Page 121 of Savage Crown

And in the chaos, Rylan moves. A blur of black steel and wrath. The moment Nhilian’s men lunge for me, Rylan’s blade is already carving through the first throat.

Blood sprays across the table, staining the untouched plates of fine elven cuisine, pooling over the goblets of deep red wine.

The next soldier barely lifts his sword before Rylan buries his dagger in his ribs, twisting with a vicious snap.

Nhilian is yelling something—I can’t hear him over the roar of flames, over the ringing in my ears.

I don’t wait for Rylan.

I rip my chains forward, the iron still heavy around my wrists, but I use the weight as leverage.

Swinging the first length of chain, I catch a guard across the face—the crunch of breaking bone is almost satisfying.

I grab his fallen dagger before he can even hit the ground.

Move.

The instinct roars through me, louder than the detonations.

Rylan shouts my name, his voice cutting through the smoke.

I pivot, just as a blade slices for my throat.

I drop low, fast, the edge of the steel singing past my ear.

I roll, coming up behind my attacker, and slam my stolen dagger into the back of his knee.

A howl of agony.

A stumble.

I grab his sword before he even realizes he’s lost it, swinging it wide—cutting through his throat in a clean arc.

Rylan is suddenly at my side, gripping my wrist.

“Come.”

The room is already collapsing, fire licking up the walls.

Another explosion detonates from somewhere deeper in the castle.

Rylan—the bastard planned this.

Of course he did.

Of course he came prepared.

We sprint through the corridors, shadows chasing us, the clash of steel ringing through the air.

We don’t run blindly.

Rylan knows exactly where he’s going.

Through the bodies, the fire, the ruin.

We carve a path through Nhilian’s men, dodging their desperate, clumsy attacks.

They’re panicked.

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