Page 218 of Lana Pecherczyk
All that remained was an unassuming stone passage with ancient glyphs carved into its curved walls. Their ambient glow led toward a glimmer of sunlight at the end.
Real voices.
Blake.
River charged forward, reconnecting his blades, freeing one hand. He used a claw to carve a single word into the triad tattoo:Here.
The light brightened with every step. The voices grew louder, sharper.
“Try again,” Cloud clipped.
“I can’t.” Blake’s weak voice trembled. “It’s never worked that way.”
“But you restored his wings. He said it. He showed them.”
“HethinksI did. But … I think … he self-manifested them.”
“No. Try again.”
Every muscle in River’s body screamed in protest as he ran.
“Cloud … I saw everything on the wall,” Blake continued. “Your glittery writing. Her letters. I’m so sor?—”
“Shut up.”
“This isn’t going to work.”
“Yes, it is.”
“But—”
Cloud released a bellow of rage that echoed into the tunnel.
River’s heart seized. He charged, erupting from the passage’s mouth. Light blinded him. Unexpected pain and misery slammed into him, stealing his breath. Not his. Blake’s.
His eyes adjusted, and the scene came together in an instant.
They were in a pit—the Collector’s second, secret trove.
Light shards broke through thick roots and a metal grate above, blocking any hope of flight to the surface. Forbidden materials, but the land wasn’t desecrated. Not yet. The air tasted of rust and a chemical odor. Blake sat hunched on a pile of old-world objects while Cloud stood over her. And between them, sticking out of the junk…
A brass cylinder. The cryptex.
River launched and swung, curved blade aiming for Cloud’s throat.
Chapter
Sixty-Eight
River had dreamed of this moment for half a decade. He never imagined Blake’s blood would be the price.
Peacemakersang through the air, aiming for Cloud’s throat, and then rainbow hair flashed, catching the light between them.
“Stop,” she croaked, stumbling in the way of his blade.
River’s fingers opened. Curved steel flew wide, clattering into shadows. He managed to avoid hitting her, but his momentum carried him forward. He crashed into his mate, pivoted with her in his arms, and used his body and wings to shield her from harm. They tumbled, falling onto rusted metal. He landed spine first, sharp edges biting through feathers and leather. Blake crumpled against his chest with a groan, her fever-bright skin burning through his clothes.
“Sparkles?”
