Caius took a few brisk steps toward the chamber’s exit. Neither guard made a move to stop him. He gestured for Dorian and Echo and Ivy to follow. When he reached the door, he turned and met the guard’s gaze. “Then I will not fail.”
The guard inclined her head in a shallow nod of acknowledgment. Almost as an afterthought, she clapped her right fist to her heart. It was an old gesture, rarely used among the Drakharin but known to all of them. It was a salute. A sign of recognition, of respect. Of fealty. Of faith.
Caius accepted it with a nod. As he threw open the heavy wooden doors leading deeper into the keep, he prayed to the gods that he would be worthy of all that gesture meant.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Caius knew the halls of Wyvern’s Keep as intimately as if a map of the fortress had been etched into his bones. He had come to know its labyrinthine corridors as a child, chasing his sister and being chased in return. He had carved his name into the foundation, like so many young nobles before him, hoping to steal for himself a slice of its timeless strength, its eternal solidity.
That knowledge served him well now as he slunk through the keep’s halls, silent as a mouse, danger humming through his veins.
“That was easy,” Echo said, trotting to keep up with Caius’s long strides. The corridor leading from the central gateway was empty, but their run of luck would not be infinite.
“It won’t be, going forward,” Caius said. “If they’d been Firedrakes, they would have sounded an alarm and put up a fight. We were lucky. Astonishingly so.”
“And we won’t be for much longer,” Dorian said. He stopped and tilted his head, listening. “Boots. Three pairs. Heavy armor.”
Firedrakes.
Caius drew his knives and strained to listen. He could hear them now, approaching from one of the service corridors branching off the main hallway. They were walking slowly, in no great hurry, unaware that the most wanted Drakharin in all the land was yards away. They would be in for an unpleasant surprise. “Echo, Ivy, stay out of the fight if you can.”
His words were met with an unladylike snort. “Yeah, okay,” Echo said. “Sure. No problem. I’ll just pull up a chair and watch you slice and dice your way through the keep. Maybe make some popcorn. You don’t happen to have a microwave in this musty castle, do you?”
She was rambling. She did that when she was scared. Caius wasn’t sure she even realized it.
“Defend yourself if you must,” said Caius, “but leave the fighting to us.”
Echo opened her mouth to protest—as he knew she would—but he silenced her with his best stern look. He was only a little surprised it actually worked to quell her indignation.
“I’ve seen you in battle, Echo,” Caius said. “I do not doubt your abilities, but I didn’t bring you here to shed Drakharin blood. This has to be done a certain way.”
It wouldn’t do to have the firebird’s formal introduction to his people involve her cutting them down with a magic they had believed was the stuff of fairy tales.
An unhappy frown stole across her face, but she nodded. “Got it. Consider this bird’s wings temporarily clipped.”
The trio of guards rounded the bend. Red cloaks. Golden armor. Firedrakes indeed. They charged, and Caius was ready.
They were disarmed easily enough. One fell beneath Caius’s knives, the second succumbed to Dorian’s brutal strikes, while the third threw down his sword and clasped his fist to his chest once he had seen Caius’s face.
“She is in the throne room,” the guard said in a quiet, tremulous voice. Fear flickered through his eyes. “Help us.” And though begging was not the way of his people, the guard added, “Please.”
Caius had simply nodded and accepted the man’s surrender. With Dorian, Ivy, and Echo following close behind, Caius traversed the halls he knew so well, the guard’s words an unnecessary guide.
Crumpled bodies—wizened with age and depleted of magic—lay strewn throughout the corridors and slumped over in stairwells. Servants and soldiers. Peasants and courtiers. His sister had not discriminated in her cruelty.
She had taken what she craved and left in her wake the empty husks of the people she should’ve protected.
Dorian whispered a prayer for the dead under his breath. Echo and Ivy fell into a sickened silence. Caius could only hope that when they reached their destination there would be someone left to save.
—
The throne room was awash with blood.
The bodies of the dead lay scattered about like a child’s toys after a violent tantrum, while the living huddled against the walls, as far from the dais as they could get.
A trail of corpses led from the door to the gilded throne upon which Tanith sat, her bare arms crimson with blood, her smile as sharp as a blade. A figure knelt at her feet, its back to them. All Caius could see was a head of black hair and the red cloak of a Firedrake. Tanith raked her nails through the kneeling man’s hair, the way one would absently pet a dog. A dozen Firedrakes stood at the foot of the dais, their faces hidden behind golden helmets.
“Hello, Brother,” she said. It wasn’t Tanith’s voice. Something lurked behind it, something dark and awful. “Fancy seeing you here.” She threw her arms wide. “Do you like what I’ve done with the place? I always thought it needed a splash of color.” She canted her head to the side, her smile ticking farther up. “And you’ve brought friends. How lovely.” She waggled her fingers in a mock wave. “Hello, little dove. Did you miss me so terribly that you simply had to come back?”
To her credit, Ivy didn’t shrink from Tanith’s unnerving gaze. Shadows shifted in Tanith’s eyes, overwhelming the red of her irises. The monster within was chipping away the last vestiges of Caius’s sister; it wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left. Soon, Tanith would be as much of a husk as the broken bodies she’d left around the keep.
Tanith stood, sweeping her scarlet cloak to the side as she descended the dais steps. The hem was darker red than the rest of the cloak, and damp. Blood, probably. The Tanith Caius knew wouldn’t have been caught dead in soiled armor off the battlefield. But now she was unkempt. Her hair was a tangled mess of bloody blond curls, her armor scuffed and stained. “How heroic you must feel, Caius. Coming to the rescue of this lot like some valiant prince straight out of a children’s story.” She stepped over the crumpled form of their former treasurer, Oeric. The medal of office still hung from his neck, resting against the fur lining of his tunic. They’d been a pair once, Tanith and Oeric. Now she moved around his body—Caius couldn’t tell if the man was dead or just close—as if he meant nothing to her. “I had a feeling you might come.”