CAGED (#3, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 95

Yezekael hovered at the edge of his lair.

Mela and I crouched side by side, absolutely still and barely breathing. My friend touched the golden necklace briefly at her throat, almost as a form of reassurance, before her other hand tightened on the coiled chain and cuffs that hummed faintly with magic. I gripped Leviathan Spinebender, the whip Zrenyth had forged to assist with taming wyrms. Weeks ago, I'd run my hands along the braided lash, mentally commanding it to shorten its length and calm the wavering shadows and sizzling dark energy so it couldn't be detected. And now, I held onto Leviathan's long knotted handle, its lash neatly looped and tucked in beneath my fingers. Every muscle in my body was locked taut, ready to spring forward.

The Văduvas had carefully drilled through the rock face right through to where Yezekael's lair was located and using a portion of the rubble and dust they'd artfully created a fake wall. It was a thin veneer with the barest smattering of magic infusing the mineral. A cursed net was set into the high ceiling of the den and hidden as the hide had been with rubble from the lair. It was blended so cleverly, that even I could barely see the tiny writhing tentacles that formed the net.

The hide acted much like a two-way mirror. Though darkness folded around Yezekael's figure like the drapery of midnight, I could see him clearly. He cocked his head, an appropriate birdlike movement for a birdlike creature. The lesser creature's face was male and human but long like a stretched droplet of water. Eyes in the shape of a crescent moon blinked slowly and then narrowed. Right now his pupils were fully blown like the eyes of a nocturnal predator, leaving the irises as a thin band of brown while he scanned his lair. His gaze drifted across the fake wall where we hid behind it in the shadows. For one heartbeat, one irrational moment, his line of sight seemed to spear right through the thin veneer to lock on me.

Shock speared through my ribcage.

Surely he can't see me?

My fingertips felt as if they'd gone numb as I adjusted my grip on the Leviathan's leather handle while I waited for the creature to spin around and flee.

But Yezekael's gaze swept onward. He lifted the hand holding the neck of a thread-worn sack. From the faint sound of metallic chinking coming from the swaying bag, he'd obviously collected a haul of new trinkets. Bracing the heel of his palm on the edge of the secret entrance to his lair, not much more than a narrow gap cleaved into rock, he leaned in, stretching his neck long, and took a deep sniff through a large hooked nose, trying to figure out what was wrong with his nest.

My gut had tangled into knots the moment he'd hesitated entering his lair, and now the knots snagged tight. I shared a grim look with Mela's, Second-In-Command, Petra. She squatted on the other side of me, poised on the balls of her feet, one hand raised and fisted, signaling to our team to hold position.

I had no idea what had sown unease in Yezekael. There'd been a fair bit of work the Văduvas had done within the nest to set the trap, and like me, they'd masked their human scent by rubbing the grit of catacomb litter onto their bodies. Perhaps they hadn't masked their presence well enough. Or perhaps the creature was just overly suspicious in nature. After all, he'd managed to successfully evade Sirro for years.