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“I follow you,” Gireth said, rooting his lethal form in their path. “I always have.”
Renton nodded, fighting back the tidal wave of what felt like actual happiness.Yearssurviving in hell. He’d dive right back in head first just to experience this moment again. There was no denying it—cracks were forming in the iron he’d cast around his heart.
United, they carved their way through guards to the prison yard. It was where Boedworth kept one of his most valued and dangerous secrets.
Renton had never been so thrilled to see the mammoth, black-scaled welkin. He’d expected Boedworth to slaughter it, fearful of the beast escaping and exacting vengeance after Ashens failed to leash its mind. Hauling it into Mire had proven enough of a hazard that the councilman had decided it belonged in chains, turning instead to more malleable beasts for Dreaddix transportation.
So chained, the welkin had remained here through most of Renton’s training.
As the massive welkin lifted its head, it was almost cathartic to stare back into its gleaming red eyes.
It recognizes you, Aeyis said.
For they had all been chained: the welkin to this dungeon, Aeyis to this village, Gireth to the hunting clans, and Renton to a monster parading about as a politician.
Withdrawing a lockpick, Renton freed the welkin from its shackles, aware of its sharp, intelligent gaze. He couldn’t help his desire to save things. It was the part of his father that lived on inside of him. The part he couldn’t kill off, no matter how hard he’d strived to.
“Please don’t eat us. Please don’t eat us,” Gireth chanted, though he didn’t cower away as the beast stretched its head and wings into the fog-smeared sky.
Watching in awe, Renton held back a grin, remembering how he’d scaled these very walls as a child. At first, he’d craved the danger, eager to catch a glimpse of the beast Mias had talked about at dinner the night before. Quickly, though, that curiosity morphed into despair. He didn’t fear the beast as it turned its inferno eyes on him. No, he feared how far hunters were being twisted by Boedworth’s control.
Somehow, the beast hadn’t thought a child a threat. It never so much as blew a lick of flame at him as he'd returned countless times, scaling the outside prison wall and tossing in scraps of meat. He envied the welkin’s fortitude, never cowering to its masters, unlike him when Mias flashed that wicked grin that promised pain. Had the welkin known back then that Renton would be its salvation? Or had it just assumed him too weak to bother with?
The prison yard doors slammed open, hunters shouting out orders and hurling sharpened weapons. All were met with a stream of emerald fire from the welkin’s maw.
Gireth yelped. “Did you know it could do that?”
Renton scaled the welkin’s back, leaping onto the metal platform fused into the bones of its spine, a half-cage meant to ferry prisoners and Corrupt to their fate on Dreaddix. Gireth and Aeyis followed suit.
“I suspected,” Renton answered.
The welkin sank its claws into the stone walls. Up it climbed, low growls rumbling from its chest as it fought against the slick, mossy surface and atrophy in its limbs.
That’s it. We’re almost free.
As the welkin shoved off the prison wall and took uneven flight, Renton peered over the platform railing at the mobs of hunters surrounding the prison.
Oh yes, he should have done this ages ago.
Chapter12
Tenah
Mind frantic with half-feral thoughts, the darkness of the prison cart reminded Tenah too much of death. She scooted to the doors and ran her hands along the surface, searching for hinges or rust spots. Chains dragged at the other end of the cart, and she stilled.
“Don’t waste your energy. The doors won’t budge, and the shackles are magicked to constrict your abilities.” The feminine voice had a thick Vristarian accent like her father. What was a northern fire kingdom native doing in the Boglands?
For show, Tenah ignited a tiny crimson ember in her palm. “Few things are impervious to Delemor flame.”
The petite woman’s catlike, sky blue eyes widened. She had light brown skin and a sharp bob of black hair. Tenah appreciated the way she wore her leathers and chains with an attitude, arms dangled over her bent knees as if she was used to being labeled dangerous.
“Well.” The woman smiled back. “That explains whyyou’rehere. You wouldn’t happen to be related to the murderous Kherathi Delemor? Everyone on the isles heard his declaration of war.”
A lump formed in Tenah’s throat. “Can it really be considered a declaration of war if he’s raving mad with Chaos?”
The woman shrugged, examining her plum-painted nails. Tenah’s gaze slid to the gold medallion inlaid on her form-fitted leather armor, an elegant letter E centered between two overlapping diamonds. Her stomach churned. The mark of an Embassy employee—an assassin from Denoden. Her father had the same medallion tucked away in his attic desk. She’d discovered it one morning while left with the manor staff.
“Vesara Sut’hik,” the woman said by way of introduction. “So what’s our plan, pretty girl?”
