Page 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“ R ushkar, what the fuck?”

Isak slumped onto the table, half aware he was bleeding out all over the ancient book he’d tried so hard not to damage. Well, that had gone to shit.

“I won’t let you find Sintrylla,” Rush growled, the guard swinging his sword at all of them. Isak would have loved to do something grand and heroic to protect Anzhelika at the very least, but the pain was so severe it kept him slumped over the desk. He tried to move and grunted, pain dropping him back to the desk.

There’s magic everywhere down here, Viskae said in that commanding, nagging voice of hers. Use it. Heal yourself.

We’re surrounded by people unless you’ve forgotten, he snapped, slamming his hand over the gaping hole in his stomach. Motherfucker, it hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut when tears burned them, but Viskae’s shouted warning had them opening again.

“Don’t worry, pretty damsel,” Anzhelika remarked, holding up her dagger as if that small blade stood any hope against Rushkar’s broadsword, “I’ll protect you.”

Isak grunted a laugh. “Stop trying to make me your third. Not gonna happen.”

“I told you before,” she replied with a sharp smile, angling herself in front of him, “you’re lacking tits and a pussy for me. And Sunny would eat you whole.”

Isak snorted. Sunny was sweet and kind; the picture Anzhelika painted made no sense. But then, neither did the massive wound in his stomach.

Pull magic from the air, Viskae snapped. You don’t even need to drain the earth; it’s all around you. Do it. Now!

Isak groaned and closed his eyes. It wasn’t hard to sense the dark shiver of power in the air; he was practically choking on it. He’d never pulled from the air before, but judging by the way the dark thing inside him arched its back and leaned eagerly towards the magic, it was possible. He flexed his free hand, keeping the other pressed to his wound, and reached into the air, sinking the claws of his beast into the traces of magic.

Power rushed him like a surge of blood. Isak inhaled sharply.

“Come on, Rush, let’s talk about this,” the youngest guard was saying, trying to reason with Rushkar. “There’s no need to attack anyone.”

Isak tried to ignore the distraction of their fight, focusing on the flow of strength through him. The persistent throb eased from his leg, the sharpest edge of pain left the hole in his stomach, and he swore every cell in his body lit up for the briefest moment, as if endless power surged into him. He swore he heard Maia screaming someone’s name, her voice ragged and terrified.

When he slammed back into himself, curling his hand into a fist, the pain had faded entirely and his wound had healed. Only Anzhelika had noticed the miracle of his healing; he caught her eye as he stood, feeling stronger, better.

“If we get out of this, I’ll tell you exactly how I just did that,” he whispered and meant it. She deserved answers.

“You better,” she muttered, giving him a strange look. “We could use healers like you.”

“We?” he asked, getting to his feet and reaching for his stick— fuck. It was snapped in half on the floor. Well, that was just great.

Anzhelika leaned close and whispered, “Sunny and I might not be the most upstanding of citizens. We smuggle beastkind refugees into the city and give them fake identities so they can flee Vassal and V’haiv.”

Isak’s eyes blew wide, a rush of powerful emotion erupting through his chest. “You…”

“Yep.” She lifted her dagger with a grin.

“I knew I liked you two,” he laughed before the gravity of the situation returned with the sharp screech of metal colliding.

“Rush!” Harth bellowed, his sword meeting Rushkar’s, both of them steely-faced and furious. “Enough!”

“They can’t be allowed to find it,” Rush snarled with something like panic. “They can’t.”

A pang twisted Isak’s chest. He didn’t envy the man. When the dark saints found out he’d led Isak to the sword they were so eager to find, they’d kill him. Or much, much worse. Isak would be afraid, too. Memories flashed through his head, one after the other. A cell with chains. Curved knives that left shallow wounds to cover the floor with blood. Worse weapons that had shattered his knee, twisted all the bones in his leg. Dark, vile liquid lined up in little vials. A wicked smile on a scarred face as he screamed and thrashed when his body was forced to change, to adapt, to evolve. When the darkness grew within him.

Isak! Viskae yelled, panic bright in her voice. Don’t go back there. Stay here. Stay here, you’re free now.

Isak sucked in a breath and startled at the sight of Harth locked in battle with his own guard in the middle of the crypt’s aisle, one tall and broad and as silver as the moon, the other roughened and dark-haired and blazing with righteous anger that barely masked his terror.

“I won’t let you get to it,” Rush said through gritted teeth, their swords locked, caught between blows. “It’s my duty to keep Sintrylla. It can never be found.”

“If that sword is as old as we suspect, it needs to be in a museum,” Tynenn tried to reason with him, approaching with one hand outstretched, beseeching, the other shaking on the golden head of his stick. “It needs to be preserved and saved for future generations. All the history a sword like that must have seen…”

“It cannot be found,” Rushkar growled, his voice vibrating and deep, dominant enough that Isak cringed and shrank against the desk before his monster snapped its jaws, darkness surging through his blood.

