Vesuva struck before I could move, her body surging forward in a flash of emerald and shadow. The spear was torn from the guard’s grip as she coiled around him, her massive form tightening in a single crushing bind.
Shadows spilled from him then, drawn into her waiting form as though his very breath had been stolen. Her scales swelled with the stolen power, her eyes igniting with a fierce, otherworldly light.
The guard went limp within seconds. When she loosened her coils, he crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap.
I stood frozen, breath caught painfully in my chest.
Xylos met Vesuva’s gaze with something close to fondness.
“I missed you,” he murmured.
Her low rumble echoed through the chamber, dangerous but restrained. Xylos stiffened, then let out a quiet, nervous laugh.
“Yes. Of course,” he said quickly, turning back to me. “We should go.”
32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The air on this side of Umbral carried the weight of long abandonment, thick with dust and the mineral bite of water seeping through stone that had not known care in centuries. Jagged fractures split the walls, their narrow seams leaking a dim, anemic glow that barely reached the floor.
I stood just inside the threshold of the wing, my pulse slowing as the last of the adrenaline drained from my limbs. It left behind a hollow ache that made my hands tremble no matter how tightly I curled my fingers into the fabric of my coat.
Xylos groaned as he shoved the massive block aside, muscles bunching beneath his tunic as the wall dragged open with a protesting shriek that echoed down the corridor.
The space beyond breathed out a damp, sour air that had me wrinkling my nose before I could stop myself.
“I know it is not as indulgent as Talon’s wing,” Xylos said sharply, breath still uneven, “but you will survive without falling ill. You may enter.”
Vesuva slithered past me and into the chamber, her eyes scanning the dark space.
I followed more slowly, my steps faltering when my eyes landed on the figure seated stiffly at the edge of a threadbare settee.
“Neya,” Xylos breathed, his form tensing beside me. “What are you doing here?”
Neya disregarded him, her fire-colored eyes pinned on me. “You freed him?”
I blinked at her straightforwardness, my tongue feeling clumsy in my mouth. “Yes.”
Her gaze swept over me with quiet calculation, lingering just long enough to make my shoulders tighten. “Why?”
“He is innocent,” I said. My brows furrowed as a flare of irritation cut through me.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Is he?”
“Yes,” Xylos cut in, his voice a low growl.
Neya’s attention flicked to him at last, her expression unreadable. She shifted back on the settee, folding her legs beneath her with elegant composure.
“Then do not remain standing on my account,” she said coolly, gesturing toward the lone stone chair against the wall. “Please.”
Xylos’s eyes stayed on her, dark and brimming with a hurt he was clearly trying to bury. He sank into the chair, shuffling aside to leave space for me. I shook my head, my feet remaining rooted to the spot.
“What are you doing in my chamber, Neya?” Xylos asked again, a loc of dark hair falling over his brow.
Her mouth curved without warmth. “This ceased being your chamber when you were sent to the Thrynn Chambers.”
My eyes darted between the two of them, my hands growing clammy in discomfort.