We’d gotten much closer to the surface by breaking through to the upper tunnels. Another wave of Aaves’s warriors was upon us before long—fewer of them, thankfully, than last time, but enough to slow down our exhausted and much whittled-down group. If Atrius was feeling the strain of the journey, he didn’t show it. The man was as ceaseless as the tides that had battered us, and just as immune, apparently, to the flaws of the body. Injuries, fatigue—none of it seemed to matter to him. He forged forward, taking kill after kill. It was hard to keep up with him, but I was determined. The paths were so narrow that we needed to spread out in a thin line—I worked hard to stay close to Atrius, the two of us finishing off each other’s injured prey, covering each other’s weak sides.
“Not much farther,” I rasped out, as I yanked my sword from another body.
Atrius nodded tersely, already moving on.
We were in the midst of another lull in opposition when, at long last, we found ourselves approaching a starry sky ahead. “The end of the tunnel,” Erekkus breathed, when we spotted it. “Thank the fucking Mother for that.”
And I had to agree, it was nice to feel that sudden rush of fresh air. The castle was not far ahead now, looming over us forebodingly. It wasn’t as big of a building as it appeared at a distance. Up close, one could tell that the way it blended into the jagged incline of the mountain bent reality in its favor. It was mismatched and gaudy, much like the gates we burst through to get into the city—like the entire thing was cobbled together in a stubborn rebellion of what a castle should look like. We were up very high now. The streets of Alka surrounded us—if they could be called such a thing, considering that they were little more than streaks of packed-down dirt and rotted hanging bridges, which led to houses built precariously into the stone. The people of Alka were used to violence. They knew to stay in their homes and draw their curtains tight.
Still, vampire attackers—that was a whole different game than their usual squabbling warlords. The whole city vibrated with terror.
Atrius paused to take all this in. Then turned to look out over the sea, and the other islands of Alka, where stone bridges extended like crooked spider legs to the mainland. The relief rolling from his presence was perhaps the most palpable emotion I’d ever sensed from him when he spotted his soldiers slowly making their way toward the inner city.
He’d lost many. Surely he knew that, too. But right now, it seemed like enough of a victory that he didn’t lose them all.
He turned to those in our little splinter of his group. He shouted a command in Obitraen, then turned ahead and set his gaze squarely on the castle: our final target.
He pointed his sword, and we marched.
Kinder rulers, perhaps, would not have wanted to fight in streets filled with civilians. Aaves and his ilk were not kind rulers. His people, as he’d proven over and over, were just pawns to be used to hold on to his power. His warriors yanked them from their homes as we approached, cluttering the already-difficult paths with terrified bodies who wanted nothing to do with any of this. They flung makeshift explosives, oil-soaked rags, from the windows of the lower levels of the castle, sending the rickety wooden homes up in smoke and burning the smallest of the bridges.
Even with my magic so exhausted, the fear—the pain—of those people was overwhelming.
I could not save them. I knew this. I didn’t try—most of the civilians were dead by their king’s own hand before we even reached them, more useful dead than alive to slow us down. Atrius’s men didn’t touch any of them, sheathing their blades as they pushed through the morass of human traps. Yet as we progressed through the city, cutting down the crazed warriors who flung themselves at us from the castle, the number of innocent corpses grew.
Accidental deaths. Inconsequential deaths, in the eyes of men like Aaves. Elderly, women, children. As we pushed through a section of the city that was on fire, I saw a little girl hanging out of a window, body limp, eyes wide and staring straight ahead sightlessly. There was no presence there. She was dead. Freshly dead—her newly-severed thread still trembled with fear.
I didn’t realize I’d stopped there, next to her, until Atrius put his hand on my shoulder.
“You’ll burn,” he said gruffly. “The fire is close.”
And yet maybe he saw all the signs of my anger—the fists clenched at my sides, the tremble of my jaw. Maybe he felt me shaking when he steered me away.
Atrius was not supposed to see any of those things—anything that was real. But I was too furious to even scold myself for it. And when he ducked close to my ear to mutter, “How many more before we can kill him?” I almost laughed out of sheer sadistic glee.
I pointed ahead to the gates of the castle. “We just fight our way through.” I trailed my finger up—to the top of the spire.
Even depleted, it was easy to sense Aaves up there. Disgusting worm that he was.
Atrius glanced back. His pronged approach had worked well—his soldiers were now pouring into every facet of the city, taking over every segment simultaneously. But the downside was that each group dwindled as they needed to split off in more directions. I had been so lost in my bloodlust that, foolishly, I hadn’t realized just how far ahead of the others Atrius and I had gone.
The others in our group still lingered behind, occupying the last of Aaves’s men.
“You want to wait for them?” I asked.
He let out a low chuckle, like I’d just said something unintentionally amusing. “I don’t wait for anyone.” Then, “How many in there?”
“The castle? Many.”
“Too many?”
I paused, realizing what he was asking: Too many for us?
Yes, there were many warriors in that castle. Lots of people who would want to kill us.
But I thought of Atrius and the way he killed like breathing. Considered my own training and the significant trail of bodies I’d left during my journey through this city.
I considered my own fury.
“No,” I said at last. “Not too many.”
Atrius smiled. This was what he wanted to hear.
16
The Arachessen were not supposed to feel extreme emotions—infatuation, elation, terror, hatred. These things clouded our minds. They made it impossible to be impartial. Arachessen were encouraged to be passionate, of course—passionate for our Weaver, our Sisters, and our pursuit of Rightness. But our passion was a steady love, deep and calm like the sea on a clear night. We were told that there was nothing more dangerous than a storm.
My darkest secret was that I had always struggled with this.