“A book,” she grumbled, stalking her way up the stone corridors, her eyes flashing under the light of the crystals. “I can’t believe you’ve got us risking our lives for a book.”

“It’s a special book, and it’s on the way.”

“It’s a book.”

And she also couldn’t believe the fey had gone along with it. Yena li Vaness, who in addition to being a full-fledged fey priestess was also a member of the same royal line as Volaon had been and came with a bloodline of powerful magic, walked close to the back of the group, Caracel bringing up her back. Once again, glamour buzzed over Catrin’s skin, though this had a different feel to it which made her suspect it was Yena’s and not Caracel’s. That would make sense, given her obvious advantage in power—it would leave him one less thing to worry about when fighting—and it had already saved them from being exposed to three squads of demonic warriors.

Doneil had healed her. She hadn’t needed much. Apparently, Grobitzsnak had discovered her quite by happenstance on Abiermar’s fête. He hadn’t hurt her, but he’d killed all those who had been with her. She also confirmed that the greater demon had been as confused as the rest of them about the malfunctioning of the gates and his sudden appearance on Gaia, and then reiterated the importance of retrieving the orb of Cnixe.

Conscious of the others, and how the volume of their argument was rising—Doneil and Matteo only a few paces behind them—Nales stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“Look, do you want that loophole or not?”

Oh, seven suns. She hissed through her teeth, her tongue on the edge of some very unprofessional swearing. “That was Doneil’s idea, not mine. If you care to recall, I thought he was bat-fucking nuts for even suggesting it.”

“It’s true,” Doneil piped up from behind them, proving that elven hearing worked quite a bit better than Nales had assumed. “I’ve never seen her laugh so hard.”

That seemed to keep him quiet. For a few moments, anyway. He didn’t glance at Doneil, but his expression turned back to that stony concentration she had grown to recognize. He still looked like shit. Dirt and bits of old blood smeared his face, and his clothes looked as through he’d been dragged for quite a lot longer than she’d seen him be, but his stride was strong and resolute, matching hers with a steely determination, and the demon’s sword hung loose and ready in his hand. It looked good on him, she had to admit.

They got to the next corner, and she checked around it before they continued on. Midway down, as they were passing a few rooms that rumbled with the sound of grinding machinery, he spoke again.

“What happened between you and Tarris?” he asked.

She flinched.

Of course, that question would come up. Even if he wasn’t a royal, he’d be curious.

Rnari weren’t sent away from the Raidt very often.

She shrugged it off. “What’s there to say? I broke his hand. Given our families’ histories, it was deemed best that I spent a short while training elsewhere until I learned better manners.”

Another small silence moved between them, but it wasn’t empty. She didn’t need to look at his face to see that the gears in his mind turned.

“Bullshit,” he said. “I don’t believe that for a second. What really happened?”

“Drop it. It’s none of your concern.”

“The Raidt wouldn’t send a warrior of your skill away for a small thing like that—there are healers. Prince Tarris knows how to fight. I’ve seen him. He’s no weakling—”

She gritted her teeth. “Drop it.”

“—so they must be hiding something.”

He stopped, pulling her with him. She tensed at the hand on her arm, but he quickly dropped it, a deep frown on his face as he looked her up and down. “What is it?”

She brushed him off, continuing on. “It’s none of your concern is what it is. Raidt business.”

Gods help her. Doneil was being awfully silent. She could almost feel his temptation to say something.

Nales frowned. She began to walk again, leaving him behind.

She got five strides before his soft voice followed her.

“It wasn’t a training accident, was it?”

Oh, for the love of—

“I broke his hand because Prince Tarris is a dickless asscrumb who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer!” she yelled. “There! Are you happy?”

A demon that had been blending into the wall beside them growled.

Apparently, she’d been loud enough that it heard her right through the glamour.

“Fuck!” The word turned into a growl as she leapt off, giving the thing a savage kick with her grieves. It snapped at her, the scent of oil rising as its camouflage shifted. Teeth clamped shut inches from her leg.

She drew her blades and stabbed it through the skull.

The demon went limp immediately, blood welling from the wound.

