Right. I take his hand, allowing him to haul me to my feet. I brace one hand on the wall, the other on Fenryr’s shoulder, and lead him out of the cell. To finally—finally—be reunited with my mate.

I can only pray to the gods that she’s still in one piece.

13. Lir

13

Lir

The first crash happened about ten minutes ago, originating from the opposite end of the cell block and strong enough to shake the very foundation of the castle. The key Malice hung a few days ago wobbled but refused to fall despite its precarious position. Ever since, the three of us have been silently staring at the small metal chunk that holds our freedom, willing it with our minds to tumble.

If I had any magical energy left in my body, I would simply make it drop, but I’ve long since run dry, and without a food source, there’s no way to restore it.

“Do you think Malice is playing a trick on us?”

Roark doesn’t take his eye off the key, but his brow furrows in concern. “It has crossed my mind.”

“Well, then there’s the source of our problem,” Cyprien grumbles. “If you think it, it becomes reality. All your negativity is fucking up the vibes.” He waves a hand in the air with an exasperated sigh. “If I were that key, I wouldn’t want to help you, either.”

Roark grits his teeth. “The key? The inanimate object doesn’t want to help us? Is that really what you’re going with?”

Cyprien brings a finger to his lips, seemingly deep in thought. “No, that’s ridiculous. I said it didn’t want to help you out specifically.”

A low growl builds in Roark’s chest as his eyes flicker between purple and onyx, the vein on the side of his neck thrumming with a murderous rage. Before he has the chance to lunge at Cyprien, another explosion breaks the tension, shaking the walls of our cell with twice as much violence as before. Spiderweb cracks spread across the ceiling as rubble rains down on our heads, covering the ground in a thick layer of dust and stone.

“That’s not good,” I murmur, tugging weakly against my chains as the walls continue to vibrate. “Not good at all.”

Cyprien whips his head toward me with a glare. “What did I say about the negativity? You’re making it impossible to⁠—”

“You’re impossible!” Roark slams his fist against the wall, carving a deep crater into the stone and adding to the violent tremors wracking the castle. “It’s not going to fall! It’s never going to fucking fall! Malice left us here to die, to laugh at us, and I⁠—”

A gentle tinkling noise pierces through the chaos, stopping Roark mid-sentence. We all whip our heads toward the entrance where a small iron key is lying inside the bars—well within Cyprien’s grasp.