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I knock into something several minutes later, taking most of the hit on my shoulder. My heart begins to pound in a furious rhythm just behind the skin, telling me that I’m going to have a spectacular and painful bruise to show for it by the end of the day. I’ll take that bruise if it’s the worst I have to endure during my escape attempt. Regardless, I grope along the surface of whatever the hell I just ran into, my lips curling into a small, pleased smile when I find it’s a stalagmite. The tip is rounded from years of erosion, but the jutting formation is skinny enough at the top to ease between my bonds. I don’t need it to be sharp, I just need a little friction, and this will do nicely.
It takes a minute of dedicated sawing for the ropes around my hands to begin to heat. Every move is awkward and hard to manage, owing to the tightness of my bonds. Someone knows their stuff when it comes to ropes. The last time I saw someone do this thorough a job, I was sailing on Hook’s new ship, theSiren’s Song, and he’d just captured the last of Agatha’s stragglers. No one knows their way around ropes quite like a sailor.
I don’t need the ropes to snap, I just need them warm. From almost the moment I could toddle, I’ve been playing with fire. Just little sparks at first, then the tongues that leapt from the ends of candles, and then the stuff in the castle grates, always done in secret. Father had been proud when Beacon began showing an affinity for magic, and encouraged him at every turn, buying him books and any of the materials he needed to improve his craft. Father was of the mind that it was a scholarly pursuit and one best left to men. That hadn’t quite panned out. The modest gift had faded by the time Beacon was a teen.
Mine hadn’t.
Whispers had followed me when I began to show ability. Father sat me down, told me not to have aspirations above my station. He’d turned his coat not long after Morningstar invaded, dedicating our family to the bastard’s cause. He explained that I was a woman, and my life would be best spent on the arm of one of Morningstar’s generals.
I resist the urge to spit. I will swallow the most stringent poison I can find before I bed even the lowliest of soldiers in Morningstar’s army.
Regardless, Father died in the battle of Nighburrow, charred to bits by one of Veles’ dragon sons, and there went any plans of turning me into a child bride. And good riddance to bad rubbish. Selfish and cruel not to mourn my dear old dad, but there you have it. Selfless girls don’t win wars.
The skin around my wrists begins to warm, then grows almost uncomfortably hot as I continue to saw at my bonds. To any other Chosen, this temperature would probably feel blistering. I’ve always had a higher tolerance for heat, though I’m not completely fireproof. I heal faster from burns than most people, if given the chance to recover, and I’ll be able to heal this wound in less than a week... assuming I survive whatever is waiting for me at the cave entrance. Will it be more hellhounds? Ogres? Some of Vita’s plant creations that writhe like snakes and strangle the life out of you? I’m rooting for ogres. They don’t have the patience for malice and skip straight to the bludgeoning part. And they’re usually pretty dumb.
I smile triumphantly when the sensation of smoke brushes along my skin, rising from the strained fibers of the rope. Then I feel it. It’s tiny, just a minute spark. I doubt it’s perceptible to the human eye, but it’s enough for me. The magic begins in the tips of my toes and unfurls through my body, moving in a warm rush to my core. My heart hammers like I’ve run miles without stopping, magic imbuing every cell and muscle fiber before gathering in my reaching hands. I feel, rather than see, the rope ignite, and I jerk my hands to either side, snapping my bonds with ease. I can’t help a small, triumphant smile when the rope falls away. I want to whoop, to dance a little jig, anything to celebrate. It’s not often I’m capable of pinpoint accuracy, even with the training I’ve been getting from Tenebris and Horatius, but it’s finally paid off. I settle for stomping the rope underfoot instead, lest the flame attract the attention of a guard. It takes a few tries, but I can tell when the flame gutters out.
Now, to find the exit out of this place.
I put one hand on the wall, feeling my way along, the other outstretched before me. Some of the fevered heat has seeped from my skin, but I clutch a little of it to me, ready to fling flame at whatever comes for me. I can’t imagine that Morningstar’s men would leave me unguarded, even if they don’t realize that I’m one of the Chosen. I have a Guild tattoo etched just above my hip, which is enough confirmation to earn me a death sentence, perhaps with a side order of torture. Even in this eleventh hour, with every kingdom poised on the brink of war, the information I have could be useful. They wouldn’t just throw me in a hole to waste away.
“Keep telling yourself that,”I think to myself.“Maybe you’ll believe it by this time tomorrow.”
“Oh, shut up, me. This is no time to be a pessimist.”
Then when is the right time, exactly?
Gods and goddesses I hate when I have a point.
CHAPTER TWO
BLAZE
I have to bite my lip when my shins bang repeatedly into upraised stalagmites. Despite my careful pace and attempts to feel my way forward with my feet, I hit them every minute or two, as if the damn things pop up simply to slow me down. Thanks to Tenebris’ artifices, I’ve become too used to using my sight to navigate my surroundings. I never truly learned how to find my way around using any of my other senses, and now I’m paying for it. My heart pounds dully behind each wound, once again alerting me that I’m going to be feeling this tomorrow. I’ve run in worse conditions, but only just. If I’m not careful, I’ll break something, and then I’llreallybe in trouble.
