Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades.
Sucking in a shallow breath, Henrik gave himself a pep talk. Stay steady. Stay true. Be strong. The words and reassurance didn’t help. Neither did the constant pump of his chest. No matter how much air he forced into his lungs, he couldn’t get enough. ’Twas too thin. Too musty. Too damp with winter chill and the weighted claw of warning. Henrik drew another lungful anyway and, forcing one foot in front of the other, followed Andrei’s lead.
Not that he could see his friend.
Hell, he couldn’t see past the end of his own nose, never mind along the length of the narrow passageway. No torches to use. No light to rely upon. Just total darkness, the kind of blackness that consumed everything.
His stomach pitched. Henrik exhaled hard, then drew in another breath. Pressure tightened its grip, banding around his rib cage. More sweat bloomed, wetting the hair at the nape of his neck. Like a snake, the beads slithered down his spine, raising gooseflesh on his damp skin. Gritting his teeth, Henrik stared straight ahead. He needed to stay calm. Refused to break down now. He’d survived far worse than a tight corridor deep underground.
Being stuffed into the murder hole each night qualified as worse.
Eyes straining in the darkness, Henrik dragged his mind away from the past. As it settled back on the present, he slowed the pace. Walking now, he listened for his comrades. Andrei was still in front of him . . . up there . . . somewhere. Shay moved behind him, bringing up the rear of their unhappy little procession through the bowels of White Temple. Rhythmic splashes of quick footfalls through the trench of water underfoot offered up clues. Each noise added to the next, amplified in the small space, allowing him to gauge distances.
A thump echoed five feet behind him.
“Jesu,” Shay said, sounding set upon. The sound of brisk rubbing ensued as his apprentice tried to soothe whatever part of him had struck stone. “Where the hell are the torches? Anyone with half a brain knows to equip an escape route with torches, for God’s sake.”
Andrei grunted in agreement.
Wood groaned an ominous warning.
Henrik tensed and . . . oh shit. Not good. The high-pitched creak signaled trouble. The kind no one needed in cramped quarters and a dark corridor. Wood groaned again. Henrik listened harder, waiting for telltale signs and his friend to fill him in. He needed to know what the hell was going on. If Andrei didn’t—
Cosmina stirred against him. “What is it?”
Henrik shook his head, then realized the absurdity of the action. She couldn’t see him. Not while surrounded by darkness, never mind blind. “Not sure. Give Andrei a moment. He’ll—”
“Merde,” Andrei muttered, sliding on something underfoot. Like a low snarl in the dark, another creak drifted, skimming the stone walls. “Stop. Back up. I just stepped on—”
Crack! Timber snapped, obliterating the quiet.
Andrei cursed. Steel clanged against stone. A loud splash echoed. The harsh rasp of breath and the sound of flailing followed, beating the air around them.
“Son of a—Mon Dieu, I’m in a well of some kind.” Water slapped against something hard as Andrei swiveled. “Henrik, I fell. Mayhap twenty feet. It’s a trap. Full of water. Wide mouth, smooth sides, and—”
“Are you injured?” Shay stepped alongside him, crowding Henrik in the corridor.
“Non, but . . .” Nails scraping against the side walls, Andrei paused. “I’m not a strong swimmer.”
“Hold on.” Heart beating triple time, Henrik tried not to think about the trap. Or the fact he might have to go down to get his friend. “Let me put Cosmina down and—”
“We need light.” Eyelashes fluttered against the side of his throat. Cosmina raised her head, bumping the underside of his chin. Henrik flinched. Hell, she was more than just awake. She was coherent—mind focused and voice strong even though her body remained weak, nestled against him, still in need of his support. “Andrei . . . use your fire.”
Silence greeted that command, then . . .
“I don’t know how. In the temple, when I saw Halál take aim at Henrik, I . . . it just happened,” Andrei said, a thread of panic in his voice. “I cannot control it, Cosmina.”
“Aye, you can. I can see your ability in my Seer’s eye. ’Tis a gift from the goddess, one you can control, so . . .” She trailed off, using the pause for effect. “Concentrate, Andrei . . . make the fire grow in your palm.”
“But—”
“Do it, Andrei,” she said, her tone soft, yet somehow full of command. “And Shay?”
“Aye, my lady?”
“Use your talent . . . control the water to keep him buoyant.”
“You are mistaken.” Unease drifted on the denial, calling Shay a liar. “I have no such talent.”
“Of course you do, Shay,” Cosmina said, pressing the issue, leaving the younger assassin nowhere to hide. “Like all of your brethren, you now control an element. Yours is water . . . the goddess decrees it. The magic has already been set in motion.”
Light flickered up ahead, painting the walls in blue light. It glowed bright a moment, making Henrik squint, then petered out. His comrade cursed. A cacophony of splashing joined the colorful litany, as though Andrei punched the surface of the water.
“Shay,” Cosmina whispered. “He needs your help.”
“Hellfire.” Each breath naught more than rasps, Shay shook his head. Henrik tracked the movement, registering the rush of stale air as his apprentice stepped back. His hearing pinpoint sharp, he listened to Shay retreat in the narrow passageway. He didn’t go far—mayhap a step or two—before his back collided with the wall behind him. The twin blades Shay wore scraped across stone. “I don’t know how. I . . .”
“Try,” Henrik said as his apprentice trailed off. He hated to push. Understood the shock that came with the sudden surge of magical ability. ’Twas like being possessed and taken over, free will usurped by the goddess’ gift while being thrust into foreign terrain without a weapon or map for guidance. And yet, he knew the territory. Had spent weeks struggling with the slow migration . . . the unnatural shift into magic. So like it or nay, he held a road map. Enough of one, mayhap, to ease his apprentice into acceptance. “Think it. Hold it in your mind’s eye to make it happen.”
Another burst of blue lit up the darkness. It held a moment, flickering like fire and . . .
Shay bowed his head and, inhaling hard, fisted his hands.
The light went out again. Palms slapping against the well’s smooth sides, Andrei swore in French, his panic echoing through the starkness.
Shay exhaled. The water flow underfoot increased. The narrow stream gushed, frothing into a current around their boots. Henrik’s senses sharpened. His magic rolled, honing his perception and heightening awareness.
For once, he didn’t fight it.
Instead, he assessed Shay in the dark, searching for signs, weighing the magic to ferret out the truth. Enchantment whispered, floating in on musty air. Shay shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He shuffled sideways, moving with the flow of water. The shift brought him closer to Henrik. As the younger assassin’s shoulder bumped his, certain knowledge grabbed hold. Henrik drew a shaky breath. Christ help him, Cosmina was right. The goddess had not only tampered with him, but his comrades as well.
The realization rushed through him. Relief swelled, then bubbled up, relieving the strain while infecting him soul deep. Henrik cringed. But his reaction to the news didn’t change the facts.
Or how he felt.
He was glad. So relieved his brothers-in-arms suffered the same affliction, his throat went tight. And as he stood, cradling Cosmina, heart pounding and gratefulness rising, he experienced true shame. What did his reaction say about him? That he was self-centered? An egomaniac beyond the pale of decency for wishing magical misery on another—especially those he considered his friends? Turning his head, Henrik set his cheek atop Cosmina’s hair. Soft tendrils brushed his mouth. The sweet scent of her soothed him, opened his lungs, helped him take a full breath as he wrestled with each question.