Kaelyn squeezed her sword hilt with sweaty hands and glanced down the corridor. Two boys, no more than ten years old, lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Her gut roiled and she sucked air, fighting the urge to throw up. They just had to get out of Mythnar. She could be sick as much as she wanted once they were safe.
“Ancient Father. It’s Henry,” said Wyndham, his voice low. He rushed to the boy, but she grabbed his bare arm and jerked him back.
“They’re dead and we’ve got to keep moving.” She sounded so callous in her ears. Please let him see it as the practicality necessary for the job at hand. She didn’t know who this Henry was, but he was a child and hadn’t deserved this. No one did.
Many hard-soled boots clattered through the hall. Someone, many someones, were close. She couldn’t take the risk of whoever they were being the men who’d slaughtered these boys. Blood wept from the gash in her leg, seeping into her breeches. They needed to go. She needed to bind her leg. She wanted to be sick, to scream and cry. But now wasn’t the time.
“They were just children.”
She squeezed his arm and tugged, trying to urge him to move. “That doesn’t seem to matter. How much farther to the catacombs?”
“End of the hall.” Wyndham shuffled forward. His sword trembled in his hands and sweat glistened on his back. “When I find out I’ll–”
“We’ll.”
“What?”
“We’ll. Whatever it is you’re planning, we’ll do it together.”
He offered her a bitter smile. “I can’t ask that of you.”
She knew what he meant, that his duty lay elsewhere, as it always had, and there really was no ‘we’ for them. “You’re still going to need someone to swing a blade for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She flashed a fierce grin, hoping bravado would give both of them courage. “You’re useless with a sword.”
He snorted. “Rub it in, why don’t you.”
“Maybe later.”
Good. If he was making jokes he wasn’t thinking as much about the horror around them. She had to focus on that. Focus on being brave.
They reached a narrow door recessed into the wall at the end of the hall. Her leg burned, making it impossible to ignore.
“You’re sure this is it?” Please let it be the way out.
Wyndham nodded. He swallowed hard and glanced back the way they’d come. “It sticks a bit.”
Good to know. She stood guard while he pulled at it.
It didn’t budge.
“A bit?” She didn’t want to have to fight her way out of the keep. They’d gotten lucky so far. All the guards were someplace else. But she didn’t want to press their luck any more than she had to.
“All right, maybe a lot.”
Blood rushed in her ears and her head swam. She sucked in a slow breath. She would not pass out. She would not pass out.
He rubbed his hands down his breeches, then renewed his grip on the handle and yanked. It gave with a shriek.
Her heart pounded and she brought her blade up. Surely someone heard that.
Wyndham grabbed a torch just inside the door and lit it on the closest wall sconce.
The hall remained silent. The Ancient Father only knew how.
They slipped into the narrow stairwell. Kaelyn closed the door and heavy shadows billowed at the edge of their torchlight. The stairs, built of the same granite blocks that made the rest of the keep, twisted down and around deep into the bowels of the earth. The air grew cold and damp, the walls slimy with moisture and moss. Spider webs dangled from the ceiling and bugs skittered along the steps. At the bottom, the passage widened so three men could walk abreast. Statues stood in alcoves on either side and between them intricately carved slabs of stone marked the graves of Mythnar’s fallen leaders. There weren’t many–the keep was only a handful of generations old–but the passage continued on.
The torchlight flickered and the earth and stone pressed around her. A heavy silence enveloped her and time stretched, warped, and dissolved. Her head swam. She had no idea how long they followed the passage, only that it continued.
Wyndham stopped and she stumbled into him. He staggered and the torchlight rippled with the sudden movement.
“Down there.” He pointed to a grate at his feet.
She didn’t know how much farther she could go. “I thought you said it was a door.”
“It is. Sort of. It opens up into a full passage, we just have to crawl through.”
“And you’ve gone down it?”
He didn’t answer.
Not the response she was hoping for. But she didn’t want to go back. “All right. Let’s get it open.”