Rocks shift ahead of me, and I freeze in place, pressing my back flat against the stone wall, keeping a tight grip on the magic in my fist. The rock shelf I’m climbing is incredibly narrow, barely wide enough for just one person to pass. Two people can’t walk abreast without one in constant peril of falling over the side. The acoustics of this place make it impossible to tell how far down the cavern beyond stretches, but anything over twenty-five feet would almost certainly kill me. But facing what’s coming may be just as deadly. Whoever is moving my way will encounter me eventually. Is it one of my captors, come to check on me? Or worse, someone set on torturing me for my information? Have they figured out who I am and plan to turn me over to Morningstar? I’ve seen the brute. It would only take a savage twist of his massive fists to snap my neck, though I doubt I’ll be that lucky if I fall into his grasp. I hear he and his generals can make the torment last for months at a time.
I strain my ears, trying to pick up anything I can about the figure ahead. How heavy is the tread? The volume and pace could give me a hint about gender. Men have a different gait owing to the appendage they’re absurdly proud of that hangs between their legs. I’ve yet to meet a man who didn’t think he was impressive, despite how few of them wereactuallywell-endowed.
The steps move forward cautiously, trying to be surreptitious about it. Two legs, not four, which eliminates the possibility of hellhounds, thank the gods. I won’t last long against one of them, impaired as I am. Then again, there’s no telling how long I’ll last against the man coming my way. And itisa man. I’m more certain of that with every passing second. Good-sized from the sound of his footfalls. Ahem, I mean height-wise, not appendage-wise.
I inch back the way I came, scarcely daring to breathe, praying to every god I can think of that the man ahead is human. Any other creature will be able to make out my short, shallow breaths and the furious pounding of my heart and hone in on it with more speed and accuracy than a witch’s hex. The footsteps slow, and I can make out even breathing. He’s listening for something.
Shit, shit, shit! I really stepped in it this time!
I take another step back and my calf collides noisily with a stalagmite. A yelp flies from my lips before I can stop it, echoing off the walls and back to whoever is lying in wait. I might as well have played a brassy tune on a trumpet, signaling exactly where I am. The heavy footfalls start running my way, and I let out what sounds suspiciously like a yip of fright before running in the opposite direction. Covert action is pointless now that someone knows I’ve escaped my bonds. Either I escape, or I die.
More undignified sounds force themselves from my throat as I rebound off the walls and jutting stalagmites during my panicked flight. My skin splits at some point, and I feel a warm gush of blood run from my knee, down my shins, and between my toes to pool in my shoes. Just don’t faceplant on the stone, I think to myself. I’d almost certainly impale myself on a stalagmite. It’s such an ignoble death that it almost makes me laugh. What an epitaph.She died as she lived, doing something her brother told her not to.
It’s really not that funny.
The man is nearby now, only a few yards back. I can make out that much, even over the harsh sound of my breathing. I can tell from the air flow that there’s a break in the stone up ahead and I dive for it. No matter how narrow or where it leads, it has to be better than falling into the hands of one of Morningstar’s men. Or the hellhounds. My hands find a crack in the wall a few moments later, just wide enough for a human to squeeze through. I press myself between the craggy stone walls, wincing as their jagged edges scrape fabric and flesh away as I pass. I abandon the cloak almost at once, lest my pursuer use it as a garotte from the other side. I can feel air blowing softly across my navel, a sure sign that part of my tunic was ripped away by a stone protrusion in the wall. Oh, well. I’ll run back to camp wearing nothing but a smile if that’s what it takes to survive.
The passage narrows, and I have to breathe sparingly to make it through. And then, just when I think my lungs will burst, I’m through, stepping out the other side. There’s another narrow shelf of rock here, and I test it, just to be sure it’s steady. When I don’t immediately plummet to my death, I risk it, slipping onto the ledge, praying it will bear my weight. It does, thank the gods. I set off again, listening for the sound of an approach, but I can’t hear anything but my own shuffling footsteps. The passage was too small for the man to follow, I’m sure. I barely made it through without suffocating.
The air wafting across my face feels cleaner than the air in the network I’ve just escaped. There’s more light here, too. Perhaps the entrance is only a few miles away, and I’ll stagger into a forest. From there, I just need to find a river. If I follow the water long enough, I have to find civilization at some point. Most towns border a river or lake. From there, I can rent a room, lay low, and send word to Tenebris. A year ago she’d probably have been cross with me for losing her artifices, but I have a feeling she’ll be kinder now. She did marry my brother, after all. So that means I’m family, an annoying sister she’ll have to tolerate.
Ha! Sucks for her.
