Page 12

12

ERYSS

N aranus thinks he has me.

Thinks that because I let him feed me, because I lay limp beneath his hands, because I met his golden gaze with something less than fire, I have given up.

Good.

I let him believe it.

Let him believe I am too broken to fight back. But I am not broken.

I am waiting.

Waiting for my chance to strike. But first, I need my dagger.

I push away from the bed, wincing as the movement sends a slow throb of pain down my ribs. The fight may be over, but my body still bears the proof of it. The reminder.

The cost. I reach the door and press my palm against it, testing. Locked.

Of course.

Naranus wouldn’t be careless enough to let me just walk out.

But he forgot something.

The balcony.

I step toward it, my bare feet silent against the cold stone. The night wind rushes in, whipping against my skin, licking against my wounds like a cruel reminder.

Below, the fortress stretches wide and unforgiving, the torches burning low, their glow flickering against the jagged stone.

The training grounds lie beyond. That’s where they would have taken it.

That’s where my dagger will be. Hopefully, they didn’t sense the magic in it.

I grip the corner of the balcony and swing one leg over. Then the other.

The drop is steep. The wall slick with ancient wear, the grooves of stone carved more for clawed hands than human fingers.

Still, I move.

Slow. Precise.

The moment I shift my weight downward, the ledge beneath my foot crumbles.

Shit.

I slip, my stomach lurching, my arms scrambling for purchase as my nails scrape against the wall. My muscles scream from the strain, the ground rushing toward me.

I catch myself.

Barely.

My fingers dig into a jagged crack, my legs swinging before I slam my body against the wall, forcing stillness into my limbs.

My breath races in my chest, but I ignore it. Too close. Too fucking close.

I exhale sharply and push forward.

When my feet finally touch solid ground, my knees tremble, but I don’t stop. I slip into the shadows, silent, invisible, moving toward the training grounds.

Two sentries guard the entrance, their wings twitching, their claws scraping lazily against the stone.

They aren’t paying attention.

Good.

I slip past them, pressing my back to the wall, heart pounding.

The stench of sweat, metal, and scorched earth thickens as I move deeper into the arena, my eyes scanning the weapon racks.

The armory.

That’s where they would have…

There.

Half-hidden behind the larger blades, its hilt glinting faintly in the firelight.

My dagger.

I move fast, heart hammering, fingers itching to close around the grip, to feel the pulse of magic waiting beneath the steel.

I reach out. Almost.

“You’re either desperate or stupid.”

The voice slithers from the shadows.

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn.

A gargoyle steps forward from the darkened alcove, his eyes gleaming with faint amusement.

Not Naranus. Someone else.

Leaner than the others, but fast, his wings tucked in tight, his tail flicking lazily.

He blocks my path.

I say nothing. Just watch.

Gauge.

He tilts his head, his fangs glinting in the low light. “What do you think you’re doing, purna?”

I force my body to relax. “Just admiring your weapons.”

He laughs, a sharp, rasping sound. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

I offer him a small smile, stepping closer, letting my fingers brush against the wooden rack. “Do you blame me?” I let my voice dip, smooth, unbothered. “I was given nothing but dull blades to fight with. You didn’t expect me to win with those, did you?”

His gaze flicks lower, tracking my movements.

I shift my stance, letting my hip just barely brush against the weapons. Close enough.

He hums, considering me. “You lost because you’re weak.”

I tilt my head. “Weak? Or unarmed?”

His wings twitch, his stance shifting. He’s thinking about it.

I let my fingers glide over the hilts, trailing along the tip of a dagger before wrapping around the one I came for.

The moment my grip tightens, he moves.

He’s on me in an instant, grabbing my wrist, twisting sharply.

The dagger clatters against the stone. Fuck.

His grip tightens. “Oh.” His breath skates across my jaw, hot and amused. “Stealing from your husband’s armory?”

My lip curls. “Let. Go.”

He chuckles, sharp and low. “Or what?”

I jerk forward, slamming my forehead into his nose. The crack is sickening.

He stumbles back, cursing, his claws releasing me.

I snatch the dagger, spinning just as he lunges.

His claws graze my arm, not deep, but enough to sting.

I slash out, my dagger kissing the air between us, forcing him back another step.

He bares his fangs, his tail lashing.

“Shouldn’t have done that, purna.”

I grin, sharp and wild. “Try and stop me.”

And I run.