Page 93 of The Coven of Ruin

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“Fuck,” Xerxes swore, eyeing the length of the blade. “I know what you seek and can help you find it.”

“Why?” Ares found himself surprised that he not only recognized, but understood the look in the dragon commander’s gaze.

Fury born by loss.

“Because they have the princess, and I intend to get her back or die trying.”

Chapter XL

Zyanarelievedthedeadmage of his sword, and Trista wiped the bloodied dagger off on his tunic, willing herself to stay present. She would not let this be The Arena. She would not be powerless.

They ran.

The Underkeep consisted of zigzagging and sloping corridors. Directionless, they ran in the opposite way they had traversed from their cells. They just had to keep moving up.

They came across two shafts that, without a ladder and with no light, they wouldn’t be able to climb. Sticking to the tunnels, the interior became less well-kept the higher they moved. There were entire halls that held only hollowed-out spaces for future rooms. Whatever the place was, it wasn’t a fully finished design, as if they hadn’t intended to have to utilize the keep for some time.

As fate would have it, they didn’t run into any faceless mages as they moved through the inclining hallways, which led them up and hopefully out. Echoing shouts spurred them onward. Both used their magic and adrenaline to augment their weakened endurance so they could keep running.

If they could just reach the surface…

It wasn’t until the air began to smell fresher that they ran into another mage. At first, he seemed like he would let them pass, but as they gained on him, he shouted for them to halt. Zyana was already wielding the stolen sword, and though his blade met her first strike with a metallic clang, her second cut a fatal path between his neck and shoulder.

They continued until they rounded a dark corner and silver tendrils of moonlight framed a cave-like opening in the distance. Zyana slowed, putting her arm out for her to do the same. Their breathing was ragged as they crept toward the entrance. When they were five paces away, Zyana placed her hand over Trista’s heart and mouthed the word ‘wait.’

The mountain witch moved on the balls of her feet to peer out of the opening. Her lips moved silently, counting. She did a second pass, her eyes sweeping the land again before she slipped out of the opening and disappeared.

After three heartbeats, Trista moved as quietly as she could to peer into the night. At first, she saw nothing, not understanding what Zyana had been counting. She could just make out a woodline, the trees silent sentinels in the distance. And salvation.

A blur of a movement caught her eye, and then she saw them—a handful of armed mages concealed mainly by their dark cloaks. They would never be able to make it to the forest unseen and unscathed.

Just as she started to feel concerned, Zyana crept around the corner. The mountain witch gripped her arm in a firm grasp, conveying what words could not. Her expression was somber, and her silver-illuminated eyes met Trista’s own.

And she knew what she would say.

“No,” Trista whispered, the single syllable snagging in her throat.

Zyana sat her sword down and pulled her forward, tilting her forehead down until it touched her own. “You have to live,” she whispered fiercely. “If we try to run for it together, we will both die. There are mages crawling all over the place out there, but I can draw them away. The closest thing to safety are the trees straight ahead.”

Trista grabbed the witch’s forearm. “No,” she insisted.

“Someone has to survive.Youhave to survive. Imagine if Dem had to find two new members for the Triune,” she tried to joke, a smile tentatively coming to her lips.

“I won’t go without you.” Trista didn’t care about the deal she had made and how it would have been for nothing if Zyana died. Curse the bargain. No one was going to die for her. “We can wait or… maybe we can find another path or…”

Zyana shook her head and pulled back, wiping tears off Trista’s cheeks with her thumbs as she did. “Promise me you’ll find Dem and…” She sniffed, her own unshed tears pooling. “Tell her for me, will you?”

“Tell her yourself. Please don’t,” Trista pleaded desperately, fisting Zyana’s tunic. “Together, we will go together. Or I’ll go. It’s my fault and—”

“We don’t have time. When they come for me, you run as fast as you can. You don’t look back; you don’t stop for anything.”

“This way!” The urgent shouts echoed around them, coming from the tunnels they had just traversed.

Zyana pried Trista’s hand from her tunic, giving it a quick squeeze before she released her.

“I won’t let you go alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” Zyana dug into her top and pulled out a rose-colored piece of fabric. Demurielle’s favor from the tournament. Pushing the scarf into her collar, her spell ore bangle reflected all the colors of their magic.