The whispered voices grew louder, and the scraping sounds would not cease. Arwyn felt like a frightened child as eddies of fear swirled around her feet. She had not moved from the center of the dank, dark cell in quite some time. The voices seemed content just scaring her, so she refused to move, afraid to make the tiniest sound.

Until something behind her made a terrible grinding sound, like the wall itself was moving, shifting from its place. Slowly, she turned. Cold, stale air hit her in the face, and she could taste the dust and debris flying in the air. The whispered voices grew quiet and the scraping sounds hushed. Then something stepped out of the wall with red, glowing eyes and fetid breath.

Arwyn opened her mouth to scream but fear had paralyzed her.

“You’re dead now,” the disembodied voices chanted. “Dead, dead, dead, dead…”

Arwyn’s heart thundered in her ears. This was it. She would die here, in this cell. Tears pricked her eyes. There was nothing for it.

As she stood there, shaking like turning leaves, she looked death in the eye and accepted that this was how it would end for her. She only hoped her life had mattered, that it had meant something to someone.

Then she thought of Zeph and how his childhood must have been this terrifying. She thought of all the things these monsters had done to him—of the many dungeons and dank cells he had slept in—of the many times he had been violated—of the many times he had been terrorized. As a child.

When she thought about Zeph and what he had endured, a little bit of her fear subsided, and anger took root. She allowed it to fill her up and up and up.

“You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead…” the whispers chanted.

“Shut up!” Arwyn hissed.

The voices went mute and the red-eyed beast tilted its head, as though it was surprised she had spoken. Arwyn welcomed more anger. She had kept it buried, not truly allowing herself to feel it. The anger over what had happened to Zeph—the anger over what had happened to her family—she had let herself feel only a tiny fraction of it, until she had swept it away and let grief see her through. This time she let the anger build and build and build until she felt like her skin would boil with the fury that raged underneath it. Maybe Arwyn had never been a river, because now she felt like she had been silently simmering for most of her life, like a volcano, her wrath patiently waiting like lava deep below the surface until she was ready to blow.

Arwyn tilted her head in the same manner as the hideous beast, and stared back at it, like a dare, a challenge. Being an empath had always been a burden she had learned to temper, but at that moment, it felt like a slice of Heaven.

She smiled. “Not so certain, are you?” The beast huffed a frothy breath. Arwyn let the emotions of the world, the ones she’d carried with her every day: hers, Zeph’s, Elin’s, Lochlan’s, Searly’s, Xavier’s, every monk she’d encountered at the monastery—every emotion of every person she’d ever known since the day she was born, she pulled them to the surface, let them fuel her, consume her. Feeling emotions wasn’t her only power. She could also inflict them on others.

When Arwyn was ready, when she was saturated with hate, loneliness, pain, betrayal, despair, sadness, fear…until she felt mad with it, she said, “Come get me.”

The beast growled low, fell on all fours, then launched at her.

Zeph and Favián moved in the night like twin snakes, both cloaked in darkness and shadows. Surefooted and soundless, they made their way into the city, onto the cobbled streets that were deathly quiet. Homes were lit by candles, bodies came in and out of view through windows, but the city itself had gone to sleep.

Something rattled in the distance, a muffled cry, a monstrous laugh. A laugh that Zeph wanted to crush, destroy, mutilate. With his blood burning in his veins like fire, spreading to his limbs and branches, he followed the sickening sounds of a laughing monster on an eerily quiet night.

There, behind old wooden crates, tucked between two buildings, a monster had a young Fae girl trapped. Before Zeph could decide how he wanted the monster to die, either by fire or with Zeph’s bare hands, Favián had already made the decision, whistling once, getting the monster’s attention to turn around, then releasing his knife, and sinking it into the monster’s chest. It crumpled to its knees before falling over, face first.

Zeph blinked. “All right. That’s one way.”

