Page 110 of Deadly Maiden

They help me get Landos through, wrenching aside the remains of the thin board nailed to the frame.

“Tell them to escape, now,” I tell Andacc. “Rorsyd can take me, you, Landos.”

And Kyvin? What about him? I don’t know. Maybe not. I’m aching from the fire that touched me, from cuts, from my heart when I see Landos. But Kyvin? Would he survive by himself?

Andacc and I help Landos walk to where Rorsyd has landed beside the rucksacks and bags. Smoke wreathes the ground. The scorched men are silent and still. Landos is surprisingly strong, considering his injuries, and he lurches onward. A few times, I glance backward, wondering if Kroll will try to follow us. I want him dead.

I so want him dead, my need awful when I recheck the signs of torture on Landos.

“I have you,” I keep telling Father whenever he groans. “A doctor can heal all this. Once we are out of this, we’ll find one.”

“Thank you,” he whispers as we lay him inside the canvas bag and tie it, leaving his face free so he can breathe. “You are my bestest-ever daughter.” He cracks an actual smile. His voiceis raspy as if damaged from screaming. I’m tearing up, and we need to move, but he grabs my hand in a, dare I say it, death-grip. “You’re a good person no matter what anyone might say.”

I nod. “Rorsyd will carry you.” I look at my soulmate. “Gently.”

“I will do so.” Rorsyd assures me. “Mount up. Andacc and Landos are ready?”

I glance aside. “Yes.” Andacc has tied himself into the bag. Kyvin waits. He looks forlorn, to me, his bag taken by Landos. “Kyvin…do we have to leave him?”

Rorsyd grunts, aware of how I baby the undead man. Weird but true.

“I feel that we need him. He fought for me, at the door.”

The sword wound that punched through shows on Kyvin’s chest. No blood of course, just tattered cloth.

“He can ride atop me, if he can. Landos is light. Hurry!”

My father is lying as if in a coffin, wrapped in the canvas. He has suffered so much during the past month. I give him a final kiss on his pale forehead. Then I jerk my head, indicating to Kyvin to follow me and I sprint to climb Rorsyd.

I clamber up his scaled leg and side, seat myself.

To watch us, Rorsyd’s neck is twisted backward, then he swings it to check the house. As if he has heard something?

I see what caught his attention. Someone stirs in the window, someone who limps.

“Kroll is free,” I snarl that through teeth as Kyvin climbs past me. “Rorsyd! Can you burn him for me? Can you burn an ironskin?”

“With pleasure. Once you’re secure.”

Kyvin swings in behind me. His undead hands clasp my waist.

“Go!” I shout.

If he falls, he falls. I pat Kyvin’s hand.

Rorsyd sucks in a breath, aims at the house, and lets loose an air-blurring flame that curls and billows, then engulfs the entire building.

Despite the stone construction it begins to melt.

“Done,” Rorsyd declares. He lumbers forward and reaches for the sky. To the left, the trees rustle with movement and three cavalrymen tear from the forest toward the house, galloping hard. As they sight the blaze, they rein in, horses rearing.

We have barely left the ground when a figure that is more fire than fae stumbles from the house. He seems to shake both his arms toward us as he flings a cloud of glittering metal into the air. The spinning cloud leaps the gap. Rorsyd curses, and something thuds into Kyvin and Rorsyd’s side, thenfinallywe are away and soaring higher.

Twisting in place, I see Kroll ablaze and staggering toward the well. He topples in, flipping upside down, and vanishes from sight. I hope, I really hope he breaks his neck, then burns to death in agony.

A sword is stuck into Kyvin’s arm. Another projects from Rorsyd’s side that wobbles as if only a superficial wound.

“Are you okay?” I bellow. “He hit your flank.”

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