BARD TO THE BONE SIGNED PAPERBACK

A noise, low and echoing like a beast waking after a long nap, ground out behind the wall. Dust shook loose from the ceiling and drifted through the air like ancient ash, and for a moment, I held my breath—partly from anticipation, partly because the musty decay in this place had only gotten worse.

I watched in slow horror as the wall pulled away and that stupid door materialized before me. It was the exact image that haunted me every night since I’d first come face to face with it. This door had signaled the end for me and Gaaron. The smooth metal handle and lock had seemed so deceptively simple. Metal bands on a thick stone slab formed a barrier too heavy to break through with our might, but I had been confident I could pick my way through it.

I’d been wrong.

I had failed, and Gaaron had been killed. Or rather, taken.
This door had remained, stuck in the same exact spot, only hidden behind its protective puzzle. For years, it had haunted me from afar, and now it was here, taunting, teasing, reminding me of my inadequacies.

And the worst part? It looked exactly the same. Not even a speck of new rust, like time had passed for me but not for it. Like it had been waiting, ready to pick up exactly where we’d left off before.

Seeing it now was suddenly too much for me to handle. I wasn’t ready. Not yet.

My chest felt heavy, my knees weak. I closed my eyes tight, hoping the vision before me would be different when I opened them again. But no. That same door stared me down. What made me think this time would be any different? I reached into my pocket and retrieved my lockpicks, gripping the metal shims so tightly that my knuckles turned white, and my entire body shook.

"Tilda," Calina whispered. "You don’t look so good. Are you all right?"

Her voice floated toward me like it was underwater. I was trapped in some slow-moving dream where nothing responded how it should.

I tried to shake my head but couldn’t take my eyes off the obstacle before me. Not even for a moment. That’s when I realized the truth of the matter.

Maltherius knew. He knew I would come for Gaaron and that I would attempt to extract him secretly. He also knew I wouldn’t be able to reach him—not if he put him behind this one specific door. I had already proven I couldn’t do this.

The edges of the lockpick bit into my palm. I welcomed the sting. It was the only thing tethering me to the moment. But even that wasn’t enough.

My breaths turned shallow—ragged. Spots floated in my vision. My knees buckled, and I fell to the floor, landing in the rancid puddle. Water splashed up onto my face, and I let out a strangled cry.

Brynlee dropped to my side, rubbing slow circles over my back, doing her best to comfort me, but I didn’t even register the sheer impossibility as I barely noticed her presence. What cruel irony that I had come all this way only to fail again. And this time, I wasn’t even brave enough to try. That made it even worse. I had endangered the lives of these children. And for what?

"Tilda, Tilda, Tilda," Brynlee chanted softly, her voice a steadying presence. I must’ve been hallucinating since Dayna didn’t try to shut her up.

"It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just a door. You can do this."
She stopped rubbing my back and reached for my hands, loosening my fists to reveal the small, flat metal strips that made up my lockpicks. She took them from me, stood, and extended an open palm. "We’ll do it together. It’s all right."

I wanted to believe her. By the blessed mother, I wanted to. But the door loomed like a memory with teeth. There was no one that could understand. She hadn’t lived through enough to have this kind of regret, this shame.

I tried to reach out for her. I tried to rise—both to my feet and to the challenge—but I wasn’t enough. All of this happened in my mind while nothing occurred outside.

"It’s okay, Tilda," Calina soothed, the vision of her mother melting into the younger features of the precocious youth. "It’s okay. We’ll find a way. I know it." Then she turned her back to me, facing the door that I wasn’t strong enough to approach.

"I’ll keep watch," Dayna said flatly, walking a few paces out to peer down the hallway. I didn’t know whether she did that to give us some privacy or if she’d deemed it the best tactical move. Whatever the case, I appreciated it. I hated that anyone had to witness what I had become in this moment.

Calina fumbled with my tools, unsure of how to make them work. It wasn’t until Dayna came rushing back, quiet but hurried, that I realized how much time had passed.

"There’s a whole patrol on its way," she hissed. "We have to get through that door, and we have to do it now, or we’ll be caught." She turned to me, her expression sharp.

"Come on, Tilda. I know you’ve got this. Get on your feet and open the door."

I could feel the heat of her urgency like a torch lit behind my ribs. But I stayed on the floor, wet, useless, small.

I so badly wanted to obey her order. I so badly wanted to be the one who saved us. But I couldn’t do it.

Frosty let out a panicked trill. Then, without warning, he climbed up the door and placed his mouth over the lock. A shrill noise emanated from him and ice spread across what could be seen around the dragon. The door shifted with an audible pop and the lock snapped.

"Good job, boy!" Calina said, bringing her elbow down to bash the frozen lock. The pieces of it fell to the stone floor, practically noiseless—at least not audible over the sound of my heart beating rapidly.

I couldn’t do it, but the baby dragon had. The blast had cost him, though. I could see that immediately. His wings drooped, and even his pale blue shimmer dulled to a darker shade, and some of his luster faded. For a creature so small, it must have taken everything he had.

Calina gasped as his little body sagged in her arms. She dropped to one knee, pressing her cheek to his snout. "Frosty? Come on, please be okay. You did so well. Just hold on." For a long moment, there was no sound but her shaky breath. Then his tiny chest rose and fell—barely. Still alive. Just spent.

Calina heaved a sigh and closed her eyes in silent thanks. Then, with the strength usually only mothers seemed to possess, she shifted him into one arm and scooped a handful of the puddle water, tossing it on the dragonling. With surprising alacrity, she returned to her feet and threw her shoulder into the door with a grunt that was part fury, part adrenaline.

Still, the cursed door didn’t budge.

"Dayna, help me with this!" she called. Together, the half-elf and the mercenary slammed their shoulders into the broken, unlatched door and pushed until at last the door gave way and they tumbled through its threshold.

Farther down the hall, footsteps approached—not just one set, but many. Perhaps a dozen, perhaps more. I remained anchored to the floor, a liability to both myself and the others. But they were safe now. Calina and Dayna could get Gaaron and go.

As for me, I would remain here. It’s what I deserved. That was the truth that had gnawed at my bones for years. Not that I’d failed, but that I’d let myself fail. That I’d walked away. That I’d lived while he hadn’t, at least not really.

Maltherius had kept Gaaron as his prisoner for so many years, but I had been trapped too—by the memories, fear, and failure I knew I could never live down. This place was already overflowing with corpses. Mine would make a small, perhaps unnoticeable addition. At least I would finally belong somewhere.

"Are you coming?" Dayna’s voice cut through my thoughts. She stood on the other side of the newly uncovered doorway, watching me.

Strange clicking sounds floated down the hallways as Maltherius's undead guard grew closer. I shook my head, gagging on the stench that wafted ahead of the fast-approaching thralls.

"We don’t have time for this," Dayna grunted. “Get up!”

But still, I didn’t move.

Why didn’t I care more about my own life? Had it always been this way since growing up as a parentless child on the mean streets of Mirathane? Or had I acquired this nihilism during my adventuring days?

I didn’t like that this was who I had become. But I also didn’t see any point in trying to change it. At least all the bad feelings would die with me.

"That does it," Dayna snapped, and in the next instant, she charged toward me, grabbed me up like a useless sack of flesh, and flung me over her shoulder.

I barely had time to react as she raced us both back to safety.

"You may not care about your life, but I do," she growled. "We need you to finish this mission. So whatever issue you’ve got, set it aside to deal with it later, and get with the program now."

With that, she dropped me to the ground with a heavy thud.