Chapter 7

Anaria's jasmine amber scent staved off the tunnels' musty damp for those first few hours. The pack mule was docile, willingly trotting beside me, never yanking at the reins like most of his obstinate brethren.

We quickly fell into old patterns, moving fast and efficiently, Raziel setting the pace, his flickering torch weaving in the shifting air every time we reached an intersection where the currents changed.

No one stopped.

We sipped from our waterskins when necessary, Anaria keeping up with no complaint, despite the fact her strides were half as long as ours.

We spoke little that first day but not at all on the second, when the crushing weight of the rock overhead became unbearable, when claustrophobia turned as stifling as the endless dark. There was only Raz's torch lighting the way, the rest of us stumbling along, and me at the end of that long line, chased by that creeping darkness nipping at my heels.

We passed offshoots from the main tunnel, dark passages that branched off to our left and right, belching foul odors and small, furtive sounds that made us pick up the pace. I'd overheard Lucius's warning about staying to the main tunnel and, from the fetid smells, had no desire to stray.

But with every step we delved deeper, my wyvern howled in protest.

He despised places like this.

Dark. Closed off.

He craved the open sky, to soar amongst the high winds howling above the clouds with the sun warming his back.

There was no sun down here, no warmth, although last night Anaria had slept in my arms for the first few hours before crawling over to Raziel. When we'd awoken, she'd been nestled in Tavion's lap, her head against his chest, small hands curled into fists. He'd carried her for the first hour before she'd awoken, then today we'd taken turns walking beside her.

All of us braced for some foul thing to spring out of the darkness.

With every breath, I tested the air for subtle differences, searched the impenetrable darkness for movement. The tunnels tasted different than before, but was that because we were being hunted by an Old God, or was there something else down here stalking us?

Last night we'd questioned Tavion and Anaria at length about these creatures they called Night Crawlers.

Today, I wondered how many other foul things Corvus had made, waiting to send out of his darkness after us. Soul Reapers and the enormous foul centipedes up in the Dearth, and now these…bugs.

Zorander lifted his fist into the air and we stopped, filling our canteens from the underground river none of us dared get close to for long, managing a few bites of food. We plundered every cache we came across, and the mule's pack was brimming with dried meat—totally suspect, as Dane feared—and even drier bread.

There were moments I was so angry I didn't know what to do with all my fury.

When the unfairness of the task resting on Anaria's shoulders knocked the breath out of my lungs. She'd killed the two most powerful tyrants in the world, restored the magic to two magicless realms, and now…now she was expected to do the impossible.

Kill not one Old God but two.

She was smart and clever and determined, but at what point would her luck simply run out?

My brave, beautiful girl has been fighting since the moment I'd first seen her, that lovely face surrounded by a tangle of wild, white hair, green eyes shining with resolve as she begged me to save her friend.

More than anything else, I regretted not helping Anaria that day.

How many times had I replayed that moment, the choice that could have changed everything for Ember? But I'd been a grunt following orders. That's what I'd told myself, and now here we were. Ember was dead and Anaria carried her death, along with so many others, close to her heart. On those shoulders that looked so impossibly fragile.

There would be no more regrets for Anaria.

No more personal losses for her to bear. I'd make sure of that.

A familiar fire seared through me, scorching through centuries of doubt and excuses.

I'd been angry at this world for so long, I didn't know how to be any other way. Was so used to dragging the weight of my failures around with me, I'd grown accustomed to drowning in misery, but watching 'Naria hold her head high and pretend she could handle whatever this world threw at her made me realize how weak I'd been all these years.

I'd wasted centuries of my life tied up in knots over the past.

So many years spent alone, cut off from humanity, no more of my kind in existence. But now I had Anaria. My eyes drifted to the torch Raziel held above his head, the line of people stretching between that light and myself.

We had each other. We were a family.

I smiled grimly. I'd been too young to protect my last family. Had hidden while they died around me. Had allowed a monster to take away everything I was, then served at his feet like a fucking dog. I let out a shuddering sigh.

And somewhere in the darkness behind me, the shadows sighed back.

