Page 62 of Merciless Is My Crown

Tavion fought the whole time we were dragged through a labyrinth of corridors, past rows of cells, filthy fingers with broken nails reaching through the bars. How could there be so many prisoners up here in the middle of nowhere, I wondered before we were tossed into our own stinking cell.

My wyvern protested the stench down here, the hateful magic that writhed like maggots in the stones beneath me working its way inside me like an insidious poison.

Maybe the magic was what drove these people mad, the screaming growing louder, not quieter, now that our jailors stomped away down the hall.

“We have to get the fuck out of here,” Tavion growled from across the hall. “She’s up there. Alone. Dane won’t be able to do shite against this many.”

“Then transform. Get out of that cage.”

His eyes narrowed, then he shook his head. “I…There’s a…Fuck.” He grunted out a sound of pure frustration. “There’s a problem. I can’t shift.” His teeth flashed in the darkness. “But you can. Melt these fucking bars. We’ll tear through everything standing between us and Anaria, then burn this fucking place to the ground behind us.”

I tested the cold, damp air, filled with so much desperation I choked.

“If I transform,” I said quietly, “there is an equal chance my beast will roast you alive inside that cell as set you free. There is no reasoning with the wyvern, no controlling him. Transforming is a death sentence for us all, especially Anaria.”

“You’re a coward,” Tavion hissed, pressed against the bars.

“No more than you,” I countered, tipping my head back against the wet, cold stone, because I knew he was right.

“No more than you, wolf.”

23

RAZIEL

Rain poured down in sheets, turning the mountainside into a slick, impossible-to-navigate gauntlet. I was drained, left with barely enough magic to carry Torin back to the mainland. Zor, we’d decided, would have to carry Zephryn, a compromise neither were happy with, but fuck them both.

“We have to get off the side of this fucking mountain.”

Simon had already shifted, the brisk wind ruffling his feathers, his golden eyes never leaving Torin. She was crouched beside Zephryn, convincing him that heading to the mainland was the only choice.

The High Seer…was full of surprises.

Nothing close to the spoiled, helpless female I’d expected when I’d agreed to this disastrous rescue mission. She’d dropped down into that dark hole with more courage than I’d ever give her credit for, and as far as Zephryn…well, the dragon shifter had seen better days, that was for sure.

He’d take time to get his head right. But I’d endured my share of brutality—though not three hundred years’ worth—and considered it somewhat of a miracle he was up and walking.

Talking.

Even making sense, some of the time.

Torin hadn’t let him go, and even now, as lightning flashed overhead, I studied their joined hands and how gently she spoke, explaining what came next.

“Think the bastard will transform halfway there and eat me?” Zor asked, only half joking.

“Naw. He doesn’t have enough magic for that.” I threw Zor a grin. “Got the teeth, though. Good thing you’re wearing your armor.”

“He’s in rough shape, Raz.” I gave him a vague nod, looking out over the ring of mountains, the ward still holding strong. The piles of twisted bones.

“This place must have been something. Before the Oracle destroyed everything.”

“She’d turn the entire world to this.” Zor jerked his head at the remnants of a once-great kingdom that never saw its ruination coming. Not until the Oracle landed on these shores.

Because that’s where we’d determined the leaching power came from. The obsidian pillars delved straight into the island’s heart, poisoning the magic, corrupting every inch of this place.

“We won’t reach Nightcairn in two days like we’d planned. Not carrying Zephryn and Torin.” I took a deep breath, blowing out a cloud of steam. “Nor will we make it there in five, given his injuries. He needs healing. Real healing, not battlefield healing. We’ll miss our rendezvous with Anaria.”

“I fucking know,” Zor muttered. “Torin wants us to take him to Tempeste. To Bexley.”

---