[Aldric’s POV]
Stone groaned like a wounded beast, with the floor buckling under my boots. A thunderclap rolled through the fortress, deeper than any storm. The avalanche trap—Blackharrow’s final spite—had sprung.
Dust exploded from the ceiling. Cracks raced along the walls like lightning, and a beam split and crashed to the ground, shattering a table in two.
Seraphine screamed, curling her body around the twins. Both babies wailed, their thin cries swallowed by the rumble.
“Move!” Rowan shouted. “We have to move now—”
Another tremor hit. I stumbled, one hand clutching my ribs where Blackharrow’s blade had bitten. Liquid heat spilled under my tunic. Every breath felt like it scraped bone.
I forced myself upright. “Rowan—take them.”
He turned, eyes wild. “What?”
“Take Seraphine and the twins,” I barked. “Get them out. Now.”
He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you, King Aldric”
The ceiling above us cracked again. Pebbles rained down.
“You will obey me,” I snarled. “Get them out of here.”
“No!” Rowan stepped closer, half-lifting Seraphine, half-shielding her from falling debris. “You fall behind, you die. I’m not carrying two infants and dragging you on top of it.”
Seraphine’s eyes darted from him to me, to the walls, to the babies in her arms. Panic and something like calculation warred on her face.
“Aldric,” she gasped, “if you die here—”
“That’s my concern,” I cut in.
She shook her head, hair wild with dust. “No. It’s not. If you die, Blackthorn will say I stole the heirs. That I killed you and them. They’ll hunt us to the ends of the earth. The only way is if you walk out of here alive. As king.”
Another section of ceiling gave way down the corridor, rocks crashing where we’d stood moments before.
Rowan swore. “We’re out of time—”
“Then go,” I said. “I’ll follow you.”
“You’re barely standing,” Rowan snapped.
I bared my teeth. “I’ve stood through worse.”
The mountain disagreed, and a violent shudder threw us against the wall. Seraphine fell to one knee, curling around the babies as a crack tore across the floor between us, narrow but deep.
Rowan hauled her up. “Side tunnel,” he shouted over the noise. “I found one earlier, leads to an outer ledge. It’s our best chance.”
“Then take it,” I said. “I’ll be right behind—”
The look he gave me said he didn’t believe it. Seraphine met my eyes. There was terror there. And something else, something I didn’t deserve.
“Don’t you dare die here,” she hissed.
The words shouldn’t have steadied me, but they did.
“Go,” I said again. “That’s an order.”
I saw Rowan grabbing her arm and clearing debris with his sword as we pushed into the corridor all together. A section of wall had already collapsed halfway, blocking part of the hall with broken stone and splintered wood.
I followed them, slower, every step, with a stab through my side. Warmth trickled beneath my ribs with each breath. My vision blurred at the edges, darkness trying to creep in.
I forced it back. Not yet. Not while they’re still ahead of me.
We reached the junction—a fork where one path led deeper into the fortress and the other slanted down.
“Here!” I screamed to Rowan.
We barreled down the side tunnel. It was narrow, the ceiling low enough that I had to duck. Dust choked the air. Somewhere above us, another thunderous crash shook the mountain.
“Keep moving!” I shouted.
I noticed Seraphine stumbled but caught herself fast and kept going. The twins screamed against her chest, small fists battering uselessly at the world that rattled around them.
A jagged rock jutted from the wall. It snagged my cloak, jerking me sideways. Pain flared again. I ripped free and nearly fell.
Seraphine glanced back. “Aldric!”
“I’m fine,” I bit out. “Don’t stop.”
She hesitated for a second—just one—before pushing on. Rowan barked encouragement and curses in equal measure, clearing loose stones with quick, brutal kicks.
The tunnel sloped steeper, cold air rushing up from ahead. The far end showed the faintest hint of open sky—grey and shifting with blowing snow.
We spilled out onto a narrow outer ledge. Wind hit us like a slap, ragged and icy. It carried the echo of the avalanche—the distant roar of sliding rock, like the mountain itself was collapsing inward. Below us: nothing. A sheer drop into white and darkness.
A natural stone bridge jutted from our ledge to another outcrop—a narrow span, cracked straight through the middle, fissures glowing faint with sifted snow.
“That wasn’t broken earlier,” I heard Rowan’s voice, furious.
“The avalanche’s reached this side,” I said.
“We don’t have another path,” Seraphine gasped. “We don’t, do we?”
I shook my head. “No.”
The twins cried, voices raw. The sound clawed at my chest.
“Go,” I said. “Rowan first. Take one child. Lighten her load.”
Rowan nodded, jaw set. “Give me one,” he turned to Seraphine.
She hesitated, then loosened her grip on the boy—just enough to transfer his tiny body into Rowan’s arms. Her fingers lingered on him a beat longer than necessary.
I was watching Rowan shift the infant against his chest, securing him under his cloak. “I’ve got you, little one,” he murmured. Then, louder: “I’ll go first. Watch where I step.”
He moved onto the fractured bridge, testing each placement quickly, confident despite the way the stone groaned. Bits of rock crumbled away under his boots and tumbled into the abyss.
I saw his balance wobble once. My heart nearly stopped, but he corrected and pressed on.
Halfway across, the mountain rumbled again. A crack shot along the bridge like a bolt of lightning.
“Hurry!” I roared.
Rowan broke into a run for the last few steps and leapt the final gap, landing on the far outcrop with a stumble. He turned immediately, clutching the baby tight, shouting, “Your turn!”
Seraphine stood at the edge of our ledge, with our daughter pressed against her heart. Wind whipped her hair across her face. I saw her eyes were huge, fixed on the crumbling span.
“You can do this,” I called. “Seraphine—look at Rowan, and don’t look back!”
She looked. Just for a second.
“You’ve done harder things than this,” I heard Rowan’s voice. “You survived Aldric and childbirth. You can cross a damned bridge.”
A choked laugh escaped her—half hysteria, half truth. She stepped onto the stone; it groaned under her weight but held.
“Keep moving!” I urged. “Don’t look down.”
She didn’t. One step. Another. The baby whimpered. She whispered soothing nonsense, breath coming in sharp bursts. She was nearly there.
Then the mountainside roared. A jagged section of rock above us sheared loose and slammed down onto the far end of the bridge, shattering part of it. The span lurched sideways.
Seraphine’s foot slipped, and she cried out. The stone crumbled beneath her, dropping away into emptiness. She pitched forward, arms clamping reflexively around the child.
“Seraphine!” I shouted.
I didn’t think. I dove. My injured side screamed as I hurled myself onto the shattered edge, fingers closing around her forearm just as her body slid over the brink. Her legs dangled into the open air. The baby was crushed between us, wailing, tiny fists pounding against her chest.
“I’ve got you, hold on!” I screamed, with my voice sounding distant.
Pain exploded through my ribs; the arm gripping her burned like it had been torn from its socket. I hooked my other hand into a jut of rock, anchoring us both.
Above the roar of the collapsing stone, I heard Rowan shouting my name, felt more than saw him drop to his knees at the far edge, reaching toward us.
The bridge shuddered again. Rock crumbled, and the three of us—my wife, the baby, and I—hung there over a yawning drop as the mountain itself began to give way beneath our hands.