Page 26

VEGA

Plans were supposed to keep me sane. Keep moving, keep counting options, keep dragging everyone a step ahead of whatever nightmare wanted to eat us next. But by the end of our discussion, planning felt like gnawing on bone.

And now this. A feast to throw a wrench in our plans. Or to give us just the opportunity we needed.

But Zarvash's wing was still so weak. And I feared that Skorai was up to something. Why now with this feast? He couldn't possibly know what we were up to, not when the shape of the plan was only starting to form.

“This is our chance.” I kept my voice steady. If I didn't believe in it, he'd never let me try. “You go to the feast. I get whoever I can to the east gate. We break out before dawn.”

He didn't look hopeful. Zarvash melted into the shadow by the window, gold eyes molten, jaw set so hard I half expected scale to splinter. He could outstare stone.

“I’ll be there. Don’t try anything rash.” Flat delivery, cold as obsidian.

It hurt, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't deserve it. I'd run off half-cocked from Scalvaris more than once, and it had only made things worse. This time, I had to work with him, to stick to the plan. Or we'd all end up dead.

The strangest thing was, there was no one on this planet—maybe in this freaking galaxy—that I trusted more.

Try telling that to the me from six months ago.

“Like you’ve got room to talk.” I tried for a smirk, but it barely twitched across my mouth. This wasn't a joking matter.

That’s the price of caring—worrying was a full-contact sport.

I squeezed his arm—something like a promise—then bolted before I could talk myself out of it.

My heart rattled like small arms fire, all staccato and terror.

Outside, the city was its same old toxic self, stone radiating blood warmth left by the suns, but the air tasted of rust, and smoke licked the wind from a dozen gutters.

I kept to the alleys, melting into shadows wherever the city allowed.

Ignarath voices rolled ugly through the spreading darkness, the usual celebration of screaming and slaughter.

Glasses shattered, laughter running knife-edged; it was enough.

Drunk was distracted and distracted meant sloppy.

Guards would screw up, wander off, maybe already half lit on the cheap booze in this part of the city.

I waited in the shadow of the booze and the guards. Zarvash would be inside by now. He had to play pretend and keep Skorai distracted. This time, I couldn't get caught. Before, it hadn't mattered, not truly. They'd return me to my “master” and let him mete out the punishment.

There was no room for that tonight. And Skorai was beginning to suspect something was up.

My hands didn’t shake; they’d already passed into that fever calm where adrenaline wipes everything raw, though they ached for my knife. I’d mentally mapped every rat-run out; three options if you counted the sewers, which I did, even if it meant crawling through filth and nightmares.

If Kinsley and the others were locked in the pens under the arena, I wouldn't have stood a chance.

But it was my luck they were being used as servants tonight.

The guards didn't pay me any mind as I slunk through the kitchens, shoulders slumped and whole demeanor screaming submissive.

They saw a weak human in tattered clothes.

They needed to keep saying that.

Kinsley's eyes widened when she saw me. “Tonight?”

“Now.” I kept my voice low. Drakarn servants were working in the kitchens, too, and I didn't trust them not to sound the alarm.

She didn't flinch. No pointless questions. I squeezed Kinsley’s wrist and nodded to Asif. “What about Nat?”

I didn't see Yelena or Eli and didn't ask. I wasn't going to throw a wrench in the escape plan and invite hesitation.

“She's elbows-deep washing shit off plates,” Asif said.

For a heartbeat, I just listened, far off, glass shattering, someone screaming not in fear but in wild, open-throated joy at the feast. Good. The more smoke and noise to cover us the better.

“We get her, and we go.”

If Kinsley or Asif had a doubt, they didn't let it show. And regrets? Those weren't my problem.

Nat was at the cistern, hands scrubbed red and trembling around a bowl, scouring with a focus only pain could teach. Her arms looked like someone had tried to slice discipline into her skin. When our eyes met, hope and dread piled on top of each other behind her eyes.

“Come on,” I said, voice just above a whisper. “It’s time.”

