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She clawed her way out of the water and blindly groped the wall with her right hand for the curved railing that she knew to be carved into the stone. Her fingers brushed over it and Wren sighed in relief. It was slippery but it was better than nothing. Falling from the stone staircase in complete darkness below was horrifying.

It was a matter of pure will to stand up on her shaking legs.

“You’re okay,” she whispered softly, blinking repeatedly as if she could clear the darkness away from her vision. “Just take one step at a time.”

One shaky step, then another, and another.

She climbed and climbed and climbed.

Wren cursed.

She cried.

Finally, she sang.

Her voice echoed softly around her in the cavern. She was literally surrounded by stone now, inside the cliff. Someone could hear her, but Wren couldn’t stop until she finished. The last note hung in the air as she used her foot to feel for the next step. Nothing.

She knelt and swiped her left hand across the floor. A smile crossed her face. She’d made it. Wren knew this passageway by heart. It was flat, narrow, and led straight back to Lorne Castle.

Almost there. Just a little farther.

She limped down the hallway, running her hands along each wall. The air warmed and she hesitated. The castle was right above. Ordinarily, she would have known where she was going by the noise of footsteps and chatter above her head.

But everything was unusually quiet.

She was surprised by this—she had been sure the Verlanti soldiers would be celebrating their win by now, feasting in the great hall on all the food that should have been served after her wedding. The Dragon Isles were not known for their fancy, fashionable foods, but they sure knew how to cook things right.

Her belly growled at the thought of food, and she slapped a hand over it.

A peal of laughter threatened to escape her, and she clamped her lips firmly shut. It would be ironic for her growling stomach to give her away to her enemies.

She squashed her mirth, even as her belly clenched painfully again. There was no way to avoid the keep, so it wouldn’t hurt grabbing some food on her way out.

Wren held her hands out in front of her as she walked until a wooden door stopped her. She paused, heart racing and waited for an incredibly long time, her ear to the door as she listened for signs of life on the other side. Her shredded leather’s dripped onto the floor beneath her feet and her shivering grew worse. Either the soldiers were experts at staying silent or no one was around. It was an option to keep hiding. If she did not get warm, then hypothermia would set in. Hell, she was probably hypothermic already.

Wren opened the secret door that led to a fake fireplace in one of the smaller studies. She stooped low and stepped over the unburned logs in the hearth. The stone floor was overlain with carpet, which felt lustrous beneath her bare, battered feet. She reveled in the feeling of the lush, deep-crimson material between her toes and was tempted to simply lay there and fall asleep.

Stop it. That’s the cold talking.

She had to stay alert and moving. Finding dry clothes was good. Hot food, even better.

Wren picked up a fire poker and tiptoed to the opened door. Never go anywhere without a weapon. She peered down the hallway. Not a soul. Time to move. She made her way down the passageway, flinching at each little sound. When she reached the courtyard, she swallowed and gasped and skidded to a stop.

The stones were covered in blood, dark and ominous in the murky moonlight. This she had expected. What Wrenhadn’texpected was the complete and utter lack of bodies. Where were her people? Had the elves killed everyone? It wasn’t possible. They were cretins and brutes, but they wouldn’t do something like that. Strategically, it was stupid. And if she’d learned anything from tonight, the Verlantians weren’t unintelligent.

The wind blew from the southeast bringing with it the tang of iron and smoke. She spotted the plume of smoke crawling up into the sky from the southern bay.

Horror filled her.

Were they burning the bodies? That they would not give the grieving families of Lorne a chance to bury their dead was nothing short of blasphemy. The many men who had given their lives today deserved a true send-off, not the one the Verlantian soldiers were giving them.

Rage and helplessness filled her, and she found herself crossing the empty courtyard, headed toward the chapel. Her mind screamed at her to run, but she couldn’t stop. She needed to see if they’d taken her parents and Rowen. Another dangerously hopeful part of herself wondered if Rowen would step from the shadows and wrap his arms around her.

Wren could not stifle the dry sob her throat emitted.Stop it. He is gone, Wren. You know this.

Her fingers tightened around the fire poker as she eyed the bailey. It was empty. Not even the echo of a footstep could be heard around her. What had taken place in her absence?

The wooden doors that led into the grand hall were chained closed and were unbroken. She frowned and then realization dawned. They’d locked the people in before they attacked. Disgusted, she limped around the side of the building to the left-hand corner of the courtyard, knowing that there was a secret entrance from there into the great hall and chapel.