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Bryce slowed to a stop. The darkness behind her loomed.
She found herself face-to-face with a scene depicting a great battlefield before the high walls of a city, Fae and winged horrors and snarling beasts all at war, entrenched in pain and suffering. One of the Fae stood in the foreground, spearing a fellow Fae warrior in the mouth.
Fae against Fae. It shouldn’t have bothered her. Shouldn’t have grabbed her as it did: the warrior-female’s merciless expression as she embedded her spear in the agonized face of the female soldier before her. It shouldn’t have unsettled something in Bryce to see it.
She’d long ago understood that this kind of thing wasn’t beyond the Fae. She took comfort in knowing she wasn’t like them, would never be that way.
Yet what she’d just done …
She wasn’t a monster. Was she?
Maybe she’d regret it. She knew Hunt would have yelled at her for setting a trap only to go help the people she’d ensnared.
But Bryce began running again, hurtling through the cave. Back toward Nesta and Azriel.
And prayed there was something left for her to save.
* * *
Bryce realized now, as she retraced her steps, that what she’d earlier thought to be the roaring of the river was in fact the thunderous movement of the Wyrm’s massive body. Azriel and Nesta must have made the same mistake.
In the dark, her starlight silvered the walls, casting the world into stark relief.
Her starlight hadn’t felt so … empty before. While it had been guiding them, it had been comforting, had brought some color and spark to this realm of eternal night. Now, bobbing with every sprinting step, it seemed harsh. Devoid of color.
Like even the light was disgusted by her.
Nesta and Azriel weren’t in the tunnel by the carving of the archway. From the shaking of the ground and the snapping of jaws ahead, they’d driven the Wyrm back to the river.
Bryce checked herself in time to slow to a walk before reaching the bank, reminding herself of Randall’s training.
Observe, assess, decide.
So she crept up the last few feet toward the rushing water, a hand over her star to dim it, and—
They weren’t there. No sign of the Wyrm or its meal. Her stomach dropped. They’d seemed supremely badass and capable. Surely that Wyrm couldn’t have …
It had.
Nesta lay sprawled on a large rock in the river not ten feet away. No sign of the Wyrm or Azriel. Perhaps it had eaten him already. And would soon return for the other part of its meal.
Oh gods, she’d done this, she’d fucked up beyond forgiveness—
Bryce raced to Nesta’s prone form, splashing through the icy water, slipping over stones, the river foaming around her waist in a strong current as she reached to turn the female over—
Nesta’s eyes were open. And blazing with fury.
A hand wrapped around Bryce’s throat. A blade poked into her back. And Azriel’s voice was whisper-soft as he snarled, “Give me one reason not to bury this knife in your spine.”
Bryce bared her teeth. “Because I came back to help?”
Nesta snorted, getting to her feet. Utterly unharmed.
“The Wyrm?” Bryce managed to ask, trying not to think about the knife angled to slide into her body. Or about the tug and thrum of the Starsword and the dagger, so near to her now.
“It’s hunting us,” Nesta seethed, eyeing the river, the tunnel.
“Then fucking run,” Bryce panted. “The tunnel’s open—”
