Page 41 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

Ravager and I have been hard at work for almost three hours, near as I can judge.

Our first task was to find the sentient ooze again and work on separating blobs of it from the rest of the mass.

That was the trickiest part—getting bits of the goo away from the main entity.

It became much easier when we finally figured out that an iron spike, one of the last items from the Fae-Hunter’s stash, could force the mass to separate.

After that, each of us took turns carving away sections of the ooze while the other coaxed the smaller blobs into containers—pots, bags, pitchers, buckets, jars, anything we could find and close with either a lid or a drawstring.

We used every container available to us, until all that was left of the slime entity was a quivering, bulbous mass no bigger than my head.

I held my empty pack open while Ravager forced the creature inside with pokes from the iron spike, and then I fastened the pack and tied the top shut for good measure.

Our next order of business was to create fuses out of long lengths of thin rope, heavy twine, or twisted pieces of cloth.

We soaked them in leftover oil, butter, and alcohol from the kitchen and ran the lines through every part of the fortress, from the control room above to the storage rooms below, from the front to the back, from east to west. At the end of each fuse, we placed a portion of the ooze.

For pots and jars, we stuck the end of the fuse inside before slamming the lid shut again.

For bags or bundles full of ooze, we draped the fuse over them and doused the fabric in more oil or wine.

All the ropes, rags, and threads run back to the first-floor hallway, joining up at a point near the damaged remnant of the main staircase.

“This entire fortress is one enormous bomb.” Ravager’s tone is tinged with awe. “My greatest achievement, and no one but you and I will ever know about it.”

I want to tell him that the god-stars themselves will know what he did here today. But I can’t voice the words.

“We need to run a fuse outside,” I say. “We’ll have to get through all this rubble to the front entrance.”

“Can’t we use the Doras àlainn to go straight home from here?” Ravager asks. “We could set it up in the hallway, light the main fuse, and then leave through the portal.”

He reaches for his back pocket—then looks up at me with startled realization in his eyes.

“You took it,” he says quietly. “I didn’t even feel you pick my pocket. Where is it, Devilry?”

I left the Doras àlainn and the twin swords in the room with all of Drosselmeyer’s inventions, when I was setting up the bomb and the fuse that will destroy them. But I cannot confess it aloud to him.

“Trust me.” But tears fill my eyes as I say it, because if my plan doesn’t work—if Nocturis doesn’t let it work—this could be the last conversation we have, and Ravager’s trust in me will have been tragically misplaced.

My emotions have been locked up tight since we started the process of harvesting the ooze, placing our makeshift bombs, and laying the fuses, but Ravager’s expression unseats the mechanism of my heart.

All the pins and tumblers are dislodged, and the locks on my soul snap wide open, one by one.

I can’t hold in my fear, my love, or my sorrow anymore.

I turn my back on him with a desperate, stifled sob, and I start climbing recklessly through the rubble, careless of how the stones and splintered wood lacerate my hands.

“Devilry,” he calls out.

“What?” I yell through my tears. “I’m making a path!”

Ravager climbs up beside me, helping me shift beams and scrape aside debris. He doesn’t comment on the way I’m crying while I work, but when I keep wiping my nose and eyes on my ragged sleeve, he sighs and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. “Here. It’s clean.”

“Fuck you,” I sob, snatching it from him.

He laughs, sweet affection and faint sorrow in the sound. “I love you too.”

When I close my eyes, the tears spill out. I soak them up with the handkerchief, then wipe my nose.

Ravager’s warm hand closes over mine. “It’s all right. Whatever is going to happen, whatever is making you weep like this—it’s all right. I’ve made my peace with it. Nothing I could ever do will surpass what I’ve done today.”

“The bomb,” I sniff.

“The heist.”

“But we haven’t stolen anything.”

“I have.” He gives me a broad grin. “Your heart.”

“My heart? Really? Do you understand how silly you sound?”

“If it makes you smile, I don’t care.”

“I’m not smiling.” But he’s grinning wider, and his joy is contagious. I can’t help giving him an answering smile.

“There it is,” he crows, triumphant. “Come on, devil of mine, let’s keep digging for the door. It’s got to be here somewhere.”

Eventually we manage to clear enough space to get the front door open.

