Page 41 of Ties of Death

I blink. I’ve heard of through-ways, magical doors that allow travelers to step from one place to across the country or even the world. They’re incredibly rare, but I could certainly see the value of such a thing for this secluded temple.

Daenn crosses his arms as he considers the monks. “How many Elyri are there?”

“Minus the four you felled? Eighteen. There were more, but some of them left on the second day.” The monk frowns. “I worry they’ve only gone to fetch something to get through the treasury defenses.”

“How do you know they’ve not already gotten in?”

“They’re still here,” the second monk points out.

The first nods. “And I have been monitoring them with my magic. They’re certainly trying, but with no success. They’ve tried this door a few times as well—they probably hope if they could get their hands on one of us that they could use us to open the door—but fortunately, thus far, they’ve failed.”

I look at Daenn. I have no desire to hide in this storeroom endlessly. He meets my eyes. He must know what I’m thinking or sense the tightness growing in my chest, because when he turns back to the monks, there’s a determined glint to his gaze.

“We’ll help you escape. We can get you into that treasure room. All we ask is passage out with you, and the other bracer.”

“They’re yours,” the monk agrees, his voice quick with hope. The other monks around range from skeptical to hopeful.

Daenn nods like it’s decided. “I’ll need to rest a few days first.” He hesitates, and I can feel worry simmering in him as if it’s my own. Maybe it is. He’s in no condition to fight with the bracer draining him and that wound, and eighteen—that would be a heavy challenge for him even when at full strength. And I don’t know how much magic I can manage.

But we need to get out. I don’t want to die here, buried amongst—

I straighten. “I have an idea.”

25

Total Darkness

The next few days are uncomfortable, to say the least. The monks are willing to feed us, but their food supplies dwindle much faster with a gryphon eating them, and the quarters are tight—again, not intended for a gryphon. Storm is restless, growing more irate by the day.

But the monks humor my idea. They help me prepare the death lilies I collected into a sleep potion. I’m unsure how to make use of this at first—perhaps poisoning their water supply with it? But the monks solve that problem themselves: they have blow darts. Yiorgos—the one who fetched us, and the informal leader—says they’re often used when the monks have trouble with jungle animals, or for hunting, and it’s common to dip them in poisons. They just didn’t have any poisons prepared—and the darts don’t do much without that.

It takes us two days. During that time, I split my attention between the potion and Daenn. He’s nearly as restless as Storm, but I insist he take the time to recuperate from his head injury. My suggestion that he remove the bracer is met with a firm, clipped ‘no,’ so I don’t force that issue. But I watch him closely, looking for any signs that he’s deteriorating. His head seems to improve after thefirst day, at least.

He’s weary, restless, but I don’t know if that can be attributed to the bracer or if it’s because he dislikes being trapped. No gryphon clansfolk likes being kept from the open sky for too long, and our king least of all.

I worry about him taking on these mercenaries. He’s a deadly warrior, but he can’t win if he’s weakened too much.

He’s not alone; this is my only consolation. We have the monks and their blow darts, and we have Storm at our sides. And I will do everything I can, drain every drop of my magic, to ensure Daenn survives this fight.

Finally, we are ready. Daenn and I collect our things into Storm’s saddlebags, and Daenn draws his sword. Around us, the monks prepare their blow darts; they each have two. I finger my dagger and tap into my magic. There’s a constant tug at the edges, like a thread being pulled under my fingers: the bracer eating away at Daenn.

But I have more than enough, and I can draw on it at a moment’s notice. I’ll let the monks use their darts first, as we planned, but if—or when—those fail, I’ll handle as many of the rest as I can.

If I do it right, maybe Daenn won’t even need to fight.

When we are all armed, Yiorgos lifts the magic barricading the door. He eases it open with a whining creak that echoes too loudly in the stillness, loud enough to bring Elyri running.

We quickly file out of the storeroom and make our way across the kitchen. No sign of life stirs yet. Daenn walks right in front of me, blocking my view. His wariness gnaws at my belly, threaded through with fear and… determination, I think. I wish I knew what he was thinking, what thoughts he’s having to cause such feelings. Is he even weaker than he’s let on?

The thought causes a surge of panic in my chest, and Daenn shoots me a glance over his shoulder. I tamp down on the sharp fear and shake my head at him. Nothing to see here.

Yiorgos and a few other monks are at the front of our party. They lead the way through back halls of the temple. Everything is dark, winding, and narrow. Storm has to tuck his wings in tighter to fit, and his saddlebags scrape in the doorways.

We’ve been going for what feels like forever when there’s a shout ahead of us. I lean around Daenn to see—just as the cry cuts off and an Elyri, who looks much like the ones Daenn fought when we first came, crumples to the ground with a dart in his neck.

But his cry has alerted his comrades. The pounding of feet echoes against the stone walls. Daenn leans forward, like he wants to charge at our enemies. I grab his sword arm in silent warning; our plan is to take down as many with the sleeping poison as we can before he or I join the fray. His jaw works, but he stays put.

Two more Elyri men round the corner, and they quickly meet the same fate as the first. We move past them, and I sweep a glance over the fallen bodies.

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