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“I could get you onto one of Fathyr’s ships,” she bargains, connecting the pieces. “He does frequent trade in the Bone Sea. We can still write to each other. We can—“
I touch my lips to hers, stopping her mouth. A common occurrence. Then, I embrace my bonnya sweet and assure her, “All the plans have been made, my Princess.”
Franzy’s eyes widen so much at something behind me, the whites free themselves of her irises. Amidst countless other shrieks, gasps, and similar gestures of stunned silence from the crowds, she gasps and motions, “Isthata part of your plans, Isla?”
When I turn to face the edge of the Court a few hundred yards away where the River Cryth winds outside the Citadel, I nearly scream with everyone else. Deja vu returns to me from the night Allysteir brought me to visit the herd, the bone horses, and how Ifrynna misted away. How the only creature who could threaten the Guardian of the Underworld is:
“The Sleeping Stallion,” I murmur at the sight of the enormous black bone horse pawing the court floor, fracturing the tiles, the momentum shaking the River and sending dozens of spirits plunging through the waters to escape. Terror scourges my blood until my pulse hammers through my skin.
“Obviously, he’s not sleeping anymore,” whispers Franzy, humor unusual for her. She leans in, nails digging crescent moon indents into my flesh.
Head as high as the Court ceiling, the Stallion trains its predatory dark eyes on all the white-shocked partygoers, marking everyone for an early grave, just punishment for disturbing its territory. For in ancient times, the Underworld belonged to all spirits and twain travelers; the Stallion, a machination of the Highest God of Ifrynn, of hell, ruled. No doubt, it’s why Kryach created Ifrynna and named her so to mock the Highest God.
When the Stallion jerks its head, shaking its mane as long as three tapestries stitched together, and snorts puffs of breath like a drove of ghosts, the Court erupts into chaos. Dozens of bodies knock into me in their attempt to escape the fatal threat. I squeeze Franzy’s hand for dear life. And stumble when a new body barrels into me. But she raises me to my feet.
This can’t be the diversion the Queen spoke of, can it? She would never harm Nathyan Ghyeal, would she? How could she awaken the Sleeping Stallion after centuries of rest?
Out of the corner of my eye, the Stallion rears up. Its massive body shudders before the creature crashes down, hooves smashing multiple revelers, shattering bones to powder. Pain racks my chest. I’ve only lived here for a year, a simple year, but if this loss of lives is on my account...
Just as the Stallion whips its muzzle, preparing to attack with the monstrous extension of a jagged claw, my heart jolts when Ifrynna appears. She strikes the Stallion from the side. The powerful momentum of her trinity jaws drives the Stallion toward the River. But the roused creature is strong, stronger than her. He recovers without falling and takes an offensive stance.
More bodies batter into me. More screams. More people scattering for any exits.
Franzy tugs me along, dragging me closer to the dais, but I can’t help but gaze back at the tri-hound, terrified for my friend who has carried me so many times safely through the Underworld and back to the Citadel—my friend whom I gifted with three floral crowns, my friend who listened to my stories.
Once Allysteir arrives, his hand settling on my arm, I claw for his robes and plead, “Allysteir, please, help her!”
By now, Aydon has arrived at Franzy’s side. Both Ith men lead us toward the dais while Ifrynna and the Stallion circle one another, assessing for weaknesses. More people make for the tunnels.
“No!” I scream, lurching when the Stallion smashes into Ifrynna, knocking her to the ground to split the Citadel floor. Allysteir propels me back, my protection first and foremost in his mind. No, our future child’s. Thenonexistentone.
Then, Gryzelda’s hand lands on my shoulder, her other on Allysteir’s arm. “I’ll take her, son. Go. You and Aydon alone can protect the White Ladies.”
At first, Allysteir hesitates, lips parting, eyes darting between me and Ifrynna. Aydon mimics him, but he steps forward while fingering the parietal skull bone at his chest, prepared to defend Nathyan Ghyeal with everything.
The Stallion rams Ifrynna into a pillar. It topples to the ground. Some of the ceiling fractures, tumbling with it. I squeeze my eyes shut from Ifrynna yelping, then growling while the Stallion pursues her, unrelenting.
Understanding this is my one chance, I lean in, kiss Allysteir long and full on the mouth, and assure him, eyes wide and panicked, “If you go now with Aydon, I’ll leave with your mother. I’ll go where it’s safe. But you have to be there for her, Allysteir. Or I swear I’ll use whatever I have soIcan help her.” I deadpan, stabbing the nail in the coffin because it is my coffin in a way: our last farewell. Except no lullabies await me. “For our child, Ally,” I lie right through my teeth and touch my stomach to drive my point home.
Allysteir pinches his eyes, pained, swallowing, his throat apple bobbing before he turns to Aydon, nods firmly, and urges me to Gryzelda. In the background, the Stallion rears up, fatal hooves charging. Ifrynna dodges out of the way at the last second and snaps her jaws, biting the Stallion’s neck, drawing blood.
Confident when Allysteir and Aydon charge with their twin parietal skull bone magic, I fling off my mask and tear down one of the branched-off halls with Gryzelda and Franzy as fast as our feet can carry us. But halfway down one court hall, Franzy slows, her breaths rasping.
“Leyanyn?” I glance back and extend my hand to close over hers.
“Isla, there is no time,” urges Gryzelda, her eyes fervent in the dim cavern torchlight which reflects her gems to cast prisms across her face. She lowers her voice, murmuring so only I may hear, “Nothing has gone according to plan. If you wish to leave, if you wish to escape your fate, escape the gods, we must leave now.”
Winded, Franzy waves me onward. “Go, Isla, I’ll be fine. I just need to catch my breath. I’ll be right behind you.”
I whimper, clutching onto her fingers tighter as if it’s the last time I’ll touch her. Dread rises to pierce my heart. If she doesn’t come with me, I fear I will never see her again.
Franzy smiles at me, squeezes my shoulder, thumbing the fresh wound from Kryach’s former scar. “Everything is as it should be, Isla. I promise. We may not dance the night away and drink Sythe wine, but we did dance. And now, it’s time for me to send you away.” Tears shimmer in my eyes, veiling my vision. Raw agony preys on my throat, restricting my breath, anything to a mere whimper when she finishes, “Time for you to run. Run, Isla. Run!”
She pushes me. And I obey her. I run. For the first time, I run while Franzy stays. Convinced my heart is crumbling, I follow Gryzelda, racing down passageway after passageway until she leads me to a place I have not entered in a year. One year. A fateful night with my back pressed to the dead-end wall of the Skull Ruins.
This time, when Gryzelda leads me through the Ruins, past pillars and walls, and passages of fused skulls, with her never releasing my wrist, a cold apprehension lances my nerves. My Nether-mark awakes with icy claws.
We reach the familiar dead end within the hollow room. Gaps confess where skulls once were housed before the King’s magic unleashed them. Like whole teeth knocked out of the wall of a mouth. Gryzelda feels along the wall, fingers grappling for something unknown to me.
