“Are you okay?” Rakos asks, his heart thudding, even as he expects Bell to laugh it off.
But Bell goes rigid in his grasp. Rakos doesn’t understand until a mechanicalclickinterrupts the night. A crossbow is Rakos’s first thought, but there’s nobody in sight.
“What was that?” Rakos says, his magic awakening in shivering shadows.
Bell doesn’t move. His hand is practically glued to the surface of the rock. “I think I triggered a trap.”
“What?” Rakos can’t see any glowing sigils. They’ve passed the worst of it. “Are you still sharing your vision with me?”
Bell swallows hard, panic clear in his wide eyes. “It’s not magic,” he says, barely breathing. “It’s mechanical.”
Only then does Rakos see the hairline cracks where Bell’s hand depresses a panel into the wall.
“Well, shit.” Rakos’s hand drops to his sword, and magic wells under his skin. “It’s okay. Don’t panic. Don’t move. We’ll fix this.”
Bell’s face is too pale against the mountainside. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”
“We’ll fix this,” Rakos repeats, before a plaintive horn echoes across the mountainside. Then another.
The alarm.
?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Bellamy
Bellamy knows the blowing horns spell disaster when Rakos doesn’t even swear. He just seizes Bellamy in a brutal, desperate kiss, then shoves him behind an outcropping. Pushes him against the rock. “Stay here,” Rakos says. “Please, don’t argue. Just stay right here, and I’ll come back for you.”
“Rakos—”
Bellamy reaches out, but he’s not fast enough. Rakos is already launching himself up the rest of the staircase. Bellamy nearly follows him, but the desperate look in Rakos’s eyes holds him back. The painful kiss. Bellamy covers his mouth, still tasting Rakos on his lips, and slumps against the rock to wait.
Not long after, the sound of combat echoes from above. Flaring fire and rushing wind. Commands in Draskoran. Bellamy clenches his fists, hugging himself. He can barely see the flashing lights around him, his vision clouded with worry.
Magic shoots off in every direction. Bellamy flinches away from one questing tendril of a power he can’t identify. He reaches for any plants around him, hoping to see something, anything through the root network. But plant life is too sparse on the mountainside.
Then the sky blacks out in a thunderclap of wings. Three dragons swoop past Bellamy’s hiding spot, and in a rush of shouts, the battle stops. The magic dims.
After a moment of silence, a dragon flies away, clutching something in its claws.
Bellamy can’t see any details. He doesn’t need to—the knowledge crushes him already.
Rakos won’t be fulfilling his promise to return.
Clutching Bastard to his chest, Bellamy slides to the cold ground. His head tips back against the rock as clouds and dragons drift between him and the stars. None of them have seen him. He would know if they saw him. But fear still keeps him frozen.
Fear of getting caught, and fear of the overwhelming realization: this time, he truly is alone.
“What are we going to do now, Bastard?” Bellamy whispers.
Bastard wriggles up from out of his coat and grabs his gloved fingers with her tiny paws. Stares at him with her dark, beady eyes, then bites his fingertip. The leather muffles the sensation, and the bite is somehow comforting.
Just like Rakos’s wyrmskin coat, keeping the cold away.
Bastard bites Bellamy again, then wriggles back into her cozy pouch. Bellamy closes his eyes and tries to think through his despair. “All right. Biting is a good suggestion, but let’s think of some alternate plans.”
He’s all alone, so he has to rely on himself. He can’t fall apart, and not for one moment does he consider giving up and retreating. Finding Whisper again, or some other route back to Silaise.