Page 135

I sagged against his hug, smelling honeyed milk as he planted endless kisses on my cheeks. “Nicu!”

“For fuck’s sake, shh,” Lyrik hissed, appearing like a rowdy demon in a scarf. His spiked earring glinted along the shell of his ear as he fished a tube from his baldric and uncorked it. Checking my manacles, he grimaced. “Need a better angle. Hold out your hands, as far as you can.”

When I did, Nicu volunteered, “Give it here. I can do it.”

“You can’t aim, Songbird.”

“Yes, I can—”

“Not this stuff, you can’t.”

“I aimed when I punched you, didn’t I?”

“Yackety-yak.”

“Hello,” I snapped. “Can you two bicker later?”

They got over it. Being the smaller, Nicu grabbed the tube, boosted himself on Lyrik’s shoulders, and poured the contents over the spot where the iron attached to the trunk. I twisted to watch, but Lyrik jerked my head down, muttering something about not getting that stuff in my eyes or I’d go blind.

A sizzling noise. A molten crackle.

The chains dropped to the ground, taking most of my weight with them. After Nicu hopped off Lyrik, the rogue drizzled a line of brew over the irons near my wrists, careful not to melt my skin. The manacles split.

I gasped as they fell away, rubbing my free hands and glancing at the muscled heaps by the gate. “You said you weren’t a druggist.”

“I’m not,” was all Lyrik replied.

“When I was little, Spring locked me up,” Nicu said. “They called me a half-wit. They said I was a simpleton fool that belonged in a dungeon.”

I whispered, “Then what happened?”

“I got rescued by people who love me.”

My throat prickled as I flung myself at him for another hug. “Thank you.”

When I reached out to embrace Lyrik, the potioneer jumped back. “Nicu’s speaking for ’imself, all right? Wouldn’t shut up unless I helped ’im.”

“And you like breaking the rules,” I assumed.

Lyrik gave me a slick grin. “Lots of ’em.” Then he regarded my appearance. “So I’d ask how you morphed from woodskin to flesh, but I’m guessing this isn’t the time.”

“Maybe when we’re done breaking the law.”

A furious caw jerked our heads to the sky. A watch hawk soared like an arrow, the spear of its beak pointed at us as it descended.

From the side, a razor cut of orange feathers fluttered and punted the hawk, taking it off guard. The impact caused the bird of prey to flounder and crash sideways into the beech that I’d been dangling from.

Our trio reared back as the raptor thrashed within the tangle of branches.

Punk belted out an affronted tweet to the hawk. Gads, how I loved her.

“Punk,” I sighed as she floated to me and snuggled into my neck.

“By the way.” Lyrik dug a pair of axes from the pack over his shoulder and handed them to me, thongs encircling the handles so I could strap them to me. The weight would take some getting used to, so I wrapped them around my waist, knotting them to my lower back.

We bolted for the door to the castle, which led into a torchlit corridor. Nicu pointed to the ribbon streamers overheard. “This way.”

Following the garlands by color, he led us to a hidden entrance, camouflaged inside a column. It steered us to a passage carved within the walls, an escape route for the Royals. Hustling down the pitch-black path, I panted as the axes’ weight slowed me down.