Chapter 58 Great Betrayal
The black lines on my arms throbbed in time with the drums echoing from the courtyard. Midnight was coming. The fleet was preparing to sail for the Abyssal Gates, and the Emperor expected his Grand Admiral to lead the charge.
"We have to go now," Klaus whispered. He didn't look at me. He was shoving maps and small, heavy vials into a leather satchel. "The shift change at the West Gate happens in ten minutes. If we miss that window, we're trapped in this cage until the world turns to ash."
I tried to stand, but my legs felt like they belonged to a stranger. The Blight had settled in my marrow, a cold, heavy weight that made every movement a battle against gravity. I stumbled, my hand catching the edge of his desk.
Klaus was there in a heartbeat. He caught my waist, his fingers digging into the velvet of my dress. His skin was warm—a startling contrast to the icy fever burning through me. Since I had pulled the rot from him, he looked more alive than I had ever seen him, while I was fading into a ghost of ink.
"I've got you," he murmured against my hair.
"I can't... I can't walk that far, Klaus," I rasped. My voice was a shredded thing, a dry leaf rattling in the wind. Every word felt like a fresh cut in my throat.
He didn't argue. He didn't tell me to be strong. He simply reached down and swept me into his arms, lifting me as if I weighed nothing more than a handful of sea-foam. I rested my head against his shoulder, listening to the steady, powerful thrum of his heart. It was a cruel irony; I had given him back his life, and now he was using that strength to carry my dying body toward a hope that felt like a lie.
"Rook is waiting at the service tunnel," Klaus said, moving toward the hidden door behind the tapestry.
We stepped into the darkness.
The tunnel was narrow and smelled of damp earth and ancient stone. The only light came from a small, hooded lantern Klaus held in his hand. The flickering flame cast long, distorted shadows that danced across the weeping walls. I closed my eyes, the sound of his boots on the stone lulling me into a terrifying sort of peace.
Klaus stopped. He went rigid, his muscles bunching beneath my legs.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"Silence," he hissed.
He doused the lantern. The darkness was absolute, heavy and suffocating. I felt the vibration before I heard the sound—a slow, rhythmic scraping coming from the tunnel ahead of us.
My blood turned to ice. I knew that sound. It was the sound of claws on stone.
"A Starving One?" I breathed into his ear.
"Worse," Klaus whispered back. "A Sentry."
A pale, flickering light appeared at the end of the tunnel. It wasn't witch-fire; it was the cold, blue glow of a Vampire Sentry’s eyes. They were the Emperor’s personal guard—beings who had been drained of everything but their hunger and their obedience. They didn't think. They only tracked.
Klaus set me down gently against the wall. He reached for the hilt of his sword, the leather of his glove creaking in the silence.
"Stay here," he ordered. "Don't make a sound."
I watched, a shadow among shadows, as he moved forward. He didn't move like a man; he moved like smoke. The Sentry let out a low, wet hiss, its long, emaciated limbs unfolding like a spider's. It leaped.
The fight was short and brutal.
I heard the of steel through dead flesh, the guttural grunt of effort from Klaus, and the wet, heavy thud of a body hitting the floor. There was no shouting. No alarm. Just the efficient, quiet work of a butcher.
Klaus returned to me, his breathing slightly faster. He didn't relight the lantern. He picked me up, and I felt the sticky warmth of blood on his sleeve where it pressed against my arm.
"Is it dead?" I asked.
"It never was alive," he said.
We reached the end of the tunnel. A small iron grate led out into the stables at the edge of the Citadel walls. Rook was there, huddled in the hay, a small cart covered in moth-eaten blankets waiting nearby.
"M-m-master!" Rook squeaked, his eyes wide as he saw us emerge from the dark. "The guards... they’re everywhere! The Emperor is asking for the Admiral at the docks!"
"Then we don't have much time," Klaus said, sliding me into the back of the cart. He covered me with the blankets. The wool was coarse and smelled of horses, but it was warm.
"Where are we going?" Rook asked, his voice trembling. "We can't get to the harbor. The whole city is a wall of steel."
"We're not going to the harbor," Klaus said, climbing onto the driver's seat and taking the reins. "We're going to the cliffs."
The journey through the lower city was a blur of bumps and muffled voices. I lay under the blankets, my lungs burning, trying to keep my coughs silent. Every time the cart jolted, I felt the black fluid rise in my throat. I swallowed it back down, the taste of stagnant salt making me gag.
Through a small gap in the blankets, I saw the Citadel rising behind us. It looked like a jagged tooth biting into the grey sky. Lights were flickering in every window. They knew we were gone.
"Stop!" a voice roared.