Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(98)

While Julian was gagged and bound and dragged over to the corner with the prince, his uncle ran his hands through his slightly disheveled hair and reached for his helmet.

The Red Guard did the same, preparing to depart. All of them.

Julian looked around, not daring to get excited—and sure enough, while the human soldiers departed and closed the door behind them, the two iron revenants that had hauled him in here remained. They positioned themselves in front of the locked door, still as statues.

Julian turned to Leopold, getting a good look at him for the first time. There were bags under his eyes that certainly hadn’t been there before, and his hair was flat and lacking the golden luster he remembered at the Wall. His lip was split from the blow his uncle had delivered, but his gaze was sharp as he took in their situation, his attention lingering on the iron revenants.

Then he started to wiggle, struggling obviously against his binds. Julian glanced at the iron revenants, but they didn’t react or make a move to stop him.

The prince noticed. Frowned. He clearly had no idea what they were dealing with. Julian tried to catch his eye, to shake his head in warning, but all at once Leopold seemed to lose interest. His shoulders slumped and his eyes hooded as if in resignation or boredom.

Julian, meanwhile, shifted his focus to his weapons, which were held by one of the revenants. If he could just free his hand, maybe he could summon them….

Before he could do more than twist his wrist fruitlessly, Julian became aware of the prince again. He was moving his jaw around. Julian thought it was just discomfort—his own jaw was starting to throb from the thick gag tied tightly behind his head and stretched between his teeth—but the movement was constant and almost rhythmic.

Then, right before Julian’s eyes, the fabric tore in half and Leopold spit the ends out. Seeing Julian’s shocked reaction, the prince smiled, wide and brilliant—revealing golden fangs as sharp as daggers capped over his teeth.

Leopold glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the iron revenants, but they remained oblivious.

He turned back to Julian. “Hold still, won’t you?” he said casually. Then he lunged, clamping his teeth around the edge of Julian’s gag near his jaw.

It would appear to the casual observer that Leopold was trying to tear out his throat or, perhaps, drink his blood. But before Julian could react with anything more than stunned shock, he began to feel it, the seesawing motion and the way that, fiber after fiber, the gag started to sever.

One last pull and the fabric tore. Julian twisted his head, and the gag fell away.

They stared at each other. “Clever trick,” Julian said faintly, more than a little impressed.

“Thanks,” the prince panted, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. “Gold’s softer than iron. More malleable. I hid these pieces on my back teeth, and when they searched me—rather thoroughly, I might add—they never thought to look there. Then I just had to reshape them. I’m very good with my tongue.” He smiled wickedly, and Julian thought of Wren. No wonder these two were friends. “Unfortunately, it’ll be no use against these.” He lifted his hands, which were bound in thick rope, knotted tight. “I just can’t believe they let me do it,” he added, glancing at the iron revenants, who hadn’t so much as moved an inch.

“I’m not sure they can see,” Julian said, studying them, “or if they have a will of their own.”

“What do you mean?” Leopold asked.

Julian gave him a bleak look. “They’re undead, encased in iron, and ordered to do another’s bidding.”

The prince’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. He looked over his shoulder at them again, then turned back to Julian. “Indeed,” he said.

“Even untied, we’d have no chance against them,” Julian said, feeling desperation seep in. “At least, not by ourselves.”

Then, right on cue, the door banged open, and Wren stood before them, armored in bones, with black lips and eyes.

“Stop!” she shouted before the iron revenants could do more than turn her way.

And, just as they had in the Breach, they did.

As she moved into the room, Julian swore he saw a flicker of green in her eyes. He thought he’d seen the same thing in the Breach, but just as quickly as it had been there, it was gone again, and he was certain he’d imagined it.

A swell of emotion rose inside his chest. The fear that pierced him whenever Wren used her strange new power paled in comparison to the odd thrill he felt at seeing her there in all her glory, fearless and dangerous and on his side.

In an instant she was crouched before them, using Ironheart to cut through their ropes.

She started with his.

“You’re here,” Julian said blankly.

Wren smirked. “I’ve never been very good at following instructions.” He smiled back, and she turned to Leopold. “Apologies for the delay, Your Highness.”

He looked flabbergasted. “You’re alive! And you came here… for me?”

“And made a right mess of things along the way,” she said, tossing a conspiratorial look at Julian as he disentangled himself from his ropes and got to his feet. “We need to get out of here, now.”

“But how did you—”

“I’ll explain everything once we’re free of this place.”