Cait Sidhe slipped out of the shadows and Zeph ordered one of them to see the Fae girl home safely. The rest took care of the body after Favián retrieved his blood-soaked knife.

“You remember where to find the entrance to the catacombs?” Tabris asked as Zeph and Favián prepared to rescue Arwyn. There were two ways in. One from inside the palace and one from outside, through a cave at the base of the mountain, though they had to go through the city to get there.

“Yes,” answered Zeph.

“I will follow. Once you get to the cave, I will guard the entrance to make sure no one comes in behind you.”

“Thank you,” Zeph said. “For your help. I—we—appreciate it.”

Tabris’s cat eyes appeared feral when he looked directly at Zeph. “I want this king dead as much as anyone. Let us not make any mistakes this eve.”

Zeph nodded once. Lochlan and Elin would wait for Zeph and Favián to return with Arwyn, but Zeph needed to be assured of one final thing. “The other Caits, they are keeping watch?” They had rescued one Fae girl. They didn’t want to spend the evening rescuing others. Monsters broke into homes, killed families, just for the merriment of it. Zeph knew all too well. And with the city under their siege, he was—worried for them.

“No monsters will be breaking into homes tonight,” Tabris said. “Concentrate on saving the elf girl.”

“Arwyn,” Zeph hissed. “Her name is Arwyn.” He wondered if he looked a little feral, too. He felt feral, ready to pounce on the next creature, man, or beast who referred to her as anything other than by her name.

Tabris’s tail swished slowly behind him. “My apologies—again,” he said, his voice lowered, contrite. “I meant no disrespect.”

Zeph’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath through his nose. He could feel Favián’s blunt stare and was grateful he had chosen not to interject. “I’m sorry,” Zeph said, like he was reading from a difficult text. “I’m not myself.”

Favián barked out a laugh. “Sí, he is usually more of an arse. He is being unusually polite.”

A proper mute stare…and then… “Thank you, Favián, for coming to my defense.”

Favián smiled that annoying, too big, too bright smile of his. “Of course. We’re friends.” He shrugged. “That’s what we do.”

“Let’s be off,” Zeph grumbled.

They made it to the entrance of the catacombs, and once inside, they lit the lanterns they’d acquired from Tabris. The passageway was narrow, smelling of old wet earth and moss and death. The air did not move, and for a moment, they stopped to listen, to acquaint themselves with their surroundings. Water dripped, vermin skittered, and wings fluttered above their heads.

They began to move further inside the black, murky chamber underneath the palace, side by side, picking their way as though they walked on unsteady ground.

“Why did you choose me?” Favián asked.

“Pardon?”

“You could have chosen Lochlan. Or Elin. Or both. Instead, you chose me to come with you to rescue Arwyn.” Favián’s voice was low and monotone, like an absentminded child hauntingly reciting a lesson, but there was something else about the way he spoke that drew Zeph’s attention. Favián’s voice was also the steady hand of a man who cared, and whatever airs he was putting on for Zeph’s sake, he was not fooled.

Zeph waited a stretch of time before answering, and then finally, he said, “I know you love her.” Favián’s head snapped up and Zeph held up an open palm. “I don’t blame you. She makes it easy to love her.” Zeph looked straight ahead. “I chose you because I know how much you care. And…”

A scream rent the catacombs, causing both Zeph and Favián to jump.

“Arwyn!” Zeph yelled, taking off into a dead run, Favián doing his best to keep pace, but Zeph was faster and he reached what he hoped to be Arwyn’s cell door long before Favián ever did.

Blind panic and rage lit through Zeph, and with a lift of his hand, he sent a wave of power through the door, crushing it like bone, then sending it sailing through the air behind him. He entered the room, lantern still in hand. Arwyn was on the ground. A hideous beast lay sprawled beside her.