Ravager goes back for the last length of fuse while I wait for him just inside the entrance, staring out at the blue grass of the lawn and the reconfigured moat beyond.

Down the slope, about twenty paces away, I think I can see an oval of glowing green light shimmering in the grass.

That’s my way out.

Slowly I unbuckle my remaining belts, straps, and gadgets. I discard everything, even my favorite outfit from Lace. I’m not taking any chances. There must be no way for Nocturis to claim that I “carried” out more things than I was supposed to.

When Ravager comes to the entrance, pulling the fuse behind him, he looks surprised at my nakedness.

“So… you want to take a quick break before we blow it up?” He waggles his eyebrows, but behind the levity I can tell he’s confused.

He can’t reconcile my mournful mood with the sudden nudity, and I don’t blame him.

Besides, we already fucked each other senseless in the kitchen a few hours ago.

It was exactly what we both wanted and needed at the time, but at this point we’re sweaty and weary—and with the burden of what we’re facing, I can’t justify indulging in another carnal distraction.

We’re almost out of time. The Stewards could return at any moment.

“We’re not taking a break.” I step through the door onto the grass outside.

He follows me, laying down the length of oil-soaked rope.

“Take off everything you’re wearing,” I tell him. “And then light the fuse.”

He doesn’t try to disguise his worried frown, and I can practically see the questions written across his furrowed brow, even though he’s trying not to voice them.

“Just… please. You’ll understand soon enough, either way.”

“Whatever you say, love.” He strips to his bare skin as directed, then bends to light the end of the rope.

The flame rises from the fuse, then licks along the rope, following it into the fortress, catching some of the debris on fire as it disappears inside.

Ravager backs away from the entrance. “Now what?”

“Wait.” I grip his forearm. “Just wait.”

We stand side by side, joined in anticipation, in apprehension.

From somewhere deep inside the fortress comes the first boom. Then another explosion, and another. The walls of the keep begin to tilt and crumble inward, and still the explosions continue… boom… boom… boom. A chain reaction, a necklace of destruction.

Ravager doesn’t ask me what’s next, or how we’re going to escape. He turns and looks into my eyes. In his gaze, I see the resignation of a man who believes he is going to die.

If we stand here much longer, we’ll both die.

The concussive force of each explosion is growing louder, more violent, as if the destruction is multiplied by all the magic and power contained within Annordun.

It’s quite possible that if this continues, the entire island will be obliterated, and us along with it.

When I glance over my shoulder, I see the circle in the grass glowing in earnest—a bright, violent green.

Turning to Ravager, I place my palm on his chest. “Don’t ask questions. Just go along with this.”

I half-crouch before him, grabbing his wrist and pulling his entire big body onto myself.

It takes him a second to realize what I’m doing, but when he does, he stops resisting the movement and lets me drape his rangy form across my shoulders. Clutching his arm and leg, taking a deep breath, I straighten as much as I can, hoisting his weight.

If I were a smaller woman, I couldn’t do this. But I’m tall and strong, so I’m able to carry Ravager on my back.

It hurts—god, everything hurts. There’s a stabbing pain at the center of my chest, and my thighs are on fire, and my arms ache.

But I carry him, slowly and steadily, step by step, toward the glowing circle in the grass.

“Don’t let any part of you touch the ground,” I tell him.

He doesn’t reply. I don’t blame him—he must think I’ve gone insane.

One thing. Nocturis told me I could take one thing from Annordun, whatever I could carry.

I could have taken one of Drosselmeyer’s inventions, or a weapon, or some other bit of treasure.

I could have pried a large jewel from one of the cabinets in the upstairs room where I first hid the Doras àlainn.

None of those objects would have given me any joy if I left Ravager behind.

He is my one thing.

My foot hits an indentation in the ground beneath the grass, and my ankle turns with a loud pop. I shriek, but I keep going, with agony searing through my ankle like a hot blade.

“Devilry, stop this.” Ravager’s voice reflects my pain and his concern for me. But I ignore him. I stagger the final few steps and stumble into the circle.

Behind me, Annordun roars with its final annihilating cataclysm. I can smell the acrid smoke and feel the billowing heat at my back. The fireball of the fortress’s last breath is about to incinerate us, too—

And then four walls snap into place around us, cutting off the disastrous sound.