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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

J essamin watched in horror as Ulric tried to attack Lasseran and stumbled instead, his massive frame swaying like an oak in a storm. A thin line of dark blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Ulric!” The scream tore from her throat, raw and primal.

Lasseran’s laughter cut through the chaos, cold and delighted.

“It really is a pity I don’t have time to watch him die,” he said to her, his voice carrying a conversational lightness that made her stomach turn.

“The poison is quite fascinating—it targets the Beast Curse specifically and turns their strengths against them.” He smiled, a perfect, empty curve of his lips.

“You’ll have to tell me all about his final moments when next we speak, my dear niece. ”

With that, he swept from the room, his ceremonial robes billowing behind him like a cloud of midnight. The heavy doors closed with an ominous thud.

She rushed to Ulric’s side just as another orc warrior charged through the opening in the wall. He joined the first, wielding his battle axe with deadly precision, as Ulric sank to one knee. His breathing had grown labored, each exhale carrying a wet, rattling sound that chilled her to the bone.

“I’m fine,” he growled, though the lie was evident in the sweat beading on his brow and the tremor in his powerful frame. “Get behind me.”

The two orcs were locked in desperate combat with the remaining guards, their blades flashing in the torchlight. They fought like demons, but they were outnumbered. For every guard that fell, another seemed to take his place.

She had to do something—now—or they would all die here in this terrible place.

Her desperate gaze fell on one of the massive iron brazier that lined the walls. It was an ornate, grotesque thing, its sides carved with scenes of torture and subjugation. Burning coals glowed within it, casting an eerie red light across the floor.

She darted towards it, ducking under a guard’s wild swing. The brazier was heavy, anchored to the floor by its own weight, but it wasn’t bolted down. If she could just?—

Summoning every ounce of strength in her body, she threw herself against the side of the brazier. It didn’t budge. Panic fluttered in her chest, but she planted her feet more firmly, her muscles straining, and pushed with all her strength.

For a terrible moment, nothing happened. Then, with a groan of metal against stone, the brazier began to tip.

“Move!” she screamed to the two orcs, who glanced up just in time to see what she was doing.

They whirled to one side as the brazier crashed to the floor with a thunderous impact that shook the chamber.

Burning coals scattered across the room, catching two of the guards who screamed as their uniforms caught fire.

More of the coals rolled towards the heavy black silk curtains that draped the walls.

Within seconds, the fabric caught, flames racing upward in hungry orange tongues.

The remaining guards broke formation, their discipline crumbling in the face of the rapidly spreading fire. Thick smoke began to fill the chamber, making it difficult to see and harder to breathe as she rushed back to Ulric’s side.

He was on his feet again, but barely, swaying dangerously. His face had taken on an ashen hue, and the veins around the wound had darkened to an unnatural purple-black.

“Lean on me,” she commanded, ducking under his arm. It was like trying to support a mountain—he was so much larger than her, his weight almost impossible to bear. But the alternative was unthinkable.

“I can walk,” he insisted, though his words slurred slightly.

“Then walk with me,” she snapped, her voice sharp with fear. “Or we all die here, you stubborn orc!”

A flicker of what might have been amusement crossed his pain-twisted features. “Yes, my queen.”

One of the two orcs—Wulf, his name was Wulf—joined them, supporting Ulric’s other side. The fire was spreading quickly, consuming the wall hangings and crawling along the rafters overhead.

The other orc fell in behind them, his blade ready to defend their retreat.

The fire was spreading rapidly now, the ancient wood of the chamber’s fixtures feeding the flames. The heat was becoming unbearable, the smoke thick and choking. They staggered toward the hole in the wall where Ulric had made his entrance, their only escape route.

A burning beam crashed down from the ceiling, blocking the main doorway. The guards who hadn’t already fled were trapped on the other side, their shouts muffled by the roar of the flames.

As they reached the tunnel entrance, she glanced back. Through the swirling smoke, she saw a dark shape sprawled on the floor—Khorrek, still unconscious where Ulric had thrown him.

She hesitated, torn by an impossible choice.

“Leave him,” Wulf growled, his voice harsh. “He made his choice.”

But she couldn’t move. She thought of Khorrek’s moment of hesitation, the conflict she’d seen in his eyes. She thought of the others like him—orcs indoctrinated from birth, serving a master who saw them as tools rather than people.

“We can’t,” she insisted. “We can’t leave him to burn.”

Ulric’s eyes met hers, hazy with pain but still sharp with understanding.

Without a word, he nodded. Wulf cursed, but the other orc was already on his way back through the thickening smoke to where Khorrek lay.

He hoisted him over his shoulder with astonishing ease.

The heat was blistering now, the air almost too thick to breathe.

“Dammit, Egon, hurry!” Wulf yelled.

“I’m coming. Go!”

Egon staggered back to the tunnel entrance just as another section of ceiling collapsed behind him, showering them with burning debris. She felt a searing pain as an ember landed on her arm, but she had no time to react.

The relative coolness of the servant’s passages was a blessed relief after the inferno of the ritual chamber. They moved as quickly as they could, Ulric’s breathing growing more labored with each step. The poison was working fast, too fast.

“We need to get him somewhere safe,” she said, her voice tight with fear. “The poison?—”

“There’s a tavern,” Egon said, his face grim in the dim light. “Not too far.”

They continued down the passage, the sounds of the fire and the alarms growing fainter behind them. She kept her hand pressed against Ulric’s chest, feeling the erratic thump of his heart beneath her palm. Each beat was a small victory, a few more seconds of life.

Khorrek stirred on Egon’s shoulder, groaning softly and Egon unceremoniously dumped him to the ground once they had put enough distance between themselves and the fire.

“What—” Khorrek began, his eyes widening as he took in the situation. “You… saved me?”

“It was her,” Egon said, jerking his chin toward her. “Wouldn’t leave without you.”

Khorrek stared at her, genuine confusion in his eyes.

“If we’d left you, we’d have been no better than Lasseran,” she said.

He still looked dazed, but then he looked past her at Ulric and frowned.

“Lasseran used the poisoned blade on him,” he said, and she whirled towards him

“You know about that? Can you help him?”

Khorrek hesitated, clearly torn between years of conditioning and the debt he now owed. Finally, he reached into his armor and pulled out a small vial filled with pale blue liquid.

“I took this after seeing him use the blade before,” he said, holding it out to her. “I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t use it on me someday.”

She snatched the vial. “How do we use it?”

“Remove the blade, then half on the wound, half down his throat,” Khorrek instructed. “It won’t heal him completely, but it will buy time.”

Wulf yanked the poisoned blade from Ulric’s chest with a swift, brutal motion, and she poured half the precious antidote directly onto the wound watching in horror as the liquid fizzed and bubbled against his corrupted flesh.

“Now drink,” she commanded, pressing the vial to his lips, and praying with all her heart that it worked.