Setting the lantern on the ground, he rushed toward her, afraid to move her. His hands fluttering over her, tears welling in his eyes. “Arwyn,” he croaked. He touched her face; it was covered in blood. “Arwyn,” he said, louder this time, his voice quivering. “Am I too late?” His ear fell to her chest. “Please, please, please,” he chanted as he strained to hear her heart beating, his hands already heating with his healing powers.

Favián finally came rushing through the doorway, panting.

“Bring your light over here!” Zeph ordered, lifting his head. “See if that thing is dead.”

“If it isn’t, it will be,” Favián said, his sword already in hand. As Zeph healed Arwyn, Favián approached the beast on the floor with caution. When he saw no signs of it breathing, he said, “I think it’s dead, but to be certain…” Favián set down his light and wrapped both hands around the hilt of his sword and…a sickening sound of a head being severed echoed in the small space. “It is officially dead.”

Zeph barely heard anything Favián was saying. He was much too concerned about Arwyn. “Heal, my sweets, heal. You can’t leave me. I forbid it,” he pleaded. Tears glittered like jewels on his lashes. “You can’t leave.” His hands grew hotter, brighter as he pushed his healing power into her. It was the oddest thing when it happened—her heartbeat, it was like a gust of wind, felt and heard, but unseen. His breath caught. Thump—thump, thump.

Glancing up at Favián with unsure eyes, he asked, “Do you hear that?” His ear wasn’t to her chest, yet he could hear it plainly. Thump—thump, thump.

“Hear what?” Favián responded, his voice soft yet jagged.

Zeph looked back at Arwyn. “You don’t hear it?

“I don’t hear anything,” Favián answered.

“Your heart is racing.”

Zeph’s hand covered the thumping organ. “You know my heartbeats?”

“Sometimes, I don’t know if they are yours or mine.”

Zeph smoothed his thumb over Arwyn’s cheek, then he took his sleeve and began wiping away the blood on her face. It wasn’t her blood. Her skin was smooth underneath. “Arwyn, open your eyes.” He lowered his face to her ear. “I know your heartbeats, too, luv. I can hear them. And I promise you I can even feel them—in my own chest. Please, open your eyes.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and Zeph pulled her into his arms and held her, clung to her. “I have you,” he said. “You’re safe now. I have you.” He pulled back, needing to see her. The moment her eyes fully opened, and she realized Zeph had her, tears brightened her eyes, making them glitter in the dimness of the catacombs.

“You found me.”

“I found you.”

A tear slid from the corner of her eye. “I thought I would never see you again.”

Zeph opened his mouth to speak but his tears clogged his throat. He had thought the same, he had just refused to entertain the thought aloud. He swallowed that down and asked, “Can you move? We need to get you out of here.”

“We?”

“Favián is with…” Zeph’s words trailed off, looking up to where Favián had been standing and finding him gone. “Favián?” he called.

A beat of silence, and then, “I’m here,” he said. “I’m…outside the door.”

“Can you stand?” Zeph asked Arwyn.

She nodded. “I think so.”

With Zeph’s help, Arwyn made it to her feet. Zeph picked up the lantern he’d placed on the ground. “Put your arms around me until you feel you have your strength.”

“She killed the beast…killed the beast…killed the beast,” whispered voices chanted.

Zeph waved the lantern around the cell. The walls began to swirl and move, and misshapen faces appeared with eyes and mouths that opened and closed.

Favián re-entered the cell, his eyes round as coins when he saw the moving, swirling faces. “Holy…”

“That was what was torturing me,” Arwyn said, ire in her voice. She took the light from Zeph and marched over to the wall. The faces hissed as she brought the flame closer. “You are going to wish you had never met me,” she said calmly, collected. She jammed the flame in the eye of one of the many faces, catching it on fire. It spread in a slow, creeping fashion until one entire wall was aglow in flames. “Let us go,” she said as the whispers turned into shouts of agony. “I’ve had enough merriment down here.” She stopped to kiss Favián on the cheek. “Thank you for my rescue. I suppose we are down to just your lantern now.”