She jerked her blades back, wiped the blood off on its scales, and re-sheathed them.

Nales stood a pace behind her, frozen in ready position.

“A book, Prince. We’re going out of our way for a book.”

“It’s a very important book.”

“It’s a book.”

“Is Tarris li Talanos really a dickless asscrumb?”

She sighed. In the back, the two fey were looking on, both of them either part of a royal line or close to one. Between Doneil’s black humor sex jokes and her airing of the Raidt’s dirty laundry, they were getting all sorts of information to titter over in the Fey world.

Suns, if she wasn’t exiled now, she would be soon enough.

She sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well let them get the whole story. “I decided not to give him the chance to prove he wasn’t dickless.”

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“Ah. Hence the hand-breaking. And the exile.” He grimaced. “They wanted you swept under a rug.”

“Yes. My father swept me away before they could make it official. It was the only way to avoid even more political awkwardness between the families.”

Nales lifted an eyebrow. “They care that much about what your family thinks?”

“They have to. It would be politically bad for them to fall out with my parents. Dad’s line has been protecting the royals since the Raidt elves came down from Sinya.”

“Ah.”

They passed into silence again. Thankfully. One of the crystals down the next stretch had burnt out. They slunk by in the dark.

In two minutes, a familiar scent caught her nose. She perked up, repressed the urge to cast around with her woodcraft—the low-key pressure headache let her know it was still unhinged—and forced herself to look around, noticing the details.

“We’ve been in this hall before,” she said.

“Yes,” Caracel said from the back of the group, proving that fey hearing was just as good as elf hearing. “It was just before we went upstairs.”

“I sense something ahead.” Yena lifted her head, a gold glint entering her eyes from the crystal light at the sides of the hall. She appeared smaller, somehow, more delicate, and she still had that glow. It looked like moonlight, she realized, as if Yena stood under both the crystals and a full moon.

Or gate flare.

“It’s an old, strange thing,” Caracel told her. “You will see.”

And, with that, Catrin knew precisely what they were talking about. An image of the ancient, sealed door flashed through her mind—and the massive creature that lay behind it—and she shuddered.

Yes. It was definitely a good idea to keep her woodcraft closed.

Nales was watching the two fey, his eyebrows drawing into a frown. “What is it? What are they talking about?”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “We’re going to walk past it.”

Sure enough, in another ten minutes, they came to the intersection with the door.

Unfortunately, they did not walk past it. Nales stopped. Several paces away, Yena stopped, as well.

They both regarded the door, and Catrin had a sudden sinking feeling in her gut.

“I can read these,” Nales said. “They’re sealing scripts. Meant to keep something inside.”

Catrin snorted. Even without a working knowledge of rentac, she’d been able to tell that.

“There’s something big on the other side,” Yena said. Her eyebrows furrowed, and a hand came up to her mouth. She took a step forward. “It’s… old.”

As she took another step closer, and her hand reached out tentatively, Caracel flashed a dead, sarcastic expression toward Catrin that wasn’t hard to interpret.

It would seem she wasn’t the only one who was tired of royal stupidity.

“It’s desecrated, Your Grace.” Gently, he took her hand and steered it away. “It would not be a good idea to go closer—it is clearly strong.”

She pulled her hand away and shrugged him off. Her frown turned into a hot anger. “It’s hurting. I can feel it. It’s one of the old ones.”

As one who communed with fey gods, Catrin supposed she would be susceptible to this kind of scenario.

“It’s dangerous,” Caracel reminded her.

“It’s likely the forest lord Grobitzsnak corrupted all those years ago. Her name was Franas,” Nales said. “I can’t imagine what else he might seal away with this much power.” Then, proving he had definitely not exhausted his quota of idiotic royal ideas, he continued: “What if we let her out?”

Temdin. Maybe I will keep hitting princes.

“This is not the time for opening magic doors in demonic fortresses,” she growled. “Not when there’s something big and scary and magical right behind it.”

As if on cue, a low rumble came from behind the panel. A wave of magic crackled through the atmosphere, and her woodcraft exploded across her brain. She grimaced, blocking it out. “See? Leave the magic door.”