“Just a quick question,” Anzhelika said, grabbing Isak’s arm and twisting him towards her. “Should your irises have disappeared? And, uh, should the whites of your eyes be black?”

“Right now, when we’re under attack?” he replied, straightening, wishing he had his damn stick. Not that it’d stop him, merely slow him down. “Yeah, I think they should.”

He squeezed Anzhelika’s hand and gently pulled it from his arm. “Answers later.”

“Rush, come on,” Harth tried to persuade his guard, catching Rush’s broadsword with his own, the two of them powerful and covered in bulging muscle. Violence in every motion, but a sad reluctance too in their strikes. How long had they known each other? Ten years? Longer? There’d been an easy camaraderie between them. They were friends. And now they fought like they each wanted to mortally wound each other. “It’s just a sword. It’s not worth losing your career over.”

“It’s more than a sword. It’s salvation,” Rush said through gritted teeth, pushing on their locked swords with all his strength. “You don’t understand, Harth. It can’t ever be uncovered. I made a vow.”

The two other guards crept up on Rushkar’s sides, weapons not raised but held firmly in their gloved grips. Isak really didn’t want to see a man killed today, but Jaro and Maia needed that box, and they needed the sword within it to kill the dark ones. They could really do it. End this. Save what remained of his family.

Isak would do anything to keep that dream intact. It was the only thing he’d wished for, the only thing he’d ever daydreamed about—a place to belong and people to belong to. He’d confessed it to Maia in their dream but it became very clear now that Isak would do just about anything to protect his family as he let the darkness flow through his blood, claws mangling the tips of his fingers as he stepped into Rushkar’s back.

“Now, now,” Tynenn tried to intervene. “Let’s all just sit down and talk about this. Rushkar, what if you accompany them to find the box. That way you can keep your vow and protect—”

It happened so quickly that even with darkness pumping through his veins, Isak was too slow to stop it. Tynenn reached out to the silver-haired, battle-hardened woman on Rush’s right and gently pulled her away so he could approach.

“No! It cannot be found!” Rush roared, spinning towards the space his fellow guard had just occupied, his sword still swinging down. The blade was as sharp as glass; it carved a brutal hole through Tynenn’s chest, ruby blood spilling across the pale fabric of his robes in an instant.

“No,” Rush breathed, throwing aside his sword and reaching for the librarian. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know you were there. I’m so sorry.”

Isak bent to retrieve the discarded sword, keeping it at his side as he watched Rushkar follow Tynenn to the floor, the guard’s face as pale as snow under his tattoo, his expression one of pure devastation.

“Tynenn,” Rush said urgently, grasping the old man’s shoulders, his voice rising, ragged. “Tynenn!”

The librarian coughed blood, the violent spray dripping down his chin as he smiled. “Nine, thirteen, six,” he croaked. And then he went still.

Rushkar tipped his head back to look at them, silver lining his cornflower blue eyes. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I never wanted to hurt him.”

Isak rubbed a hand over his jaw, a tight pain in his chest when Rushkar gently closed the librarian’s eyes. He stood slowly, his head dipped, arms hanging limply at his sides.

“You can kill me if you wish,” he said to Harth in a voice raked over gravel, “but you cannot find the sword. I can’t allow it. I haven’t waited a thousand years to let—”

“A thousand years!” Isak and Anzhelika exclaimed at the same time.

Harth froze, reassessing his guard, his straight jaw clenched. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am,” Rush insisted, a pleading note to his voice now. Grumpy and Grumpiest both softened, reluctant to fight their friend. Isak kept his grip on the sword though, watching Rushkar closely. Jaro and Maia were relying on him. He wouldn’t suffer a single obstacle when he’d come this far, when he was so close to a weapon that could weaken the saints.

“My sister’s life is at stake,” Harth replied in the same desperate tone, though he didn’t lower his sword. “Her mate says this is the only thing that will save her, and I’m inclined to believe him. There’s something about all of this—Isak coming to the city, being led to the crypt, and finding a sketch of the box in a book Tynenn was in the middle of rebinding, all within a matter of days. Fate is at work here. You can feel it, I know you can. A higher power is here with us.”

In Isak’s mind, Viskae snickered.

Shut it, he told her.

“Please,” Harth breathed, taking a step closer. Isak tensed, ready to cut Rushkar down if he made a single move towards Maia’s brother. Harth might be noble and good, but Isak wouldn’t hesitate to kill the obstacle standing between them and the gold box and its legendary sword.

Rush hung his head, his huge shoulders expanding with a tight breath. “Kill me if you must,” he repeated, “but I won’t let you find Sintrylla.”

Harth tensed, caught between stillness and motion, but Isak never found out what he planned to do because a great, clanging noise came from above, so loud it reached them even ten floors beneath the earth.

“What the fuck is that?” he demanded.

Anzhelika grabbed Isak’s arm, her breathing turning choppy. “The warning bells from the port.” She met Isak’s stare with clear panic. “Saintsgarde is under attack.”