Lyra pushed the heavy door above her aside with a grunt, and cold air punched her in the face. They were not in the open forest outside the walls like she expected. They were inside one of the turrets, the round guard towers built into Iron Claw’s outer wall. An arrow slit cut a blade of moonlight across the gloom, and another ladder climbed to a smaller trap door above.
Riven’s breath sawed raggedly as he came through the floor beneath Lyra’s feet.
“Up,” he rasped. “Before they catch us.”
Lyra’s hands shook as she caught the ladder. Blood, Mara’s not hers, had dried tacky along her knuckles. The bone charm at her throat thumped against her sternum with each rung that she ascended, counting a rhythm she couldn’t afford to break. Her boots slipped on a rung slick with melted snow. Riven
