"Live, Alain," she whispered, her form already beginning to dissolve, breaking apart into motes of light that swirled around me like fireflies."Live for all of us who are frozen in time."
Then she was gone, and with her the strange illumination that had held the river’s darkness at bay. Cold rushed back in, and pain, and the desperate need for air. My lungs convulsed again, my body making one final bid for life even as my mind slipped toward unconsciousness.
I couldn’t feel my limbs anymore. Couldn’t feel much of anything beyond the burning in my chest and the strange lightness in my thoughts. Was this death, then? This gentle untethering, this slow drift into nothingness? Not so terrible, really. Not so—
Something grabbed me. A hand, strong and sure, closing around my wrist with desperate strength. For a moment I thought it was Odette, returning to guide me to whatever waited beyond life. But the grip was too solid, too physical, yanking me upward with a force that sent fresh pain searing through my wounded side.
My head broke the surface, and air hit my face like a slap. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cough up the water in my lungs, couldn’t do anything but hang limp in the grip that now shifted, an arm wrapping around my chest from behind, pulling me through the water with steady, powerful strokes.
Isabeau? The thought formed sluggishly in my waterlogged brain. Had she come after me? Risked herself to save a man who had claimed to own her? The irony would be rich, if I had the capacity to appreciate it.
But my rescuer’s arm felt wrong against my back—too thick, too covered in something that wasn’t cloth or human skin. And the breathing I heard, harsh and labored near my ear, didn’t sound like any human respiration I’d ever heard.
"Hold on," a voice growled, deep and rough as stone against steel, yet somehow familiar in its cadence. "Don’t you dare die on her, princeling. She needs you alive."
I tried to turn my head, to glimpse whoever or whatever had plucked me from death’s current, but darkness was closing in fast now, a tide I couldn’t fight any more than I could fight the river.
The last thing I felt was my body being dragged onto what seemed like solid ground, rough hands turning me onto my side as water gushed from my mouth in a torrent.
The last thing I heard was that same growling voice, softer now, almost gentle, turning beautifully feminine. "Breathe, you royal idiot. Breathe."
Then nothing but darkness, complete and absolute, swallowing me whole.
fifty-two
Isabeau
Oh, horse feathersdidn’t cover it. Not even close. The man who’d imprisoned me, hunted me, and somehow still managed to ride through the night to save me was now drowning before my eyes. And worse? It was my fault.
My magic had struck him down, had called that branch to swat him away like an annoying insect buzzing too close to my face. The gryphon—corrupted and shadow-twisted—had merely finished what I’d started within my mind. Now Alain’s bloodclouded the river water in crimson tendrils, his body tumbling helplessly downstream while I stood frozen between my duty to my beasts and the sudden, suffocating weight of another death on my conscience.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch as the prince’s head disappeared beneath the surface, then bobbed up again several yards downstream. His arms flailed weakly, once, twice, before going still. The current was taking him. Taking him away from me. Taking another choice from my hands.
No. Not this time.
“Help me,” I said to the gryphon, my voice steadier than I felt.
The creature—a once magnificent flier of the sacred acre, now half-consumed by the same darkness that threatened my beasts—cocked its head at me. The shadows writhing through its golden feathers seemed to pause, as if listening.
“Please,” I added, softer this time. “He came to help me, not to harm.”
For a moment, the gryphon remained motionless, those clouded amber eyes fixed on mine as if weighing my words against some ancient standard I couldn’t comprehend. Then it moved, powerful haunches bunching before it launched into the air with a single beat of its massive wings.
My shoes were already off, so I had to move quickly to handle the rest. Every second counted. Alain had already disappeared around a bend in the river, his limp form carried farther from me with each heartbeat. I couldn’t afford to wait, couldn’t rely on the gryphon understanding what I needed.
But as I prepared to plunge into the water, the creature returned, something clutched in its massive talons. It dropped the object at my feet. A thick vine, long and strong, ripped from some ancient tree. The gryphon’s intelligence hadn’t completely succumbed to the darkness. It understood.
“Thank you,” I whispered, grabbing the vine.
I tied one end around the nearest sturdy tree, my hands working with the practiced efficiency of a village girl who’d grown up climbing trees and fashioning makeshift swings. The knot held firm when I yanked on it. Good enough. The other end I secured around my waist, leaving enough slack to swim but not so much that the current could drag me too far.
The gryphon watched my preparations with that unnerving stillness, black tears still leaking from its single corrupted eye. Something about its split gaze reminded me of Bastien—that same fierce protectiveness, that same grudging respect. The thought lent me courage.
“Stay,” I told it. “Guard this spot.”
Then I dove into the river.
The cold hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs in a rush of bubbles. For a moment, panic seized me. The same blind terror I’d felt when Gaspard had forced my head under the water in the drowning cage. But this wasn’t Thorndale, and I wasn’t that helpless girl anymore. I kicked hard, breaking the surface with a gasp, and began swimming.