Chapter 47

Darya fled past the garage and over a low wall onto the moors. I tore the tulle skirt of my dress climbing after her, but I didn't stop to inspect the damage. I ran until I was out of breath, using the moonlight to see the rough grasses and heather underfoot. The Christmas scent of the gala had given way to wild grass and cold, biting air.

"Call Death and Tor," I called as I ran, breathless and strained.

"Already done," Miz replied, his stress at an all-time high because his voice was even flatter. I wanted to stop to hug him, but I couldn't let Darya get away. I needed answers.

I killed her. But there she was, running across the moors ahead of me, the skirts of her yellow dress flying behind her. There was no mistaking it was her, even in the silvered light. She was alive.

"Darya!" I shouted. "Stop!" And because she might think I'd come to kill her again, I breathlessly added, "I don't want to hurt you, I just want to talk. Please."

But she didn't slow, let alone stop. A stitch pulled across my side, until pain flashed like lightning through my body, my breathing strained and sharp.

"Stay close," I panted to Miz, lifting the skirts of my dress above my ankles so I could run faster, never taking my eyes off the yellow dress streaking across the moors ahead of me.

I didn't stop to wonder why Darya was running, didn't think she might be leading me on an intentional chase until a cloud passed over the moon, casting the island into temporary darkness.

When it cleared, light beaming down on the moors again, Darya was no longer running. She stood a few metres ahead of where I ground to a sudden stop, a tall, robed figure and a familiar, smiling woman beside her.

Nightmare.

Darya had led me into a trap.