Surging to her feet, blood running down her back from where its claws had punctured, Celaena drew a dagger with her other hand.
The hood had fallen off the creature, revealing what looked like a man’s face—looked like, but no longer was. His hair was sparse, hanging off his gleaming skull in clumpy strings, and his lips … there was such scarring around his mouth, as though someone had ripped it open and sewed it shut, then ripped it open again.
The creature pushed a gnarled hand against its abdomen, panting through those brown, broken teeth as it looked at her—looked at her with such hatred that she couldn’t move. It was such a human expression …
“What are you?” She gasped, swinging Damaris as she took another step back.
But it suddenly began clawing at itself, tearing at the dark robes, pulling out its hair, pushing against its skull, as if it would reach in and rip something out. And the shrieks it made, the rage and despair—
The creature had been in the castle hallway.
Which meant …
This thing, this person—it knew how to use the Wyrdmarks, too. And with its unnatural strength, no mortal barrier would keep it contained.
The creature tipped its head back, and its animal eyes settled on her again. Fixating. A predator anticipating the taste of its prey.
Celaena turned and ran like hell.
Dorian had just passed through the third door when he heard the scream of something not human. A series of crashing noises filled the passage, and the bellowing was cut short with each slam.
“Celaena?” Dorian yelled in the direction of the commotion.
Another slam.
“Celaena!”
Then—“Dorian, run!”
The highpitched shriek that followed Celaena’s command shook the walls. The torches sputtered.
Dorian drew his rapier as Celaena came flying up the stairs, blood leaking from her face, and slammed the iron door shut behind her. She raced toward him, a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. The amulet on her neck glowed blue, like the hottest fire.
Celaena was upon him in a second. The iron door burst open behind them, and—
The thing that came out was not of this earth—it couldn’t be. It looked like something that used to be a man, but was twisted and dried and broken, with hunger and madness written on every protruding bone in its body. Gods. Oh, gods. What had she awoken?
They sprinted down the hall, and Dorian swore as he beheld the steps up to the next door. The time it would take for them to climb the stairs …
But Celaena was fast. And months of training had made her strong. To his eternal humiliation, as they hit the bottom of the stairs, she grasped him by the collar of his tunic, half-hauling him up the steps. She hurled him into the hallway beyond the threshold.
Behind them, the thing shrieked. Dorian turned in time to see its broken teeth glistening as it leapt up the stairs. Lightning swift, Celaena slammed the iron door shut in the creature’s face.
Only one more door—he could picture the landing that led back to the first hallway, then that spiral staircase, then the second staircase, and—
What then, when they reached the main library? What could they do against this thing?
As Dorian saw the naked terror on Celaena’s face, he knew she wondered the same.
Celaena threw Dorian into the hallway and then hurled herself backward, slamming into the last iron door that separated the thing’s lair from the rest of the library. She put her weight into it and saw stars as the creature barreled into the other side. Gods, it was strong—strong and wild and unyielding …
For a moment, she stumbled away, and it tried to fling open the door. But Celaena lunged, throwing her back against it.
Its hand caught in the door and the creature bellowed, latching its claws into Celaena’s shoulder as she pushed and pushed. Blood ran from her nose, mingling with the blood running down her shoulders. The claws dug in farther.
Dorian rushed to the door, bracing his back against it. He panted, gaping at her.
They had to seal the door. Even if this thing was intelligent enough to know the Wyrdmarks, they had to buy some time for themselves. She had to give Dorian enough time to get away. They would run out of strength soon, and the thing would break through and kill them and whoever else got in its path.
There had to be a lock somewhere, some way to shut it in, to slow it down just for a moment …
“Push,” she breathed to Dorian. The creature gained an inch, but Celaena shoved hard, drawing on the strength of her legs. It roared again, so loudly that she thought blood would pour from her ears. Dorian swore viciously.
She glanced at him, not even feeling the pain of the talons embedded in her skin. Sweat ran down Dorian’s brow as—as—
The metal began to heat along the edge of the door, glowing red, then fizzing—
Magic was here; magic was working right now, trying to seal the door against the creature. But it wasn’t coming from her.
Dorian’s eyes were scrunched in concentration, his face deathly pale.
She’d been right. Dorian did have magic. This was the information Yellowlegs had wanted to sell to the highest bidder, sell to the king himself. It was knowledge that could change everything. It could change the world.
Dorian had magic.
And if he didn’t stop, he was going to burn himself out on the iron door.
The door suffocated Dorian. He was in a coffin, a coffin with no air. His magic couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
Celaena swore as the creature gained ground. Dorian didn’t even know what he was doing, only that he needed to seal this door. His magic had chosen the method. He pushed with his legs, pushed with his back, pushed his magic to the breaking point as he sought to weld the door. Spinning, heat, strangling …
The magic slipped from him.
The creature pushed hard, sending Dorian staggering forward. But Celaena threw herself harder against the door as he regained his balance.
Celaena’s blade lay a few feet away, but what good was a sword?
They had no hope of escaping with their lives.
Celaena’s eyes met with his, the question all too visible on her bloodied face:
What have I done?
Still gripped by the creature’s talons, Celaena couldn’t even move as Dorian made a sudden lunge for Damaris. The creature tried again to break free, and the prince swung, making direct contact with its wrist. Its shriek penetrated her bones, but the door slammed shut completely. Celaena stumbled, the beast’s dismembered hand protruding from her shoulder, but she shoved back against the door as the creature again launched itself at it.
“What the hell is it?” Dorian barked, throwing his weight back against the iron.
“I don’t know,” Celaena breathed. Not having the luxury of a healer, she ripped the filthy hand from her shoulder, biting down on her scream. “It was down there,” she panted. Another thud from behind the door. “You can’t seal that door with magic. We need to—need to seal this another way.” And find something that would outsmart whatever unlocking spells this creature knew—some way to keep it from getting out. She choked on the blood running from her nose into her mouth, and spat it onto the floor. “There is a book—The Walking Dead. It’ll have the answer.”
Their eyes met and held. A line stretched taut between them—a moment of trust, and a promise of answers from both of them.
“Where’s the book?” Dorian asked.
“In the library. It’ll find you. I can hold this for a few moments.”
Not needing it to make sense, Dorian bolted upstairs. He ran through stack after stack, his fingers reading the titles, faster and faster, knowing each second drained her strength. He was about to bellow his frustration when he ran past a table and beheld a large black volume resting upon its surface.
The Walking Dead.
She had been right. Why was she always right, in her own odd way? He grabbed the book and hurtled to the
secret chamber. She had shut her eyes, and her teeth were red with her own blood as she gritted them.
“Here,” Dorian said. Without needing her to ask, he shoved himself into the door as she dropped to the floor and grabbed the book to her. Her hands trembled as she flipped a page, then another, and another. Her blood splattered onto the text.
“‘To bind or to contain,’” she read aloud. Dorian peered down at the dozens of symbols on the page.
“This will work?” he asked.
“I hope so,” she wheezed, already moving, clutching the open book in one hand. “Once the spell is cast, just passing over that threshold will hold it in place long enough to kill it.” She dipped her fingers into the wounds on her chest, and he could only gape as she made the first mark, and then the second, turning her battered body into an inkwell as she drew mark after mark around the door.