Page 82 of Flight of Fate

It takes more effort than I care to admit, but the link eventually breaks with a plop, chain loosening around Rochus’s arm and releasing him from the odd angle where the bindings restrained his hand close to his chest. With a wince, he pulls his right hand free, flexing his fingers and studying the bruises blackening his skin.

“Other side.” Without hesitation, he rolls to his left, placing the still-bound wrist on the frozen earth, and I push the tip of the sword into another chain link while Gabrilla and Ed keep their eyes on the camp.

When Rochus’s hands are free, I get to work on his ankles so he can get me out of my own bindings without accidentally slitting my throat. The relief crossing his features at the regained freedom to move is almost worth the wait—only, it won’t matterthat I did a good deed freeing someone else first if he won’t get me out of my chains, too.

So I hold up my hands what few inches the chains allow and pin him with a gaze.

Lucky for him, Rochus understands the benefits of freeing the strong Crow before Ed and Gabrilla, even when his expression gives away he’d rather break their chains first.

On all fours, Rochus crawls closer, careful not to make any rash movements that would draw attention should someone glance our way from the main corridor of the camp. This human must have lived through his fill of danger and stealth to function like this while injured in an enemy camp. I’m almost impressed.

He inspects my chains, one hand gliding along the sturdy links connecting the bindings on my wrists to the ones around my neck.

“It would be best to just break these,” he comments. “Then we only need to break one chain.”

It’s too thick for him, though, and he’s weak from cold and blood loss.

“Do my right hand first.” Once that one is free, I can fight. Even if my left one remains trapped. I can search the guard for additional weapons, and together we’d be faster freeing the others.

Trying not to flinch as Rochus lowers the blade to the steel, I think of all the things I yet want to do with the part-Flame who never ceases to infuriate me. If I get out of here alive, I’ll show her just how much she affects me. I’ll run my fingers along her delicate neck and wait for her reaction—if she’ll send a weak ball of fire flying at me or if the fire I ignite in her will burn in a different way.

It’s an oath I make to myself, and I’m not surprised as the magic of fae promises coils around my essence, locking into place until I can follow up with it.

A clicking sound brings me back to reality, and I almost cry out with relief when I find my hand free and able to move.

Rochus gives me a curt nod, turning toward my other hand, but I stop him. “Take care of Ed first.” Instead, I dart for the dead guard, patting down his drug-covered armor for a key to more efficiently get us out of the rest of our shackles. All I find is a knife in his boot.

It’s all I need, though. With shaky fingers, I pull it out, getting to work on the chains on my other wrist. This size of a blade, I can insert into the lock holding together the thick chain connecting to the bindings at my neck, but my fingers slip on the hilt, the angle wrong, and I’m unable to pull my left hand farther away from my body.

“Let me help you,” Gabrilla hisses from where she’s still pretending to be dead, her eyes sparkling with challenge as she watches me fumble with the knife.

I shake my head, sliding closer on my knees and slipping the tip of the blade into the lock on her chains instead. With a few twists and turns, her legs are free, then her hands and her neck. She flexes her arms and stretches her back with a groan on her lips before she takes the knife from my hands and gets to work on the chains still restraining me.

By the time she’s done, Rochus has freed Ed, leaving Silas the only one tied up like a shrimp.

Gabrilla doesn’t pause before all chains fall away from the male’s body, and he sprawls to the side as if the bindings were the only thing holding him together.

Fuck—

We’re running out of time.

“The shield might provide an obstacle,” I whisper, hoping that I’m wrong. That the shield is more to protect the camp from the worst of the elements—storms and snow—and attacks from the outside rather than to lock us in.

If the latter is the case, passing through the shield will be the last thing we ever do.

Rochus inclines his head. “If it kills us, we’ll still die as free men.”

The determination in the humans’ eyes as I meet each of their gazes is more convincing than my own hope that we’ll get out of here alive. So I reach for Silas’s arms, heaving him onto my back as I push into a half-upright position.

“Ready?”

Ed comes to my side, supporting Silas’s weight as best he can, while Rochus with the sword and Gabrilla with the knife flank us.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Forty-Eight

Myron

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