Chapter 9

When we emerged from the other side of the portal, knives and swords out, expecting to be attacked, there was nothing waiting except two skulls staring at us with empty sockets and echoing silence.

Anaria frantically checked the mule's pack, sighing in relief when she found her precious leathers were still tucked in the saddlebags, frowning when she counted the remaining torches. "Five." Her eyes flicked to Zor's. "We only have five torches."

"We'll make do. We keep moving. We don't stop until we reach the end of the tunnels."

Which meant Tempeste. Reapers. And fucking gods know what else.

Raziel picked up a torch and held it out to Tristan who conjured up a burst of flame, and the pitch roared to life with a fume of black choking smoke. None of us said a word as we fell into line behind Raz—Zor, then me, then Anaria, with Tristan in the back leading the skittish mule.

We only stopped when none of us could take another step. Anaria collapsed, Zorander scolding her softly as he settled her into his lap and tipped a canteen to her mouth. It wasn't until she'd eaten and drank that I finally relaxed, sliding down the wall of the tunnel, instantly falling asleep from exhaustion.

I woke to the drip, drip, drip of moisture, the hollow sound echoing from somewhere up ahead.

Or behind us. I couldn't get my bearings in this stifling dark since the torch had gone out, the musky smell of smoke hours old now. Even my wolf's eyes couldn't penetrate the shadows, though I picked everyone out from their scents, a sense of calm settling over me when I accounted for everyone, Anaria still clutched in Zorander's arms.

"Raz. Zor. We should get moving."

They rousted slowly, then Tristan's fireball illuminated the length of the hewn tunnel walls…revealing none of those foul creatures.

But…I sniffed again. I swore I smelled a hint of rot down here.

And the closer we got to Tempeste, the stronger the stench became.

None of the others smelled it, none of them blessed with a shifter's keen sense of smell except for Tristan. When I turned around, his head was raised high, nostrils flared, eyes narrowed as he scanned the ceiling overhead.

I followed his gaze to the rounded, soot-stained ceiling, coated with layers of black from the centuries-worth of smugglers' wagons passing through these tunnels. There…I caught the shine of moisture as Raziel raised his torch over his head.

There, high on the ceiling, was a vein of blight, a black, gleaming finger of rotting death.

All the way down here, hundreds of feet beneath the ground.

Beneath Caladrius.

Which meant this realm, like the one we'd just left, was infected.

We had an hour until we emerged from the end of the tunnels, from the scratch marks etched on the wall. Uncle Dane's handwriting, his way of marking distance. And there, as I watched, something black dripped down the wall like liquid night, tracing the rough marks left in the stone by the axes that carved these tunnels out.

"Everybody keep moving," I said softly, drawing my blade, though what good would that do against the corruption of an Old God? "Stop when I say it's safe."

We rushed down the tunnel, a chill wind whipping toward us from the far-off exit tasting of foul, dead things and more bitter than any wind in the High Barrens. But when we reached a place where the smell lessened, where tendrils of black weren't creeping down the sides of the tunnel, I held up my hand.

As one, the company halted, all of us gathering in a tight circle, Raz holding the torch high over our heads, scanning the walls.

"Corvus is here," I said quietly, though my voice echoed louder than I would have liked. "I'm seeing indications of his rot, even at this depth." Tristan nodded, eyes gleaming like garnets.

"Chances are, we'll step out of these tunnels and straight into a blighted area which could be filled with anything. After what happened within the chamber, we need to be prepared."

"We can't get any on us." Zorander paced toward the exit then back, arms crossed over his chest. "Can't breathe in that foul black air. Not for long, at least."

"I could shift," Tristan suggested. "Fly us out one by one."

"To where?" Raziel asked, not with any judgment but more of a genuine question. "What if all of Caladrius is corrupted? We can't go back the way we came. Between the creatures and what's waiting on the other end, we can't go back."

Anaria stayed quiet, scanning the walls, her bottom lip caught between her teeth like she always did when she was thinking.

"The Citadelle had some of the most powerful warding I've ever seen, which could still be in place," I suggested. "The Fae King didn't fuck around with security. If there's anywhere in Tempeste that's safe, it would be that building."

