“Soren, she needs help! Let me by.”
“This passage is booby-trapped,” he clips. “No one move.”
We all freeze instantly.
Two more arrows shoot into the space Yara’s just vacated, amechanized whir their only warning sign. They ricochet off the thick stone walls and clatter to the floor. Our collective gaze follows them, scanning as though more traps might spring to life at any given moment. Soren exhales sharply and points at a flagstone just a few strides ahead. Upon closer examination, it looks a shade higher than the rest.
“There. See that? It’s triggered to fire as soon as someone steps on it. She’s lucky she wasn’t killed.”
Yara is breathing heavily, leaning back against Vaughn like she might fall over without him there to hold her up.
“Not feeling”—she wheezes—“particularly lucky”—her eyes press closed as pain washes through her—“right now.”
“She can’t carry on, not with that wound.” My lips press into a frown as my mind races. “Bretiax, Harpina, get her up the stairs into the guard tower. Keep pressure on that wound and don’t let her slip unconscious. If she worsens, get her to the dinghies. Can you do that?”
Bretiax hurriedly signs her affirmation, already moving to her friend’s side.
“Bre, can you get her up those steps alone?” Harpina asks, her voice full of resignation. “I want to help, I do…but I should go on ahead. One of the Paexyrian should be there. For Arwen.” She pauses. “And for Thisobei, gods rest her.”
A lump forms in my throat at the raw grief in her voice…and the vengeance beneath it.
Yara nods weakly. “Go on, Harpina. Bre and I will be fine on our own.”
Vaughn helps transfer Yara’s weight onto Bretiax, maneuvering the redhead’s arm over her shoulder. It is lucky Yara is so compact. Still, it will be a struggle to make their way up without Harpina’s help.
“Melité,” I force myself to say. “Maybe you could—”
“Absolutely not.” The half-siren’s lip curls in distaste. “I’m much more use in the dungeons than up in the tower playing nursemaid.”
I bare my teeth at her in a grimace. “Yes, because you’ve been so useful thus far.”
Vaughn snorts.
“We need to move on,” Alaric murmurs, his handsome face a portrait of worry. “Someone will have heard that door break, as well as Yara’s screams.”
We all fall silent again.
I look at Yara. She is pale with blood loss. Her hand is at her side, where the arrow protrudes from her leather bodice. Two inches lower, it would have struck a vital organ. My worry must show on my face, for Yara rolls her eyes at me.
“Go! I’ll be fine. Bre won’t let me die. Will you, Bre?”
Bretiax sighs.
My lips twitch. “Very convincing.”
“It’s Arwen you need to worry about.” Yara looks from me to Harpina and back. “You get a chance to gut the bastard who did this, you take it.”
“I will,” I promise.
Harpina’s freckled nose wrinkles in annoyance. “I don’t need your convincing, Yara.”
“Good. I’m counting on it.” The redhead attempts a smile, not quite managing through the pain. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
I nearly laugh. Is there anything Yara would not do? “We will see you soon, either at the tower or on the boats.”
She nods. Bretiax shoots me a soft smile, then starts walking. Her slender form is bowed beneath the strain as they hobble back the way we came.
I look from Soren to Vaughn. “What are the odds of more traps in this corridor?”