Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(99)

Already knowing that she was right, Finn took the vanishing cloak off and tossed it at the prisoner. “Put that on! We can’t have a guard killing you on sight when we get to the palace.” Then Finn turned to Alfie expectantly. “Use the dragon and transport the three of us to the palace. It’s our best shot of getting out of here alive!”

Alfie could only look at her in dismay. With his head already swimming from Finn’s use of the dragon, he could not imagine what kind of pain would tear through him if he tried to transport just him and Finn, let alone the prisoner too. He didn’t know if he would survive it.

“It might kill you if you try, right?” Finn said, voicing his thoughts. Her eyes scanned him and he could see her tallying the signs of his weakness—his unsteady stance, the remnants of a nosebleed staining his sleeve, the flash of blood on his teeth.

Alfie nodded.

“Then we find another way,” she said, resolute.

The quickness with which she abandoned that plan for his sake and his sake alone struck him like a blow, but the sound of a barrage of feet pounding closer and closer drew Alfie’s attention away.

Finn grabbed his arm and the prisoner’s, dragging them forward. “Come on!”

Together they ran down the hall, Alfie’s head pounding in exhaustion with every step. Finn’s tight grip on his arm was the only thing that tethered him to the present. Behind them a horde of black-eyed prisoners and guards poured into the hall. The tightness of the corridor made them fall over each other, trampling one another in the process. They moved down the hall in a squirming mass of tangled limbs, their black-nailed hands reaching out for them. But this time, some of the hands were stained with fresh blood. Alfie’s stomach tightened.

“Don’t look back!” Finn barked at him.

With her dragging them forward, they raced down the corridor to a fork in the hall; one way led up a spiral staircase, the other down a curving hall.

“Which way?” Finn asked, her head swiveling between the two options.

Alfie had opened his mouth to speak when a hand gripped him by the ankle and pulled. His face slammed against the stone as he was yanked backward. A black-eyed prisoner had scuttled out of the horde to grab his leg and drag him backward to the mob that swelled behind them.

Panic surging through him, Alfie flipped onto his back and kicked the prisoner in the face. He felt the man’s nose break beneath his shoe, but the prisoner wouldn’t let go, didn’t even seem to take notice. He only pulled Alfie’s ankle with his cold fingers.

A hand grabbed Alfie by the wrist. Standing over him was a wide-eyed Xiomara, holding on to him with all her strength. Their eyes met and even in such a chaotic moment, Alfie saw a remorse in her that scorched him from the inside out. He felt sick at the thought that he’d rather have been dragged back into those bloodstained hands than have her save him, touch him. How much of him had this eclipsed if he would rather die than be saved by her?

Finn unsheathed a dagger and leaped over Alfie. With a slash she cut the man’s fingers from his grasping hand. Then Finn kicked him hard under the chin, sending him rolling backward.

Alfie stood, unsteady on his feet, when he noticed Xiomara’s hand was still tight about his wrist. He wrenched himself free and a flash of hurt flickered in her eyes.

“Come on!” Finn shouted. She grabbed Alfie by the arm and led him back to the fork in the hall. She made the decision without asking this time and pulled him up the stairs, Xiomara lagging behind.

Then the man who’d grabbed Alfie’s ankle had closed in on them once more. This time he leaped at Xiomara as she sprinted toward the stairs, sending them both rolling down the hall opposite the staircase.

Xiomara kicked at the man as his bloody hand wrapped around her neck.

“We have to help her!” Alfie heard himself say, annoyed at his own words. But as Alfie made to race back down the stairs, the mob poured into the fork between the stairs and the hallway, their hands reaching for Alfie. For a moment, he could see Xiomara struggling beneath the man who had leaped at her. Her arms were extended, holding him back by the shoulders as he squeezed her neck with his bleeding hand. She met Alfie’s eyes, looking as if she desperately wanted to tell him something. Then she quickly gripped at the ground behind her and pulled something up over her head. She disappeared beneath the vanishing cloak.

“Let’s go!” Finn shouted, gripping him by his shirt and pulling him up the stairs. “She’s done for!”

“No!” he shouted, fighting Finn’s pull. What was the point of any of this if they lost her? But Finn would not release him. She dragged him up the stairs as the mob began to squeeze its way into the tight stairwell, their mass squirming forward as they trampled over one another, fighting to get to them first.

Together they reached a wooden door at the top of the stairs. Finn shoved Alfie through it. A sweltering breeze hit Alfie’s face. They were on the roof of the towering prison, the hot sun nearly disappearing beneath the horizon. Finn stood before the stairwell’s doorway. She spread her arms wide, and with shaking fingers she made a pulling motion, drawing her elbows toward her sides. Then, with a grunt of effort, her hands met before her in a clap. The stone stairwell collapsed in on itself, becoming nothing but a blockade of rock.

Alfie dropped to his knees before it, his chest heaving.

“We have to find her,” he heard himself say, his voice frayed, broken. “We can’t leave without her, we can’t. Finn—”