I cast a quick look around. The city had gone completely quiet and dark, except for the Temples. Their flames were never extinguished. Tearing my gaze from them and the unsettled feeling they often roused, I searched for an empty battlement until I found one. If it were to be manned by a guard, someone would already be in it.

Keeping close to the shadows clinging to the walls, I eased inside the enclosure. My smile returned when I saw several quivers resting near the short ladder. Perfect. Bloodstone arrows, their shafts made of wood from the Blood Forest, were not easy to come by when you were a Maiden who wasn’t supposed to have a need for them. Grabbing several of the quivers, I scurried up the ladder.

Partially hidden behind the stone wall, I set the quivers beside me and pulled out an arrow. A sound came then, raising the hairs all over my body.

It started as a low howl, reminding me of the wind during the coldest part of winter, but the moaning gave way to shrill shrieks. Goosebumps pimpled my skin, and my stomach twisted with nausea even as I nocked an arrow. I would never forget that sound. It haunted my dreams, forcing me awake, night after night.

Shouts erupted from the ground, a call to fire. Sucking in a breath of awe, I watched the sky light up with burning arrows. They ripped through the encroaching mist as fires sprang to life once more, all around the Rise, turning the night to silvery dusk.

Guards waited on foot in front of the Rise, their black armor making them nearly indistinguishable as I searched out the familiar white cape of a Royal Guard. There. I found pale blond hair and a weathered face the color of sand. My heart skipped a beat. Toward the center stood Vikter. I expected to see him where death now gathered, but a knot of fear still gathered in my breast. Vikter was the bravest man I knew.

What about Hawke? I had no idea if he was in the castle, stationed outside my door, believing I was inside, or on the Rise. Or, like Vikter, perhaps he was beyond it. The knot expanded, but I couldn’t let it grab hold of me.

Keeping an eye on Vikter, I curled my fingers around the string, pulling back as he donned his helmet. Another volley of arrows went up, these reaching farther. When they cut through the mist, I heard the screams.

And then I saw them.

Their pale bodies a milky white, leached of all color, their faces sunken and hollow, eyes burning like fiery coal. Mouths opened wide, revealing two sets of jagged, serrated teeth. Their fingers were elongated into claws, and both their fangs and their claws could flay skin like the softest butter.

I had the scars to prove it.

They were what Marlowe and Ridley would’ve become if their lives hadn’t been ended before it was too late.

They poured out of the mist, the source of my nightmares, the creatures sent by the Dark One over a decade ago to rob my brother and me of our parents in a blood-soaked massacre. They were the evil ones who’d nearly killed me before my sixth birthday, clawing and biting in a frenzy of bloodlust.

The Craven were here.

Chapter 15

And now, they swarmed the guards outside the Rise, crashing into them in a wave that knew no fear of death. Screams of pain and terror tore through the night, and my breath seized. In a matter of seconds, I lost sight of Vikter.

“No,” I whispered, fingers trembling around the string. Where was he? He couldn’t have fallen. Not that quickly. Not Vikter—

I found him, holding his ground as he cleaved his sword through the air, slicing off the head of a Craven as another launched itself at him. He spun, narrowly avoiding a swipe that would have torn through his breastplate.

There was no time for relief. My gaze shifted as an archer’s bloodstone arrow slammed into the head of a Craven, knocking it backward. Dark, inky blood spewed out the back of its skull. I focused on another Craven, calming my breath until it was deep and slow like Vikter had taught me. Years of training steadied my hand, but so did experience. This wasn’t the first time I had aided the guards on the Rise.

“Once your fingers take hold of the string, the world around you must cease to exist.” Vikter’s instructions echoed in my mind. “It’s just you, the pull of the string, and your aim. Nothing else matters.”

And that was all it could be.

Trusting my aim, I released an arrow. It flew through the air, striking a Craven in the heart. I nocked another before what was once someone’s child or parent even hit the ground. I found another, a Craven who had a guard on its back, tearing at its armor. I let the bow string go, smiling when the projectile burst through the Craven’s head. Loading the next arrow, I caught sight of Vikter, his sword slick with dark blood as he shoved it deep into a Craven’s stomach and then drew it upward with a shout—

A Craven rushed Vikter from behind as he yanked the sword out. I pulled back the string. The bolt sliced through the air, catching the creature in the back of its patchy-haired skull. The thing fell forward, dead before it even hit the ground.

Vikter’s head whipped around, and I swore he looked straight at me—knew who had sent down that arrow. And although I couldn’t see his face, I knew he wore the expression he always did when he was proud yet irritated.

Grinning, I readied another arrow and…and for what felt like a small eternity, I lost myself to the killing, taking down one Craven after another. I went through two quivers before one of the Craven broke through the line of guards. Hitting the wall, its clawed hands dug into the stone, gaining purchase.

For the briefest heartbeat, I stood transfixed as it tore its hand free and then slammed it down again, higher, pulling itself up the wall.

“My gods,” I whispered.

The Craven let out a screeching wail, tearing me out of my stupor. I took aim, firing the arrow directly down into its skull. The impact knocked it off the wall—

A shout to my right jerked my head around. An archer fell forward, bow slipping from his hands as a Craven gripped him by the shoulders, sinking its jagged teeth into the guard’s neck.

Good gods, they had reached the top.

Spinning around, I nocked an arrow and quickly let it go. The arrow didn’t deliver a fatal blow, but the impact knocked the Craven free from the guard, sending it back to the ground below. It wasn’t the only one that fell. The guard tumbled backward into nothing but air. I swallowed a cry, telling myself that the man was already dead before the loud, fleshy smack caused me to briefly squeeze my eyes shut.

The Craven’s minds may be rotted, but they had enough sense to go for the archers. Vikter had once said that the only thing that rivaled their thirst for blood was their survival instincts.