I wasn’t sure when Mila and Salteaire had burst back into the bubble of swirling white mist, but the gorgon was bleeding poisoned blood over Mila’s crumpled form.
Anguish tore through me, and without thinking, I ripped a dagger from my waist and launched it at Salteaire. The blade pierced her leathery wing, and her echo of agony spurred me into action. My heart pounded against my ribs as I ran, Dynaxtar’s fire heating the air within the mists as she and Vale landed, too.
Mila. Mila. Mila.
Fury raged through the general’s eyes, the ferocity she bore in Lyria’s wake.
Salteaire wrenched my dagger from her wing, her poisoned blood dripping to the sand. But before she let it fly, Mila shoved herself up on her good leg and swung her short sword in a graceful, fury-born arc.
The blade drove into the gorgon’s side as she screamed, and Mila let out a gasp.
“Eyes, Mila!” I roared, as the gorgon spun toward her. Mila collapsed back to the ground, closing her eyes as she rolled away from the fountain of poisoned blood and the lethal red stare.
“Salteaire. Meghalle,” Rozelyn barked, and I saw it then. The poisoned arrow she’d aimed at Mila when the general took that extra second to attack Salteaire. But instead of striking, Rozelyn directed her comrades, “Retreat.”
“What?” Salteaire gasped over the wound in her side, her hands clasping it and red gushing between her fingers.
“Now,” Rozelyn demanded, her gaze landing on Jezebel, Zanox’s jaw prepared to clamp tighter on the gorgon’s neck. “Release Meghalle, and we will leave you all for another day.”
Jezebel hesitated.
“Jez,” I said softly. And when she looked at me, I nodded at Mila. She was so close to the gorgons’ grasp. It would be so easy for them to hurt her.
Understanding deepening her stare, Jezebel patted her khrysaor, and the beast’s maw snapped open. Shallow puncture wounds formed a ring around Meghalle’s neck. She scrambled to Salteaire’s side, and the two supported each other as they escaped through the veil.
Rushing to Mila, I let them go.
“I’m fine,” she gritted through a labored breath. Her calf was still bleeding as was a shallow slice above her eyebrow. “It’s going to heal just fine. Listen, Malakai, when I cut her just now, I saw something with her blood. The demigods they birth with Echnid—they’re creatures of shadow and fire. He injects the magic of the Spirit Volcano into them to attune them to this world.”
“What in the—” I shuddered at just the thought but kissed her forehead. “Okay.” I didn’t know what any of that meant, butat least it was a drop of information. And right now, all that mattered was making sure she was okay.
Death pounding through my veins, my stare snapped to Rozelyn’s retreating form. But she didn’t notice.
No, the gorgon was too busy casting one last lingering, narrowed glance at Cypherion’s scythe, her entire body flinching. Then, she dove back through the veil, too.
And I hoped we’d bought enough fucking time.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ophelia
Angels,even with the seraph magic pumping through my blood, Mindshaper Territory was cold. I’d forgotten how much the chill bit at you, consumed you. Perhaps, like the way my emotions now came in crushing tidal waves, I was feeling the physical sensations more, too.
“Is it freezing to you?” I asked Tolek, testing the theory.
“Not any worse than when we were here before,” he said.
I nodded, rubbing my hands down my arms. With a small laugh, Tolek slung off his cloak and wrapped it around me, doing his best to drape it around my wings.
“It’s like an ice palace in here,” I complained, nuzzling into the body heat lingering on the wool.
“I don’t think the ruins of a manor qualify as an ice palace,” Tolek challenged, a playful smile on his lips.
At the sight, relief washed through me. I’d tried to persuade him not to come with me on this mission, but with everyone else distracting Echnid, he’d insisted.
Memories of his wrenching nightmares after he was captured by this clan and how he’d thrashed trying to escape ignited akernel of worry in my gut, but I watched his smirk and told myself it was okay.
He was okay.
