The world had turned a dusky gray. Shea climbed to her feet and limped forward. The jacket and post rose out of the gray, the only familiar landmark.
She grabbed the jacket and pulled it from the post, figuring that since she was here already she might as well get what she came for.
“Clear,” one of the Anateri yelled. It sounded like his voice was coming from high up in the building she suspected the archer had been in when she’d been shot at.
“Here as well,” another called.
Shea was glad because the dust was clearing from the air. She could see Fallon now, Caden at his side.
His eyes sparked with relief at the sight of her. She waved letting him know she was alright. His shoulders relaxed and he took a step toward her. She put up a hand and shook her head. No, she didn’t want him between those two buildings. Chances were they weren’t posed to collapse, but it never hurt to be careful.
He nodded, understanding her concern. Impatience drew his brows together. He turned on his heel, disappearing from view. Shea figured she had only a few moments as he took the same route she did to this square.
She turned the jacket over in her hands, noting the rips in the arm and one on the back. A few dark spots down the front had her stomach clenching with worry. It could be blood, but there was a chance it was something harmless. Though her mind was having a hard time coming up with an alternative.
There didn’t look to be enough of it to indicate a severe injury, but it was hard to tell. Shea couldn’t imagine Clark abandoning this jacket lightly. He took great pride in being a scout, and this jacket declared his status to other Trateri.
She bent and examined the cobblestones around the post. The cool climate of the cavern had preserved much of this place, even wood that should have long rotted away. That didn’t mean it was entirely untouched by the elements. The thick clay dirt that littered much of the caverns had accumulated here too. Shea could only guess that an underground river had originally carved this space out before drying up. She knew if the city had been exposed to continuous flooding, it would be in much worse shape.
Despite the dirt and debris on the cobblestone, there was no evidence of any footprints besides her own. What sort of man could walk the square, pin the jacket where someone would see it, then set several traps without leaving behind a single print as evidence of their existence?
Perhaps the Trateri assertion that ghosts lived here wasn’t too far from the truth.
There was a slight sound as Fallon made his way around the buildings. Shea stood, glad to see him alive and breathing. Had they not stopped to check out this jacket they could all very well be dead by now.
She took a step toward him and then froze as the ground shifted under her. She held up a hand. Something on her face must have warned him because he stopped, his guard instantly up.
The ground crumbled under her. She let out a sharp cry as she tumbled down into the darkness.
“Shea,” Fallon roared, charging forward. The terror in her eyes giving him speed. Even then, he wasn’t quick enough.
She fell, the ground disappearing from beneath her. There was nothing he could do, besides watch. The sound that left him then should have sent the rest of this decaying city crashing to the ground. A sound that held the pain and desolation of a man who held the power to conquer the world. There was no pain like watching the one you lived for, the one who gave color to the world and put breath in your lungs, die right in front of your eyes.
It was something he’d vowed to never have happen again. Yet here he was, watching Shea fall, helpless to do anything. Again.
Caden dragged him back from the edge when he would have gone in after her. “There’s nothing you can do. You won’t help anybody by following her down.”
Fallon fought against his friend, the man who had vowed to lay down his life in defense of his. He fought and raged against this man who kept him from the woman he loved.
“Fallon. Fallon,” Caden said, defending himself against his blows. “Grab him.”
Several other arms found their way around Fallon. His Anateri hanging onto him as he strained and fought to the edge of the hole Shea had fallen into. All the while roaring.
Eamon and Buck appeared, their faces a mask of shock. There wasn’t enough of Fallon present for him to wonder whether their reaction was because of his utter loss of control or the fact that another of their friends had been claimed by this cursed place.
Eamon jerked and then looked from Fallon into the darkness that had claimed Shea. “I hear something.” He watched the pit for a long moment, before calling, “Wait, let him go.”
Caden glared at the other man, his expression telling him without words how much he disliked that idea.
“I don’t think she’s dead,” Eamon said. “Let him go so he can see for himself.”
Fallon went still—hope a wild thing in his chest.
Caden’s movements were cautious as he loosened his grip on Fallon. When Fallon didn’t rush the spot where Shea had fell, he nodded at the others.
Fallon didn’t spare his men a glance as he took one hesitant step and then another. It wasn’t like him to experience uncertainty. He was a conqueror. A warrior. He made a plan and he implemented. There were no wasted actions. Everything he did had a purpose.
At the moment, his only purpose was making sure Shea still breathed. He’d give his entire army for that one thing.
He stepped to the edge, knowing if Eamon was wrong, the darkness inside of him, the one Shea had managed to beat back with her sly smiles and stubborn hardheadedness, would consume him and nothing in this world would ever be safe again.
“Anybody up there?” a voice called from below. “Fallon.”
His chest rose in a deep breath, and the cold that had gripped him since the sight of her fall began to thaw.
“Shea, how badly are you hurt?” he asked.
There was a long pause.
“I’m bruised but otherwise unharmed.”
He didn’t like that pause. Shea was the kind of person to hide how badly she was hurt to protect him. Especially if she knew there was nothing he could do and didn’t want to worry him.
“We’re going to get you out, just hang tight.”
He turned to Eamon, his voice a whip of sound. “Find me some rope. Now.”
Caden stepped forward. “Warlord, your men have cleared the two buildings and have found no sign of the archer.”
Fallon held up his hand before Caden said something Fallon would not be willing to forgive him for. “I’m not leaving her down there.”
“There could still be those waiting to ambush you. You’re exposed here.”
Except they hadn’t attacked him. They had attacked Shea. Why was that? It was the third time she’d been directly targeted. It was enough to make him doubt that he was the one they were after.
“I’m. Not. Leaving. Her.” Each word was precise.
Caden had been with him long enough to recognize that tone and bowed his head. Good. Fallon didn’t want to have to replace him. He’d been loyal for many years, but even he didn’t get to tell Fallon what to do. Fallon went back to glaring at the hole.
“Where is that rope?” he shouted. Impatience a living thing within him.
Other parts of the square caved in. His men shouted and backed up in alarm. Fallon crouched as the ground shook and shook, like a dog trying to dry itself off.