Page 128 of Lana Pecherczyk

Tommas’s expression shifted from shock to pity.

“Tell the others I’ll come at it from downriver,” River said, but Tommas was already leaving. “Wait for my signal.”

Black wings snapped out, and the sentinel launched without a backward glance.

River pivoted and jogged to find an access path down the cliff. If memory served right, there was an easier slope somewhere nearby.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Regret tightened Blake’s voice as she followed.

“It’s fine.” Cold sweat broke out on his skin, but he couldn’t fault her for protecting him. “It was bound to come out sooner or later.”

Farther downriver, the cliff face gentled into a sloping ravine. They found a narrow ledge and began their descent, jagged rock biting into River’s palms. Blake moved with surprising confidence, her trust in him radiating through their bond, oddly settling his shame rather than amplifying it.

Halfway down, she gasped and pointed to an opening in the rock. “Another storm drain.” Her finger swung further down. “And another. Do they all network to the same drain the children are in?”

“Probably.”

“Why isn’t anyone trying to enter through a different point?”

“Structure’s unsound.” Even as he spoke, sunrise crested the forest’s edge, illuminating their precarious position. The way would become treacherous if they didn’t reach the bank soon.

“Wait, are the tunnels drains or windows?”

“Both,” he explained, scrabbling for another handhold. “This cliff is an overgrown fallen group of buildings, much like at the amphitheater.”

A rock crumbled beneath his grip. The sense of Blake through their bond flickered. She hissed in pain behind him, pulling her hand to her chest.

“What happened?” His gaze snapped to her.

“Touched metal.” She nodded toward a square rail protruding from the rock face.

River cursed for missing it.

“I should have remembered,” he said. “Cloud and I explored here when we were young. The ruins drew us in, but the abundance of metal made navigating dangerous.” His gaze tracked the river’s course. “Not far downstream is a waterfall. A big one.”

Blake still cradled her hand.

“It’s too dangerous for you to continue,” he said.

She should be able to return the way they’d come without him. He opened his mouth to send her back when high-pitched screams and violent splashing erupted below.

The rescue had begun without him. Lark darted among the other swooping crows, her aerial skill unmistakable even at this distance. She must have volunteered to regain favor, to make up for her mistake. The Corvus must be seething. Sentinels renewed their attack on the kelpie while others lined up on the top of the cliff for a rescue formation, aiming to swoop close to the drain.

Shame deepened. It should be him down there.

A boy appeared at the tunnel opening, readying himself to jump. He looked older than the others, poking their heads out beside him. Maybe eight or nine years old. Scratched up. He was likely the bravest of the lot and was trying to lead by example. The bloody shirt might have been his. One wing hung at an odd angle.

River’s throat tightened. This could go wrong in too many ways. The monster wouldn’t fall for the distraction. The fledglings might mistime their jumps, miss the outstretched arms. The rescuers could clip their wings against the rock.

“No!” Blake’s gasp echoed his thoughts.

The fledgling leaped too early, missing Lark’s outstretched arms. He pinwheeled through empty air, broken wing useless against gravity’s pull. If the kelpie didn’t get him, the water would drag him under.

The water surged—no, the kelpie itself transformed, scattering sentinels like leaves. Teeth snapped toward the falling child with hungry precision. The circling crows adjusted their trajectory, murder hardening their eyes as they positioned themselves between predator and prey.

But Lark was closer.

Wings tucked tight against her body, she dove.