Page 220 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

With that sunny little warning, she began her descent—torch raised, blade at her side.

Don’t die, Carr’s voice muttered in my head.

Love you too, asshole.

Suddenly my job doesn’t seem so bad.

You dick.

Hey, I offered, he defended. Even over the scuff of boots on narrow stone, I could hear his laugh. The warmth of it lingered in my chest—for a heartbeat—until the walls around us groaned.

Dust rained down as a massive grinding sound filled the air. The light trickling down behind us dimmed...then disappeared.

“That was the door, wasn’t it?” I asked flatly.

Freya scoffed. “What? First carousel ride from hell? If we live, maybe you’ll start making better life choices.”

“Doubtful.”

Jax snorted behind me, his heavy footfalls dragging. “I’d feel better if I knew how to open it back up.”

“Pull down the sconce I took the first torch from. It’ll open—but it takes just as long.”

I smirked to myself. “How very Scooby Doo of you.”

My comment earned a chuckle from behind, and another scoff from ahead.

“Fuck, I didn’t design this hellhole—I’ve just played the game before. Survive long enough and you start learning the cheat codes.”

“This is your idea of an accessible hiding place?”

“No, silly. Who in the hell hides cursed items where any Joe Blow can grab them?”

“You gonna pack your shit now that Carr and I have been here?”

A humorless laugh floated back as something clattered across the ground. “No.”

“And why not?”

“Because most people don’t survive this place.”

Jax exhaled hard. “Nice, Freya. Real nice.”

“Well?! It’s effective, isn’t it?”

“Christ, have mercy.”

“I’m not even Catholic, and I have to echo the sentiment,” I muttered.

My head snapped up at the sound of a prolonged moan—followed by a rush of frigid wind. I went still, listening. It sounded like...the earth shifting. A resonant rumbling so deep my bones vibrated, my skin prickling with goosebumps as the shadows begged to race ahead.

But the steady flicker of Freya’s torch held my focus.

I was following The Wraith into an enchanted crypt. Me. The kid from the library. The prince with blood on his hands and his head in the fucking clouds.

I was following a folklore nightmare in the flesh—to prove Charles hadn’t died in vain.

He’d been right. We’d been right.