He yanked on it, the muscles in his arms and chest bulging with the effort. His face turned red and the vein in his temple pulsed.
The grate squealed and cracked, and it opened a hand’s-breadth.
Wyndham dropped to his knees, gasping. “It’ll just take a moment.”
“Perhaps I should help.”
“Oh no. A lady shouldn’t lower herself to manual labor.”
She snorted and sat in the dirt and the cobwebs. “As my Prince wishes.”
He sucked in air, wiped his hands down his breeches, and grabbed the metal, but didn’t begin pulling. “All right, maybe just a little help.
She wrapped her fingers around the bars above his hands. They stood close, the heat from his bare chest seeped through her shirt. A shiver swept up her spine and she bit her lip.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
They pulled on the bars. It groaned and snapped, jerking forward little by little until there was a space large enough for them to crawl through.
Panting, Wyndham pressed his head to her shoulder. His chest heaved and shadows danced in the curves of his lean muscles.
Another shiver swept over her.
He placed a gentle hand on her knee, sending heat sweeping over her.
“You’re bleeding.”
The heat pooled low in her gut and her heart skipped a beat. Blood rushed in her ears.
“Kaelyn.”
“Yes?”
“You’re bleeding.” He trace a finger near the gash on her leg.
Pain sliced away the heat and she jerked back. “Apparently.”
“Are you–?”
Black specks danced across her vision. “Let’s get out of here.”
His eyes narrowed but he didn’t argue. He squeezed through the opening and she followed. A breeze swept down the passage. The torch flickered and she sucked in musky, rotten air.
Wyndham wrinkled his nose. “The swamp west of Mythnar.”
“At least it’s out of the city.”
They followed the dirt tunnel for an eternity, finally stumbling onto a rocky outcropping at the edge of the swamp.
Kaelyn’s head swam. She sucked in a breath but it didn’t steady her. She sucked in another. Blackness seeped across her vision and her knees buckled.
“Kaelyn?”
She collapsed to her knees. “I just. . . . I just need a moment.”
“No, what you need is to take care of that wound.” He crouched beside her. “Hold the torch while I take a look.”
She took the torch. He peeled back her ruined breeches and wiped at the blood with his hand. Pain raced up her leg and blood flooded the wound.
“Rip off the bottom of my breeches and bind it,” she said. Before she passed out.
“I think its too deep.”
“Well, there isn’t any other option.”
He opened his mouth then closed it. She was sure if he could think of an argument he would. But there weren’t many choices here, in the middle of the night, in a swamp. He cut away the bottom of her breeches’ leg, folding it so the filthiest part was inside of a thick bandage.
Black specks swam across her vision. She could only pray it wouldn’t get infected before they could deal with it.
“Ready?” asked Wyndham. “I need to tie it tight.”
“Do it.” She clenched her jaw. She was as ready as she was ever going to be.
He wrapped the cloth around her leg, knotted, and pulled it tight.
An inferno raced up her thigh. Her vision blackened and a scream broke free. She fought to contain it, but it poured out.
Tears streamed down her cheeks but unconsciousness didn’t take her.
Wyndham finished the knot and hugged her to his chest. She sucked air and the pain settled into a thrumming burn. He gently rocked her and stroked her hair.
She sniffed, wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, and eased back. Over his shoulder a strange orange glow lit the sky.
“What’s that?”
He glanced behind him. “I don’t know.”
“Help me up.”
He helped her stand. Her leg ached and the muscles trembled. She leaned on him and they shuffled toward the glow. The wind changed directions and dark smoke wafted over them.
Her mouth went dry. She’d seen smoke like that before, last winter at May-Garths. The trees parted and across the field sat Mythnar, the keep and half the city in flames.
Wyndham gasped. “Do you think that they can cover the slaughter in the keep by burning Mythnar?”
“I don’t think that’s what they want.”
He glanced at her, fury filling his gaze.
“The clansmen costumes, torching of their own city.” She bit her lip, unable to say the words.
“Oh Father. They want a war.”
