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Arran’s warm fingers pressed into the strip of flesh just above my leggings. I recognized the message—my decision.

One word from me, and we’d climb back up and face whatever terrors awaited on the surface.

I let myself savor that comforting warmth for three seconds. Any longer, and I’d show weakness. Any longer, and I might curl up in his arms and try to hide from the world.

I took one step forward.

Wherever we were going, it could not be worse than what we’d survived above.

“Where are you taking us?” Arran said from behind me, close enough that his warm breath lifted the strands of hair brushing the nape of my neck.

“To safety,” the female said.

“Cryptic once again,” Lyrena sniped. The scent of her blood underlaid everything. She was upright, but still bleeding. “The least you can do is tell us your name.”

The female paused, pale eyes flickering right past Arran and me to place Lyrena. Her mouth curved. “Much will be revealed soon, Golden Knight. But I can do as you ask,” she said, looking back at me and Arran. “I am Isolde of the White Hands.”

62

ARRAN

None of it made sense.

We were deep underground. I’d fallen too quickly to keep precise track, but the force with which we’d hit the ground told me enough. And we were only going deeper.

Veyka walked directly behind the female, Isolde, the stark whiteness of their heads acting as beacons for the rest of us to follow.

Except that one was nearly twice the other’s height. Isolde was tiny. Smaller even than humans. Even Maisri was taller, though it was clear she was not a child, but an adult—a faerie.

Faeries.

A memory flashed in my mind.

My mother, reading to me when I was very young. My brother was there as well.The faeries were charged with keeping harmony in nature…

It couldn’t be.

Yet the proof was walking before me.

And the deeper Isolde led us into the tunnels, the more apparent it became.

The faeries were much more than a bedtime story.

I let the others walk ahead. Percival was still armed—was that one of Veyka’s daggers glinting in his hand?Lyrena was hobbling. She wouldn’t be much use if it came to a fight. Osheen had a tight hand on Maisri’s shoulder. And Cyara…

A harpy.

Another impossibility to be unpacked later.

Veyka at the lead, me at the rear. Guarding, protecting. I had no doubt she’d draw her weapon at the first sign of danger. She didn’t need me to protect her.

My beast grumbled within me.

She needed a partner. Not a protector.

I could do that. I could be worthy of her.

We’ll kill anyone who lifts a—