My knives werein my hands a second later when I whirled to face whatever came charging out of that dark abyss, and for a moment, I debated shifting into my wyvern. But the tunnel was narrow and there'd be no maneuvering his bulky body in an area this tight.

"Tristan." Anaria's hand closed on my upper arm, her voice barely a whisper. "Did I hear what I thought I heard?"

"Stay behind me," I warned, thighs burning as I dropped into a crouch, knees bent, ready to launch myself forward. Fabric rustled behind me as Anaria slipped off her iron bands, magic filling the air with power, my eardrums hollowing out.

"If they're one of Corvus's horrid creations, your knives won't do any good. But magic will," she said quietly. "We need light, Tristan. I don't suppose you can manage a bit of light?"

"Only if you stay behind me," I warned her again, praying she'd actually listen. Then I sheathed my knife and flung out my hand, casting a ball of fire down the tunnel behind us.

Shadows scattered apart, Reapers or some other fuckery, I didn't know, but before the fire burned out, a set of eyes glowed.

A gaping mouth filled with teeth.

"Run," I shouted, casting another fireball before I yanked out my second knife and raced behind that speeding light.

Anaria screamed my name with such terror I stumbled, then fire exploded in a shower of sparks, embers clinging to the creature, outlining its face in a corona of glowing orange.

Night Crawler.

I thrust up with both blades and they skated harmlessly off an impenetrable shell before I dodged to the side, narrowly evading two enormous, knife-like talons driving downward, sinking into the tunnel floor with an impact that sent cracks rippling up through the rock around us.

Now that the thing was stuck, armored body bashing against the sides of the tunnel as it tried to work its leg free, I used the opening to slice an arc through its throat, splattering black blood across the dusty floor.

Pincers nearly severed my nose, and behind those were rows of chattering teeth, sharp enough to shred flesh from bone.

"Not today, you walking cow pie."

I found my footing the same time the Night Crawler did, as it scuttled from one side of the tunnel to the other, tiny beady eyes on my knife.

"Tristan. Get out of the way."

Anaria was too close behind me, Zor and Raz shouting something I couldn't take the time to understand as I was too busy measuring every incremental shift of the creature as I herded it back down the tunnel, one step at a time, dodging every swipe of that single talon, as sharp as any sword.

One stumble and I'd lose my head.

"Get back, Anaria. Let me deal with this thing."

"Stop being an arse, Tristan. You can't kill that thing with a knife."

"Bet me," I growled, taking another step within range of the creature, ignoring Anaria's hissed curse. "And a knife isn't the only weapon I have." The fire I sent at point-blank range into the Night Crawler's face was hot enough to melt iron.

The kind of shredding heat that only existed in the heart of mountains.

Or inside a pissed-off wyvern protecting the only thing that mattered.

Anaria gagged as the creature melted, turning into a pile of gelatinous black, legs collapsing from the weight of the shell, insides spilling out in a flood of mind-numbing foulness.

"Holy shite, you do look like a cow pie."

A hand twisted into my cloak and yanked me backward, away from the steaming, stinking pile of…whatever the fuck that was.

"You fool." Anaria slammed her palms into my chest and sent me stumbling backward, tripping straight into the gooey black pool. "You utter fool."

"The monster's dead. There's no more threat." I choked the words out, tears streaming from my eyes from the stench.

"You are an idiot. I could have killed that thing from way back there, and instead…instead…" Her chest heaved; her beautiful face contorted in misery. "Fucking hell, Tristan. You could have died. Did you even consider that? What I'd do without you?"

"I don't matter," I told her calmly, sheathing my knife. "The only thing that matters is you. The rest of us are replaceable. Disposable, even."

We stared at each other for a long time until Raziel gently turned her away, Zor shaking his head in disappointment as if I was the one who'd fucked up.

Anaria picked up the reins of the pack mule and glared over her shoulder one last time. "You are a fool, Tristan DeVayne. A complete and total fool." Then she looked past me, her eyes going wide. I sent up a shower of sparks, swallowing as I realized her words were true.

Out of the remains crawled black reaching tendrils of rot. Threading across the floor. Up the walls. Over the ceiling.

If there had been any chance we'd ever return this way, I'd just ruined them.