clamps my wrist as though he’s my own personal shackle.
I know I shouldn’t be the one who’s here beside him, but how can I leave Talon to face this alone?
Another pound badgers the door. I glance to the faces appearing through the latticed window in between each slam, desperation slicking its way over me. Seconds later, another hit follows. Then another, and another. I stiffen in fear.
With a low murmur Ren catapults a storm of magic into Talon’s legs. Talon lets out a throaty screech, rearing his head against the stone as several cracking noises snap from the direction of his knees.
“Sorry about that,” says Ren. “Had to set the bones.”
Talon’s head slumps back, his gloved hands clenched on his thighs. “It’s—fine—” he says through hefty breaths.
Ren continues streaming magic into Talon’s legs, and I kneel, looking for a way to remove the cuffs from his wrists. They’re wide and rusty, and though it’s only been days, Talon’s skin is raw and red. I try to turn the irons without rubbing his skin any more than it already is. The smallest of keyholes appears just near the chain links.
“Shasa, bring those keys here!” I demand.
She replies with a suggestion of exactly where I can stuff the keys as she tries another one in the prison cell nearest to where the hidden tunnel gapes open. She swings the cell door wide enough for the bedraggled man in tattered clothes and barefeet to hobble toward the tunnel.
We need to follow them. We’ve got to get out of here.
“Is that enough?” I demand of Ren, urgency rippling through. “Can he stand?” We’ve got to get him into that tunnel. We have to leave now.
“Here, men!” someone calls from the corridor outside. The soldiers’ grunts and shouts grow louder as a final pound strikes, causing the hinges to rasp a final, weak moan.
I lift Talon’s arm around my shoulder. Ren crouches to do the same from his other side. Talon winces, his legs motionless before him.
“Now!” I cry, attempting to stand. Ren tries as well, but we stagger under Talon’s weight, falling back to the stone.
The lock breaks. The heavy door creaks open.
“No,” I say in horror as a handful of soldiers charges in from the narrow staircase with Tyrus Blinnsdale at the helm.
T alon squeezes my wrist. His warm fingers weave through mine, the leather from his fingerless gloves creaking.
Ren stands quickly, blocking the gaggle of soldiers from Talon on the ground. Streams of silver snake along Talon’s legs, residual from whatever magic Ren was applying.
I stand as well, meeting the throng and attempting to get a head-count.
Two, four, six, seven, eight…
Angels, let Ren’s healing work.
We’re going to need Talon if we have any hope of getting out of this. Several of them hold large black cases.
“Ambry Csille,” Tyrus says. A dark-skinned boy no older than Talon holds one of the cases. He makes eye contact with Talon, but Tyrus pushes past him, intercepting the silent exchange.
Tyrus stands at the forefront. His lips twitch. “I should have killed you back at the Station,” he says to me.
“Yeah, I know how much you like to tell other people to take care of your problems,” I say, thinking of Gwynn.
Gwynn. Once I get Talon out, I’m coming back for her. I have to find some way to reach her.
Despite her claims of Tyrus’s kill-on-sight order, she hesitated. She made the feeblest of attempts. She could have had her guard hold me, she could have stabbed me directly, or even used her stolen magic somehow.
But she didn’t.
My promise to her resonates like an echo deep in my soul. I’m not giving up on her. Hope was there, screaming from her gaze. She’s confused. She’s lost.
“How is he still alive?” one of the soldiers—an older man with hair more salt than pepper—asks, pointing to Ren. The nametag over his breastpocket reads
Lewis
. “I stabbed him myself.”
My jaw clenches. Thank you, Ayso.
“Lucky break, I guess,” says
I know I shouldn’t be the one who’s here beside him, but how can I leave Talon to face this alone?
Another pound badgers the door. I glance to the faces appearing through the latticed window in between each slam, desperation slicking its way over me. Seconds later, another hit follows. Then another, and another. I stiffen in fear.
With a low murmur Ren catapults a storm of magic into Talon’s legs. Talon lets out a throaty screech, rearing his head against the stone as several cracking noises snap from the direction of his knees.
“Sorry about that,” says Ren. “Had to set the bones.”
Talon’s head slumps back, his gloved hands clenched on his thighs. “It’s—fine—” he says through hefty breaths.
Ren continues streaming magic into Talon’s legs, and I kneel, looking for a way to remove the cuffs from his wrists. They’re wide and rusty, and though it’s only been days, Talon’s skin is raw and red. I try to turn the irons without rubbing his skin any more than it already is. The smallest of keyholes appears just near the chain links.
“Shasa, bring those keys here!” I demand.
She replies with a suggestion of exactly where I can stuff the keys as she tries another one in the prison cell nearest to where the hidden tunnel gapes open. She swings the cell door wide enough for the bedraggled man in tattered clothes and barefeet to hobble toward the tunnel.
We need to follow them. We’ve got to get out of here.
“Is that enough?” I demand of Ren, urgency rippling through. “Can he stand?” We’ve got to get him into that tunnel. We have to leave now.
“Here, men!” someone calls from the corridor outside. The soldiers’ grunts and shouts grow louder as a final pound strikes, causing the hinges to rasp a final, weak moan.
I lift Talon’s arm around my shoulder. Ren crouches to do the same from his other side. Talon winces, his legs motionless before him.
“Now!” I cry, attempting to stand. Ren tries as well, but we stagger under Talon’s weight, falling back to the stone.
The lock breaks. The heavy door creaks open.
“No,” I say in horror as a handful of soldiers charges in from the narrow staircase with Tyrus Blinnsdale at the helm.
T alon squeezes my wrist. His warm fingers weave through mine, the leather from his fingerless gloves creaking.
Ren stands quickly, blocking the gaggle of soldiers from Talon on the ground. Streams of silver snake along Talon’s legs, residual from whatever magic Ren was applying.
I stand as well, meeting the throng and attempting to get a head-count.
Two, four, six, seven, eight…
Angels, let Ren’s healing work.
We’re going to need Talon if we have any hope of getting out of this. Several of them hold large black cases.
“Ambry Csille,” Tyrus says. A dark-skinned boy no older than Talon holds one of the cases. He makes eye contact with Talon, but Tyrus pushes past him, intercepting the silent exchange.
Tyrus stands at the forefront. His lips twitch. “I should have killed you back at the Station,” he says to me.
“Yeah, I know how much you like to tell other people to take care of your problems,” I say, thinking of Gwynn.
Gwynn. Once I get Talon out, I’m coming back for her. I have to find some way to reach her.
Despite her claims of Tyrus’s kill-on-sight order, she hesitated. She made the feeblest of attempts. She could have had her guard hold me, she could have stabbed me directly, or even used her stolen magic somehow.
But she didn’t.
My promise to her resonates like an echo deep in my soul. I’m not giving up on her. Hope was there, screaming from her gaze. She’s confused. She’s lost.
“How is he still alive?” one of the soldiers—an older man with hair more salt than pepper—asks, pointing to Ren. The nametag over his breastpocket reads
Lewis
. “I stabbed him myself.”
My jaw clenches. Thank you, Ayso.
“Lucky break, I guess,” says
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