here, Pet.
A leap, and his next bounding steps were on four paws. He scooped Thad up first, then Lyriat, the two of them clinging to his fur as he ate the distance between them and that beacon of moonlight.
They erupted out of the ground on a geyser of shadow—right into pure pandemonium.
Shrieks tore through the night above the din of roars and battlecries, Demons and Wolflords alike descending upon a wall of Forgotten, a hulking dreadbeast wreaking havoc at its center. And beyond them, only yards away, was the Ghostwood.
They couldn’t be any closer to the scar of the former Ghostbor if they tried, practically right on top of the seam.
Thad was off his back and launching into the fray as Sorcha within seconds, her maw closing around a Forgotten’s head with practiced ease. She tore it away like the thinnest paper and flung it down with a snarl before she hit the ground.
The call of his wolf’s purpose was a violent song in his blood, Pet frothing at the mouth to join the fray, and Mag hesitated. He forgot for a split-second that they couldn’t be there. That they needed to hie off into the hills as fast as possible to keep Lyriat’s presence a secret.