He looked back, catching her gaze. Then, in a twist of irony, he began to feed part of her own argument from earlier back at her.

“Do you know how many demons are in this castle? Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. If we can lure a few of them away…” He squinted upward, to where the stairs promised a fancier set of hallways. “We’re close to the library. It would be a good distraction.”

She stared at him.

Great Goddess, they’re actually going to do it. They’re going to open a magically sealed door in a demonic castle and let out an ancient power. For a distraction.

“I’m starting to think they should require intelligence tests for royalty,” she muttered, low enough so that only Doneil could hear it. Then, louder. “I advise you to not open the door.”

“It’s hurting,” the priestess said. “If we leave it here, it will continue to do so—and Grobitzsnak can continue to exploit its corruption.” She tilted her head up. “I think we should let it go. If Grobitzsnak wants to keep immortal deities as pets, then he can live with the consequences of one getting out. Besides—” she gestured to the paper script that lay across the door, looking more slapdash and hurried than the others. “—that last mark is not very strong. I expect he already had trouble with this one, likely during the gate malfunction. If we broke that, it will probably break the chain on its own.”

Catrin played that through in her mind.

Well, at least they’re giving us all time to run.

Yena and Nales looked to each other for a moment. Then, they both stepped forward, their hands lifting. Yena’s magic stirred the air.

Catrin and Caracel exchanged another deadpan look. She slid one of her knives back into its sheath and, grimacing, cracked open her woodcraft.

A wave of pain and energy assaulted her mind, loud and angry. She winced, wrestled mentally with it, and whittled it down to a sliver.

The thing was right at the door. Big, loud, and immediate. Energy burned inside it like the sun.

Fuck.

She let out a slow breath and braced herself, signaling to Doneil.

“Get ready to run.”

The priestess lifted her hand, fingers splayed and delicate. Magic sparked like a note of music.

The paper fell away.

Catrin tensed, waiting. Her heart raced, eyes darting between Nales and the door.

Why isn’t he moving?

Then, the thing inside gave a big heave of its energy. She hissed as pain spiked into her head. The air drew inward, as if the room were taking a breath.

Something large smashed into the inside of the door with a massive boom.

She darted forward—Nales was backing up now, she noticed, practically racing for the stairs. She got in front of him, bracing as a second wave of energy crashed into the panel.

The large doors burst open with a splinter of wood. Whatever was inside had smashed the locking mechanism on the second try. Blackness appeared in the gap, and the wood rocked against the chain.

Its links looked as flimsy as a necklace.

Something moved within. A massive avian foot emerged, cobalt-blue, with dry, cracked scales and talons big enough to claw a horse in half—as if some giant, prehistoric chicken had bred with an equally massive eagle.

It slashed at the chain, making it rattle and ring with a fury.

Then, whatever was inside screamed.

The sound broke her ears. She shoved Nales up the staircase. Caracel scooped Yena into his arms and rushed up the stairs, faster than she’d ever seen him. Matteo and Doneil were already halfway up the second flight, sprinting for the next level.

Adrenaline raced in her blood. She didn’t look back when the creature banged against the door again, too busy shoving at Nales—gods, humans were slow. The sounds of the chain scraping up the door rang through her bones, urging her faster.

When they hit the second flight, it quieted for a moment, and she risked a look over the banister.

Yellow eyes, tinted with darts of red and flashing a bright gold in the dark, looked back at her through the gap between the now partially-open doors. A large, stony crest reared up between its eyes, its top scraping the left panel’s inner edge. The beak was strong and curved slightly—not like an eagle or other bird of prey, but like a ground dweller.

The chain still looped in front of the doors, blocking them from opening fully, but it looked comically thin and strained beneath the obvious strength of the colossus within.

She urged Nales on. They both flew up the stairs, taking them in twos and threes. One of the giant crystals shivered its light in the hall above, rotating gently over its pool. She barely spared it a glance. They reached the top and ran on in a broken line, putting as much distance between them and the bird as possible.

Behind them, Franas let out another roar, its energy spiking through her woodcraft, and banged against the door.