The truth rose to condemn him.
No question. Without a doubt. Selfish described him to perfection.
And yet, even as he despised himself for it, his gratitude deepened. He wasn’t alone. Wasn’t the only one . . . the singular freak cursed by the Goddess of All Things. Not anymore. As awful as it seemed, the terrible gifts forced upon his friends made hope rise hard and him feel normal.
For once. For the first time in life.
“Dieu, it’s working,” Andrei rasped, the relief in his voice telling. A faint gurgle pushed back the quiet, lapping like waves on a shoreline. “The water level is rising.”
“Good.” Careful not to knock Shay off-balance, Henrik left his side. Frozen in concentration, his apprentice murmured but didn’t move. Sliding his foot along the floor, Henrik turned sideways in the passageway and inched forward in the dark. Bit by bit, he tested the ground, looking for the spot stone stopped and wooden floorboards began. He knew the break couldn’t be much farther ahead. Andrei sounded close now, mere feet in front of him. “Andrei, try again. Light the fuse . . . give us some light.”
Blue flame shot through an opening in the floor. Light consumed the darkness as fire roared, curling over jagged floorboards to lick along slimy stone walls. Heat exploded through the tunnel. The blast hit Henrik in the face. He spun, turning his back to protect Cosmina from the flare-up. After a moment, the blaze subsided, but continued to burn, filling the underground corridor, and Henrik got his first look at the passageway. Long, narrow, mayhap three feet across. Blackened stone walls. Low ceiling that came dangerously close to the top of his head.
Close quarters. Too tight. Far too constrictive.
Henrik’s windpipe closed. God, he couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in again and—
“Almost there.” Eyes shut tight, boots planted in the gushing stream underfoot, Shay unfurled his hands, then made twin fists again. Open. Closed. White knuckles to open palms. Over and over . . . and over again. “Can you see him yet? Is he—”
Water bubbled against the top of the well. Andrei shouted and reached for one of the broken board edges. His hand caught hold. Wood crumbled, disintegrating into decay, sending Andrei splashing back into the well. The light sputtered, weakening into a flicker. Damp air sizzled, pop-pop-popping until . . .
Andrei tried and failed again.
Henrik dropped Cosmina’s feet to the floor. He needed to move. Right now. His friend was in trouble. The wood refused to hold and Andrei was losing strength.
A quick pivot, a gentle nudge, and he pressed Cosmina’s shoulder blades to the wall. “Stay here.”
She nodded.
But as he turned, searching for Andrei in the dim light, his senses contracted. The tunnel narrowed, dragging his aversion to the forefront. Real? Imagined? Henrik couldn’t tell, but—Christ. Everything seemed smaller all of a sudden, as though the walls and ceiling crept inward, closing with malicious intent.
’Twas too narrow. The passageway was too goddamned tight.
Unease morphed into full-blown panic. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t force his feet to obey his mind and move. Chest working like a billows, Henrik shook his head. Go. Move. Take charge. His body shut down instead, tying him in a web of nightmares, shoving him back to his childhood. Back into hell. Back to her. Back to a place full of pain and betrayal. As he struggled against the onslaught, fear won, sliding into something more: phobia. His lungs contracted, pushing the air from his chest. Gritting his teeth, Henrik slammed himself into reverse. Boot soles scraped over stone. His quiver of arrows rattled, wooden shafts clicking together as his back collided with the wall.
“Henrik.”
Cosmina’s quiet tone arrested his flight.
Gripping his cloak, she stepped in front of him. Ignoring her injury, she planted her palm in the center of his chest. She cupped the side of his neck with the other. He twitched. She settled him with a murmur and, rhythm sure, stroked over his pulse point. Back and forth, a soft drift, a warm, whispering weight on his skin. “’Tis all right. You are all right. Breathe. Fill your lungs and . . . breathe.”
His muscles obeyed, unlocking on command, allowing his chest to expand.
Thumb pressed to his jugular, she circled, applying steady pressure. For some reason, the gentle touch helped ground him. The panic receded, and she nodded. “Good. Now go. Help your friend.”
Her voice added to the soothing effect, heating him through. The past faded, and as reason took hold, he calmed under her hands. His mind cleared, slamming back into his skull. Thank Christ. That was more like it. Much better and more his style. So was the power pumping through his veins. His strength returned in a rush. With a snarl, he broke away from Cosmina and spun toward the well.
Andrei coughed, the hack wet and sloppy.
Three strides, and Henrik leapt the jagged hole. His feet connected with stone on the other side. As he turned back to the well, blue flame sputtered. The light winked out, then came back on, rippling beneath the surface. He slid onto the wooden cantilever. The tips of the rotten floorboards crumbled, hampering his ability to maneuver. Lying belly down, he assessed the seven-foot drop between the boards and the lip of the well. His gaze narrowed on the blue glow beneath the surface of the water.
With a quick shift, Henrik jumped down. His feet found a foothold on slick stone. Legs spread wide, back wedged against rotten wood, he plunged his hand into the icy swirl. He was in it now—in a vulnerable position without the possibility of retreat. Nothing left to do but pray. Well, that, and hope like hell Andrei didn’t panic and pull him off-balance—into the hole and under—as Henrik tried to haul him out.
***
Letting Henrik go almost killed her. A silly reaction. Yet Cosmina couldn’t quell the urge to hold on tight. Nor the need to keep him close. She wanted her hand back on his skin. Craved the warmth and the steady beat of his heart to calm the raging thump of hers. Drawing a shaky breath, Cosmina exhaled in a rush. Frigid air attacked, blowing the chill back into her face as she listened to Henrik run. Shoved to the forefront by blindness, her other senses sharpened. Now she heard everything—the thud of his boots against stone, the harshness of each breath, the splash of water rising against the tunnel walls. Scent picked up, speeding the smell of must and mildew along.
His feet left the floor.
A sharp snap sounded. Material, mayhap? The hem of Henrik’s cloak cracking in protest as he made the jump? Cosmina tilted her head and, pressing her back to slick stone, listened harder. A faint whistle rose and—
Bang!
Cosmina released a pent-up breath. Thank the gods. He’d landed on the other side of the hole. Was on task. Ready to pull Andrei out of the water to safety.
The realization should’ve made her glad. The collection of sounds, however, did little to soothe her. Hampered by injury, her arm throbbed, keeping time with the throb of her heart. Frayed by the ritual, her nerves refused to settle, jangling in warning. Now she bled worry—concern heaped upon concern. So unusual. She never allowed angst to get the better of her. ’Twas weakness, plain and simple. Tonight, though, circumstance sabotaged her, tossing her into an emotional quagmire. Now she sank . . .