Favián’s eyebrows shot up. “Sí.”

Zeph took Arwyn by the hand, pulling her firmly to his side. “I don’t know if I should marry you or be completely terrified of you.”

Arwyn smiled up at him, perhaps a bit smug, and it nearly knocked the breath out of him. “Just get me out of here, if you please. You can sort out your problems later.”

Favián led them back out the way they’d came as Zeph kept one arm tucked around Arwyn, relieved to be holding her again. When they emerged from the mouth of the catacombs, Zeph loathed to let her go, although she did not appear to want him to. The snapping of a twig caused Zeph to push Arwyn behind him as he spun to meet the unknown.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Tabris.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ignoring that, Zeph said, “Let’s go. We need to get back to Lochlan and Elin.”

They moved like ghosts, the four of them, silent and unseen, back through the city, the waxing moon looming above them like an ever-present guardian. Arwyn pulled at her sleeves, and Zeph wished he could find a bit of calm in all the quiet. But the lack of noise only served to scratch at his nerves. He couldn’t help feeling it had been too easy—Arwyn’s rescue. No guards within the catacombs, or even outside them. It all felt too…

“What’s wrong?” Arwyn asked in a hushed tone.

Zeph glanced at her as they cut a path in the darkness, side by side, with Tabris and Favián in front of them. He wanted to be forthright with her, but he didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “Something isn’t right, though.”

“I feel it,” she said. “The wrongness. It’s in the air.”

Zeph could see Lochlan and Elin now, just up ahead. Things were about to happen. For better or worse, he didn’t know, but it was time to confront the evil.

“Arwyn,” Zeph started, “when we reach the palace, I want you to stay with Tabris. I don’t want you near the king.”

“Zeph—”

“I mean it,” Zeph said, pulling Arwyn to a stop. “I intend to keep you safe. Please, do not make me beg, but beg I will if it means you are safe from Rolim, from his taint.”

Arwyn stepped closer to him, placed her hand upon his chest. “I love you,” she said. “I’ll stay with Tabris because you asked me to. But I have a request as well.” Her eyes glistened when she looked into his. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

Zeph shared a glint of a smile. “I’ll try. But I’m afraid you know me rather too well.”

“I do,” she said. “That’s what scares me.” Tugging on her sleeve again, she looked ahead, toward Favián, and said, “He is here because of me. Promise me nothing will happen to him.”

“We will do our best to protect him,” Zeph answered, kissing her on the forehead. “We’ll do our best.”

But Zeph had a feeling—a very bad feeling.

As soon as Elin saw them, she ran to greet them, wasting not a moment to hug Arwyn. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

“Fortunately, I am not. Though I did think I would die down there.”

“She killed a beast,” Favián said. “And don’t ask me about the faces in the wall.” He shuddered. “She set them aflame.”

“What?” Lochlan asked. “What faces?”

“I told you not to ask,” Favián said.

“We’ll explain later,” Zeph said. “Are we ready?”

“Yes,” Elin said. “More than ready.”

Zeph looked over his shoulder—at the palace, a lofty bearing against the black night, perched on the mountain, mute and immobile, resigned as though it was a prisoner of war. He turned back to Arwyn, his heart twisting in his chest. He opened his mouth, fully intending to say those three little words, but like the palace, he felt mute and immobile. The words lay flat on his tongue, and though they tasted sweet, he couldn’t bring himself to utter them aloud.

“Go,” Arwyn said. “It’s all right.”

Zeph closed his eyes in frustration, rested his forehead against hers. “Arwyn,” he said, his breath wisping across her brow.

“Be safe,” she whispered.

“I’m not running,” he said. “Remember that.” He kissed the top of her head and turned to the group. “Let’s go kill a king, shall we?”

Arwyn watched them go, and the further away they drew, a vapor of a chill spread down her arms. The feeling their entire world was about to change caused her to cover a sharp intake of breath.