Chapter 45

Farryn

Standing at the edge of the cliff, I stared down over the treacherous drop. I’d been on my way to the kennel when the object had caught my eye, fluttering in the breeze, and I knelt to the ground and unlatched a small scrap of fabric from the sharp protrusion of rock. The pattern in the gray of it was unmistakable. The same pattern found on all the dresses worn by the staff at Blackwater. The same pattern on the dress I’d worn, the night I’d made a run for the cliff.

I held up the tiny remnant, which fought against the turbulent, sea breeze, and I recalled having lost my footing that night. The sound of tearing as I teetered over the edge.

I hadn’t dreamed that part, after all.

I really had fallen.

And there was no doubt in my mind that Van Croix really had caught me.