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But it was enough. More than enough.

“Think of what you want while feeding the flame into the sigil. Do not falter, it requires complete focus.” His voice came out raw, the ache inside him stripped bare. Gwen’s eyes slid to the side to glance at him before refocusing on her hand, nose scrunching in thought—with intention—Orpheus’ own breath going thin when she reached out and the Netherflame rolled off her palm and ignited the sigil.

It flared purple, a brief flash before it resettled into a dim, steady glow.

Orpheus swallowed the tackiness in his mouth. “Now, the wick.”

Gwen didn’t hesitate. A second ball of Netherflame ignited in her hand and she lifted it to the cannon's wick.

Orpheus held his breath while the flame crawled up the braiding. Inch by inch until the flame disappeared into the cylinder and the cannon groaned, then began shaking. Behind the glass, the dust sparked violet.

“It worked,” Gwen gasped, grinning, voice high with delight. Their eyes met and hers sparkled with an excitement Orpheus could feel, like it was his own Netherflame at work instead of Gwen’s. “My magic, it worked—”

Between them, the cannon bounced, shivered, the iron housing straining—

“Get back!” Orpheus leaped for Gwen at the precise moment the cannon erupted. The force blew apart its brake, the cannon skidding back on its wheels straight for them.

Pressure twisted his collar and then Duluth was there, tossing Orpheus to one side while he tackled Gwen to the opposite. He hit the ground hard, his head spinning, the shackle around his ankle straining against its chain when he tried to crawl out of harm’s way. But there wasn’t enough give. He rolled over right as Netherflame erupted from the cannon and screamed.

A crushing pressure. A bone-splitting crack. The cannon bounced over Orpheus’ chained leg while a beam of raging violet light blasted straight for the Prometheus.

Time slowed atop the shale, taking with it his pain. Through swimming eyes, Orpheus stared at the beam like it was him getting fed while, feet away, Gwen froze, caught in the moment. They watched together: cannon shaking while the Netherflame inside split and split and split into an artificial growth that would burn out as quickly as it ignited. But it had worked—his spell. Gwen’s magic. And as the Prometheus wailed from beyond the wall of fire with a desperate relief Orpheus could nearly feel, he met Gwen’s eyes and smiled.

Despite the chain. Despite the collar. Despite the cage and the Rim and the many many miles he was away from home—when Gwen grinned back with all her shared, gleeful hunger, Orpheus had never felt so trapped as he did right then, caught in this one girl’s snare.

Run. Now’s your chance to run, Fifi.

Orpheus lurched up to his feet.

Pain snapped, a nauseating wave that yanked him back towards the ground.

“No—” he gasped, hitting the ground hard. Before him, the chain dragged limply—his leg bent at a strange angle above the cuff.

“Well, I admit, this does make things easier.” Atticus’ drawl came from close behind him, curdling in his ears. He came around to crouch beside Orpheus, lifting the limp chain idly, then prodding at his break. “I probably should have broken your legs from the start, hmm?”

Fuck! “I—I helped you!”

Beyond the wall of fire, the Prometheus lazily swayed, ignoring the white rats scattering at its feet—sated, for the time being. Fed, all because of him.

Orpheus couldn’t stop it, not his tears nor his rage. “I helped you! You’d be dead without me!”

“Which is why I’m doing this.” Atticus’ eyes lifted to something over Orpheus’ head and then hands shoved him to the shale with a bracing pressure he couldn’t escape.

Atticus took hold of his broken leg and pulled.

Pain lanced through Orpheus, darkness tunneling in on a narrow seam of light. He felt himself scream more than he heard it, pain exploding through his leg, so much worse than the brief impact of the break. In a teeth-grinding slide, Atticus maneuvered bone against bone, jagged edges skipping past each other while Duluth held him down. By the time Atticus slotted his leg together in a way that felt close but not complete, Orpheus was outright begging.

“S—stop, please! Please!”

“There now, it’s done. You’re lucky the bone didn’t break your skin. Keep helping and maybe I’ll brace it.” Atticus patted his leg gently. “I’m not above rewards for good behavior, but you should know, it will take a lot more than this to gain my trust. And after that impressive display, I have no intention of letting you go, ever.”

He’s not actually going to kill you, you know. Not so long as you can do this better than me.

Orpheus choked down a sob, body already cold with shock when Duluth carried him back to the wagon. And as the door clanged shut and Gwen’s magic bled from her hands into the seam of his narrowing vision, he considered for the first time that Atticus wasn’t lying, and Fenrir was dead, because why else wasn’t he here, rescuing him? Because he sure as hell wasn’t going to save himself.

Not anymore.

Chapter XIII