Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Southern Arts

Screams, howls, and various screeching continued beyond the heavy Temple doors. Ravan stood there for a long moment, pressed against the door, feeling as though only he could keep it shut against the soul-hunting creatures beyond. He breathed a deep, stabilizing breath and slid down the door beside Zair on the floor, who was hyperventilating.

“Steady your breathing, Zair,” said Ravan. “Before you lose consciousness.”

“He’s dead,” said Zair. “Adrian’s dead! What am I going to do?”

“We can still finish this mission.”

Zair jumped to his feet. “No, you don’t understand! How do I face the Northern Council after this? This was my fault!”

“They knew the risks involved.”

“Adrian fell on the first night! And it was my fault! I can’t stand before the Council and explain this to them, I can’t!”

“Who said they have to know how it happened?” Ravan asked. “Change the story to one that leaves you mostly out of the picture. You have plenty of time to come up with something.”