"I have one word for you," Raziel muttered. "Reapers."

He was right.

Fucking right, and I dragged my hands down my face.

"Okay, forget Tempeste. Chances are we're walking straight into Corvus's trap. Pure, undiluted corruption that we can't escape from. The Hammer is that way." I pointed north. "Logically, everything between us and that cave is corrupted."

"I could fly south, down to Lake Moor. No chance his magic stretches that far."

"Which only means we'll end up even further from our target." I decided Zorander had the right idea and paced away to the edge of the flickering torchlight. But no further because fuck knew what lurked in that darkness.

Just like in that fucking vision Anaria and I had shared and had yet to dissect.

Raziel shook his head. "We can't survive for too long in the blight, and we can't fight the Soul Reapers." Anaria cleared her throat, and I turned to hide my smile as Raziel stumbled over a poor excuse for an apology.

"Sorry. While Anaria can kill Reapers from sunrise to sunset, Raz is right. When we step out of here, we won't have the luxury of debating where to go, so we decide now. Tristan, you'll have to be outside to shift forms?"

He shook his head. "The exits and entrances are wider and taller. I could shift at the mouth of the tunnel, but I have to be in a clearing for my wings to create enough lift. And if I'm carrying one of you—or two at a time—my take off will be slow."

Meaning, if there were Reapers or Night Crawlers or fuck knows what monsters waiting, we'd be sitting ducks.

"The Wynter Palace." Anaria looked up, her eyes dark. "Remember what the Oracle said about the palace? She'd gotten rid of the Wynters and spent ten years preparing that place. Some of her magic is in that castle, maybe enough to deter Corvus. Or make his magic think the castle is off-limits."

"I could do a quick flyover," Tristan suggested, his gaze fixed on the long run of tunnel leading to so many unknowns. "Take a look. From the air, the blight is easy to spot, even at night."

"That's a plan," Zor agreed. "Tristan and I will head to the opening; everyone else stay here." He scanned the walls. "Any sign of the blight down here and you get moving. Choose a place that you deem safe, but don't come outside until we give you the go ahead."

Tristan handed Anaria the pack mule's reins, then shed his cloak, his shirt, pants, and boots, and stuffed everything into one of the saddlebags before leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"We're fifteen minutes from the entrance." If I squinted, I could see the faint glow of daylight. A good sign, better than gloaming darkness.

"We'll return when we know something." Zor's jaw clenched. "If we aren't back in an hour, then come find out why. And get out of here if you can." His eyes dipped to Anaria, and I knew what he meant.

Save Anaria at all costs.

This realm might be fucked, but it was our duty—our sacred duty—to keep our queen alive. But none of us could fight the blight or kill Reapers. Keeping her safe in Caladrius might be impossible.

And that fucking pissed me off.

As Zor and Tristan headed down the tunnel, a ball of fire floating over their heads, Anaria's small, cold hand slipped into mine. "I'm sorry we're heading back to the palace; I know you despise that place," she said quietly. "And I'm sorry about Nightcairn. If it's the last thing we do, we'll get your home back, Tav."

I clamped my teeth together, feeling them grind.

I hadn't allowed myself to dwell on my final glimpse of Nightcairn, my ancient, beloved castle disappearing beneath a layer of Corvus's filthy rot. That castle had served generations of Montgomerys, even before the two brothers went to war.

Nightcairn had fallen while under my watch.

That Anaria had promised me, with fire and flame in her eyes, to get my home back for me…everything else fell away because nothing else mattered.

Nothing but her.

Every time I thought I couldn't love her more, she said or did something that made my heart race like a fucking schoolboy's.

"Thank you." I kept my smile easy. "That means a lot."

"It's one thing to see woods destroyed, but your home is different. Not that I've ever had one," she hurried to add, "but when I saw what Corvus had done, I wanted to burn a trail straight to the Hammer, then kill that fucking bastard with my bare hands."

Fuck. A helpless emotion swept over me and my knees went weak, my heart racing.

"Well." I skimmed my hand down her cheek, willing my fingers not to shake. "Aren't you a bloodthirsty little thing."