Chantisse pitched her voice to carry through the market and as soon as she began to speak, all other voices fell silent. “The timetable has accelerated. We always knew it would come to this, so finish your food and change. When freedom is not given, it must be taken! It’s time.”
On Chantisse’s command, Slay followed Ro, running toward the eastern barracks. They’d agreed to sound the bell that was once used to remind prisoners of their routines. Now it would ring through the undercity for the last time, signaling commencement of the attack on Golgerra. She did the honors and the sonorous tone rang out, echoed on all sides—north, south, and west.
As the Golgoth shifted all around him, a shiver coursed through Slay. He’d been raised to view the Gols as demons from a terrifying storybook, and now that he saw so many of them up close, he could understand why. They took nightmare forms—leathery skin and demonic features, vestigial batwings and barbed tails, like fiends that might have fought their way free of sulfurous ground. Then Rowena stepped toward him, cupping his face in her delicate hand.
She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her, otherworldly and gleaming with a glamour so fierce that he blinked to make sure he wasn’t imagining her radiance. Then she kissed him softly, a promise worth more than a thousand words, silently given in the press of her mouth to his. His nerves steadied, and when she pulled back, the uncertainty faded as well. No Golgoth was inherently evil, any more than the Animari or Eldritch were. Always, it amounted to choices.
He drew her to him, breathing her in. There was always a sweetness about her, the tang of her body chemistry pleasing to his senses, even when she slightly needed a wash. Ro ran her hand across the top of his head, petting him, and he half-closed his eyes, savoring the touch. Because such things didn’t come easy to her. She’d worked for that comfort with him, battled her fears back every step of the way, until she could do that without tensing, without freezing.
“We won’t be able to talk after this,” he said. “Anything you’d like to say?’
“Many, many things. But I’ll save them for the victory circle. I can’t wait to show you Vega Rising and the piazza—but first…” She paused, silvery eyes locked on his.
Slay couldn’t look away, even as he realized that almost everyone else had changed. They were expected to lead the charge, so he couldn’t delay any longer. “We have shit to do.”
“Important shit,” she agreed solemnly.
He smiled. It didn’t matter to Ro that he wasn’t great with words—that he knew what he felt but the emotions got twisted and he couldn’t get them out. Somehow she understood, even when he approached sideways. Finally, he let go off the endless rage he’d been simmering since the moment of his capture and slid into jaguar form, all sleek fury, teeth, and claws.
His eyesight was sharper in this form, his sense of smell as well. In his man shape, he maintained enhanced senses too, but going cat added another layer of acuity. Now shifted, he could tell that the Gols were fucking scared to death. The market reeked of acrid terror and he let out a territorial roar. If there were any other Animari in the mix, they’d answer. A few did, emboldening the Gols to snarl and shout as well. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he recognized wolf and bear calls, though he didn’t understand the meanings. The great cats responded also, not many, just a few.
Victory!
Liberty and glory!
And from one particularly furious lion, Burn it all down!
In the throng, Rowena was the last to change, and he understood why. The battle furor quieted as she rose, her skin a deep maroon, gleaming beneath the rushlights. Her face was narrow and pointed, mouth cracked wide with razor-tipped fangs. Unlike many, she maintained a vaguely feminine, humanoid figure, but her curves were armored and scaled, her features knife-sharp and her eyes gleamed blood red. A spike-tipped tail lashed behind her as glorious wings opened behind and she took off with a running start, circling above like a fallen angel. She was all danger, all aerial murder waiting to happen, and he’d never been so damn hot for her.
Utterly. Magnificent.
Lust fought with his desire for vengeance, and he tamped it down, allowing his thirst for bloodshed to swamp him. Overhead, Ro led the charge, flying low enough that the troops didn’t lose sight of her. The Golgoth tore through the barricades and a huge, hulking warrior with green leathery skin—likely would’ve been an Elite in the upper tiers—charged through the door like a one-Gol wrecking crew. Then there was only the dark stairwell leading endlessly up.
All access to the lifts had been shut down, but these were old passages, impossible to stop them up, though they should expect traps, ambushes, and resistance, the closer they got to the upper tiers. The bottleneck worked in their favor, as the enemy wouldn’t have as many bodies, since Tycho had dispatched the bulk of his forces outside Golgerra and others were fighting Prince Alastor outside the mountain fortress.
Slay loped forward, wanting to be on the front lines, and Ro landed beside him. She couldn’t fly in such close quarters, and it seemed to hurt her to curl her wings so close to her body. Her feet weren’t shaped for ground travel either; they were arched like a bird’s, and he formed a buffer with his body, shielding her from those rushing behind. She cast him a grateful glance as they climbed.
I’m here for you. Always.
It was hard to say how long they ascended in darkness with only chemical lights to guide them. As predicted, there were traps—tripwires and pressure plates wired to blow—but Slay sniffed them out, and Ro retained enough manual dexterity in her shifted form to disarm them, likely training she’d received as part of Prince Alastor’s squadron. It would be better if she could shift back for this march, but that would burn energy she couldn’t spare.
They hit the first checkpoint sooner than Slay anticipated. On the landing after Ro disarmed a poison gas trap, they found four soldiers, all with radios intended for sounding the alarm. He took out the first with a silent leap and Ro slashed through the throat of another using her tail while simultaneously disemboweling another with her claws. Slay used a paw to knock the communicator out of the last one’s hands, and the green rhino demon who had broken the door stomped the final guard and stepped on his skull for good measure.
Blood has been spilled beyond the undercity. At last, the revolution has truly begun.
18.
Soon Rowena decided that the major battle awaited them beyond the massive doors that blocked the way to Golgerra proper.
Along with the traps, they only encountered two more checkpoints on the long climb, manned by a few sentries. At each stage, they prevented the guards from contacting their comrades, so the silence must be unnerving those waiting for news in the upper tiers. Perhaps Alastor had already breached the city’s defenses and they’d find friends waiting instead of enemies. Ro didn’t let herself consider the alternative—that the tyrant had slaughtered those trying to liberate allied forces.
Mostly, the march was long, tedious, and tiring. Her changed feet were not formed for ground movement, so eventually, she shifted back, despite knowing there was a cost. But it served no one if she injured her feet before the final battle. Others followed her example, opting to free more space and save their energy for the coming confrontation. Slay prowled ahead, a dark and silent shadow, scouting for danger, and he circled back, pawing Rowena’s leg to alert them to the third checkpoint.