The door closed behind her. The man inspired no trust in her, but he was her only option.

  She made her way through the monastery corridors, walking with a calm step despite the tension knotting her stomach. Monks passed nearby. One of them stopped in front of her, blocking her path. She lifted her eyes, her heart tightening: Gale.

  “Avana, to the kitchens,” Gale ordered.

  “Yes, Master Gale,” she replied.

  She bowed. He turned on his heel and walked away. She headed toward the kitchens. As she drew closer, the monastery’s calm gave way to a low, restless bustle.

  The kitchens were in full swing. Servants moved back and forth between the tables, carrying baskets and steaming cauldrons. The air was thick with mingled scents: fresh herbs, warm bread, freshly cut fruit.

  Near a large worktable, two women were slicing apples. She joined them, took up a knife, set an apple in front of her, and began cutting as well.

  “Did you see him?”

  “Lower your voice, Marna,” Opte murmured.

  “He asked me to meet one of his friends in the forest tonight.”

  “Are you going to go?”

  “I have to. I don’t know what he’s planning, but be ready. Tonight, we escape.”

  *****

  Avana moved through the forest. Night had thickened the shadows between the trees, and every crack made her flinch. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, but the cold seeped in all the same.

  Her fingers trembled, as much from nerves as from the chill. She stopped for a moment, straining her ears, her heart pounding too fast, then resumed walking, her stomach knotted. After more than an hour of wandering among the trunks, she came to an abrupt halt and stamped her foot against the ground.

  “I never should have trusted him!” she shouted.

  Her breathing turned ragged. She reached into her pocket and felt the icy glass of the vials against her palm.

  “If he’s lying… I’ll drink them myself,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “And I’ll kill them all.”

  Branches cracked behind her. She spun around, heart pounding.

  “Is someone there…?” she asked, her voice tight.

  Silence weighed for a second before more branches snapped again, right behind her, far too close.

  “Who are you?” a deep voice growled behind her.

  “Why do you have Vaunn’s blood on you?” the voice growled again, suddenly to her right.

  Avana turned her head, searching for the source of the sound.

  “He’s in danger. He’s been captured by monks. They’re torturing him right now. He asked me to warn you.”

  “Why should I trust you?” the voice replied.

  “The monks executed my sister. I want them to pay. And if Vaunn is your friend, then he wouldn’t have betrayed you… I wouldn’t have come here alone.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  A wolf sprang out of the shadows and landed in front of her. Fear pinned her in place, her legs refusing to obey. It was missing one eye, leaving a dark, gaping hollow. The skin of its belly was black, smooth, and hairless, and three ribs jutted beneath that dead flesh, as if frozen outside its body.

  “Where is Vaunn?” the wolf asked.

  Her breath caught, her eyes widening.

  “He’s being held in the cellars.”

  “Take me to the monastery.”

  She started walking, the wolf moving to her side.

  “Open the vials and pour them into my mouth.”

  Avana hesitated for a fraction of a second. She had never mentioned the vials to him.

  The wolf lifted its head, its nostrils flaring.

  “The smell is strong,” it growled.

  She took the vials from her pocket, her trembling fingers gripping the cold glass. She uncorked one and raised it toward the wolf’s maw.

  It opened its jaws. A sharp, acrid stench immediately poured out. Its fangs were yellowed, some blackened by rot. Its thick, dark tongue moved slowly between its damaged teeth, slick with saliva. She poured the vial’s contents into its gaping mouth.

  She ran after it, sprinting between the trunks as branches whipped across her face, but the wolf had already vanished. Out of breath, she finally burst out in front of the temple. The door had been blown apart, reduced to shattered planks, and she went inside, her heart pounding.

  Inside, dozens of monks’ bodies littered the floor. A pool of blood covered the flagstones, sticky and thick, almost black. Corpses were piled along the stairs as well. Some cut in half, others missing an arm, a leg, sometimes even their head.

  Avana descended to the basement and reached the kitchens. She pulled on the door, but something resisted from the other side.

  “It’s Avana!” she shouted, pounding on the wood.

  After an interminable moment, the door cracked open. A small woman with gray hair appeared in the gap. At the sight of Avana, the color drained from her face. Her eyes widened, and her hands began to tremble before closing around Avana’s.

  “A monster appeared…” the old woman murmured. “It killed all the monks.”

  A breath of hope passed through her.

  “So… are we free?”

  “We will always be slaves,” she said softly. “At least they treated us well.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd gathered behind her.

  “I’m sure it’s her fault,” a voice said.

  “Yes… it’s because of her,” another repeated.

  “I’m sure that’s why Marna and Opte were sent to the dungeon,” someone added.

  A heavyset woman suddenly pushed through the crowd and lunged at Avana. Her fingers closed in Avana’s hair, yanking her head back. Avana dug her nails into the woman’s thick arm. The woman screamed and staggered back, releasing her.

  At once, several servants rushed toward her. Avana slipped between them and fled down the corridor. A moment later, the sharp click of a latch echoed as it locked from the other side.

  She picked up a sword that had fallen near a corpse. The metal was sticky, still warm. She gripped it tightly and headed toward the stairs leading to the dungeons. As she descended, she slowed her pace: blood flowed down the steps, thick and slick, forcing her to place each foot with care. The metallic stench made her stomach churn.

  She reached the dungeon level and began opening the cells one by one. They were all empty. Her steps eventually led her to the torture chamber.

  When she placed her hand on the handle, a shiver froze her blood. Beads of sweat formed along her spine. She slowly turned the handle. A click echoed against the stone, and then the door gave way.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks when she discovered Ophe and Marna, chained to the wall. Their bodies were covered in blood.

  She moved closer. With every step, the horror sharpened. The blood was not only on their clothes. Lowering her gaze, she saw their ankles, their wrists. The tendons had been severed.

  Her hands trembling, she undid the chains one by one, supported their bodies, and laid them gently on the floor. She covered them with an abandoned sheet. A jug of oil rested on the table; she grabbed it and soaked the cloth, then tore a torch from the wall and dropped it onto them. The flames rose at once.