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She flexed her fingers, resisting the urge to punch him. “Can you conjure your sword and shield?”
Westvane shook his head. “Not yet. My magic has yet to return.”
She heard the words, but tapped into the undertone. He didn’t sound confident. Was doubting that his magic — and his wings — would ever return.
“Westvane —”
“Time to go, princess,” he said, brushing her concern aside. “No more stalling.”
Her grip on the torch handle tightened. A magic-crippled Assenta. A wary Door Master. An impatient gargoyle. Not the best combination, given her magic still hadn’t sparked. No matter how hard she hunted, the doors inside her mind remained silent and dark. The stillness so profound, she chafed at the strangeness of it. She hadn’t been a Door Master long, but the absence felt wrong, as though a necessary part of her had been amputated.
Now, she experienced the phantom pains, yearning for a part of her she hadn’t realized she possessed until days ago.
“What if —”
“I have my fists, Truly.”
Montrose chimed in. “And my claws work just fine.”
All right, then. No time like the present.
“Go,” she said, gathering her courage. “I’ll follow.”
“About time,” Westvane murmured, entering the cave.
Unable to help it, Truly rolled her eyes. Raising her torch higher, she put her feet in gear, moving forward while looking back. She mouthed “thank you” to Azalea.
The woman tipped her chin. “I’ll see you again someday.”
One could only hope.
Staying on Westvane’s heels, she followed him into the cave. Darkness closed around her. Musty air drifted as light from her torch cast shadows across uneven ground and craggy walls. The sound of trickling water and the scent of decay kicked up. Truly drew a fortifying breath. No turning back now. She was in it, entering a dangerous place populated by unknown creatures. Nothing to do now but pray the subterranean warren spit her out the other side, with all her limbs attached.
* * *
Rock scrapedacross his back as Westvane squeezed through a narrow crevice. One of many he’d navigated in the last few hours. Unlike those other times, though, he grunted in discomfort. The pain was starting to get to him. So was the fact his magic had yet to return, driving concern deep as his strength ebbed with every step he took.
Not that he would voice the concern. Or admit he felt sick to his stomach.
The gargoyle’s reaction to his rapidly deteriorating state didn’t worry him. Montrose could look after himself. The idea of letting Truly down, though, made his skin crawl.
The thought caused old habits to rise hard.
He wanted to sayscrew itand scrap the plan. Truly wasn’t weak. As a Door Master, she could fend for herself too. She’d manage without him. Find a way through. Return to Earth Realm and deal with the Wendigo while he travelled across Azlandian, rallying other Assenta to his cause.
An army of hunter-killers wouldn’t be difficult to mount. The war with Lyonesse and the ruling class would arrive on its heels. With a little time and a lot of effort, justice would be served — and centuries of wrongdoing would be righted.
Azlandians would gain their freedom.
New laws would be written.
Equality would become a mainstay in Azlandians’ lives. Acceptance the rule instead of an exception.
But even as temptation urged him to go his own way, the idea of leaving Truly behind sat like a stone in his gut. He’d given her his word. A novel experience for him. A strong move in the direction of regaining his honor. One he was loathed to give up. The new-found sense of duty refused to let him. Pride chimed in, then dug down, infusing his muscles and invading his bones.
Despite the pain, his growing weakness, and the heavy task of freeing his fellow Azlandians from the yoke of a tyrannical queen, he couldn’t abandon Truly. He must keep his word. Hold the line. Watch over her while she developed into a powerful mage, strong enough to stand with him when he ousted Lyonesse from the throne.
Emerging from a ravine, Westvane navigated a sharp turn on the narrow trail. Jagged rock face on his right, a sheer drop on his left. Single file only. A blessing right now. With Truly and the gargoyle behind him, he didn’t have to look at them.Lookat her, and worry she’d read his mind. At full strength, she could do it — cherry-pick the fact he’d toyed with picking up the pace and leaving her behind.
