It wasn’t that I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. My heart hadn’t stopped pounding. I felt sick with fear, but this was . . . it was just another bad spot to get past. To survive, and I would. We would.
I opened the door that fed into another hall, which was the length of the manor and wrapped around the whole back. It was empty. Grady motioned the other two forward. We hurried down the dimly lit hall, the muted sounds of screams coming from the other side of the wall following us, haunting us.
Remembering the dagger, I halted and hitched up the skirt of my gown. I unsheathed the dagger. I looked up.
Beside me, Milton raised his brows as he spotted the lunea blade. “I’m not going to even ask.”
“Probably best that you don’t.” I let the skirt fall back into place.
“Why are they doing this?” Allyson asked, nibbling on her fingernails.
“Don’t know,” Grady said, then repeated what he’d told me about the Hyhborn Court. “But a bunch of the ni’meres flew over the manor, heading straight for Primvera.”
“You can’t be serious,” Allyson gasped. “They’re attacking their own?”
“He is. Saw it myself,” Milton confirmed, and I had a feeling we’d see it soon enough when we reached the back hall. “Looked like the whole city was burning, but I think it was just the wall outside Primvera.”
“But why attack us?” Allyson stuck close to Grady. “We weren’t doing anything.”
No one answered, not even my intuition, but I didn’t think this was the Westlands or the Iron Knights. This was something else entirely.
“You lied to me,” Grady muttered under his breath.
“What?” I glanced at him.
“You said you weren’t hurt.” He raised his brows. “Your foot is bleeding.”
“You’re bleeding?” Concern filled Allyson’s voice.
“It’s not a big deal. Just a minor cut on my foot.”
“Minor cuts get infected all the time, Lis. Then you end up with your foot getting cut off.”
My brows shot up.
“That escalated quickly,” Milton commented under his breath from behind us.
Grady ignored him. “As soon as we get a chance, we’re washing it out.”
I sighed heavily. “I was planning to, but currently, I’m more worried about the ni’meres.”
“Agreed,” Milton commented.
We neared the corner where the hall turned to continue along the back of the manor. I peered around. The hall was dark. “The windows are intact.”
Grady strode forward, his hand around the hilt of his sword. His steps slowed. “Sweet mercy.”
I crept forward as Allyson cried out, smacking her hand over her mouth. She stumbled back, pressing against the wall. I told myself not to, but I joined Grady at the chest-high window and regretted it at once.
The moon was no longer blocked. Silvery light flooded the manor grounds. Bodies were strewn about the lawn, being . . . being picked at by a few lone ni’meres.
My stomach churned with nausea, but I couldn’t look away from the horrifying and grotesque display. I’d only ever seen a ni’mere once before and at a distance. I’d been a child then, but they were no less terrifying now than they were then, with their feathered bodies that were vaguely mortal-like, and their faces a palish-gray shade. Their yellow eyes were nearly iridescent, a shade of gold that matched the streaks cutting through their onyx-hued wings and their long, straggly hair. Their teeth . . .
They were pointed, as razor-sharp as any beak or talon would be, and yet their features were delicate. Pretty even, if not for the ghastly shade of skin and the blood smearing their lips and chins.
I dragged my stare from them. Beyond the ni’meres was a wholly different sight. Archwood Manor sat atop a hill, and on sunny days, the sun glinted off the tops of the walls surrounding Primvera. Tonight, the entire horizon was lit in a golden glow. Primvera was burning.
“Shit,” Grady cursed, jerking back. “The Rae. Get down.”
I crouched beside Grady, stomach knotting. “If there’s Rae . . .”
“Then there are princes near,” he finished, his eyes briefly meeting mine.
“ ‘Prince Rainer will be joining us for the Feasts,’ ” I whispered. “That’s what Hymel said.”
Grady’s jaw clenched. “Your prince decided to leave at one hell of a time, didn’t he?”
“He’s not my prince,” I retorted.