She set the bowl down, careful not to make a noise and nodded.

I gave her, Kinsley, and Asif my most confident nod. “Stay close. Fast and low. We don’t look back.”

I didn't let myself think about the people we were leaving behind. I could save who was in front of me—or at least I could try. If we got back to Scalvaris— when we got back—I'd plead with Darrokar on my life to go back for the rest, for Larissa. But we were all screwed if no one got out.

We vanished behind an old door that seemed half forgotten and led to a stinking hallway with wet floors and disgusting bugs skittering along the walls. I wasn't about to think about what was causing the stink, not when freedom lay at the end of the hall.

Nat nearly fell over, but Kinsley snapped a hand out, teeth bared in a silent snarl, keeping her upright. Claws were in my lungs, sulfur on my tongue, every scrape of sound a potential death warrant.

At last, the hallway spat us out into fresh air, if you called a rancid alley “air.”

I stopped and counted. I wasn't letting anyone fall behind just yet.

No alarms. No shouts. My hand locked white on my knife as I drew in slow breaths. “Come on, we need to get across the city.”

Then the world snapped.

A muffled yell. Heavy, booted steps biting through mud. Then a dirty fan of torchlight slashing the dark, four Ignarath grunts boiling up from behind a barricade of splintered barrels.

“Escape!” The word landed like a mallet to the gut.

“Run!” My hiss shredded my throat. I was already gone.

Nat shot forward, Kinsley on her heels, arms pumping. Asif’s hesitation cost him; hands like steel cable looped around his chest, yanking him back, his legs pinwheeling uselessly.

Kinsley pivoted with murder in her eyes, blade slashing fast and ugly. I lunged, but a guard’s tail swept my shins. I ate dirt and something worse and came up spitting, jamming my knife upward into Ignarath flesh, hot, briny blood sprayed, guard howled.

A second’s reprieve. Not enough.

Chaos swarmed. There was Nat, yanked back by her hair, shriek strangled to a whimper. Kinsley swearing, blade flashing, trying to carve through hides too thick for a kitchen knife. Asif vanished into a tangle of claws and fury, his shout snuffed like a candle.

I fought, bit, clawed, punched, headbutted until pain blurred into white static. Kinsley drove her heel into a guard’s groin, bought herself a heartbeat before more claws crashed in, too many, too strong, all scales and bulk, every one twice my size.

“Go! Vega, just go!” Kinsley’s scream was pure violence.

No!

We still had a way out, we had to. Nat was sobbing, Kinsley fighting like a monster. I launched at the next guard, barely thinking, knife jabbing, teeth bared, pure animal. An armored forearm erased my vision. A backhand snapped through my skull, bright light and fireworks inside my head.

Blindly, I swung, found something between soft and bone. Another grabbed my collar, hurling me sideways, until I heard something pop. Kinsley materialized beside me, slashing wild, blood speckling her fists.

“Get off her!” Her voice was breaking.

They replied with a roar, far past words, the thrill of the hunt running riot in their eyes.

We went down swinging. The math was impossible. More boots. More metal. Somewhere in the logic, I understood this was how it ended. Every heartbeat dragged us deeper into defeat.

A guard’s fist cracked into Kinsley’s jaw and sent her sprawling into the muck.

Then it was just me, arms yanked behind my back, face mashed into gravel. Cold stone, blood in my mouth. Overhead, a voice laughed, all rot and satisfaction.

“You should’ve stayed in your cage, fragile prey.”

I tried to snarl something, curse, promise vengeance. All I got was black static at the edges.

Nat was screaming, then silence cut her off like a knife.

Hands tore me upright, my shirt stretched to ruin. The last thing I saw: Kinsley, limp but watching. Her one open eye burned straight through me, all the things she’d never say. Sorry. Fury. Fuck this place.

I tried to mouth something. Promise I’d get her out of this. That Zarvash would find us. That it would all be okay. But the dark swept in, fast, heavy as floodwater.

Noise. Pain.

Then nothing.