Chapter 64

64

Farryn

Agnawing cold embraced me, as, waiting in line for the ferry, I stared over the pier’s edge, down at the placid, black water that looked like glass. In its reflection, I saw flames, horribly bright flames that reached up from the surface toward me.

Tears distorted the too-vivid illusion, and when I screwed my eyes shut and turned away, they spilled down my cheeks. A crippling ache chewed at my heart, my lungs heavy with the suffocating breath of my reality.

He’s gone.

When I turned back to the water, I only saw my own reflection that time. The misery on my face, clear as if I’d stared into a mirror. On a grief-laden exhale, my mind wandered into thoughts. Thoughts of how peaceful it would’ve been to fall beneath that dark and abysmal surface. To let go of my held breath.

To let go of it all.

A memory surfaced. Lying in the ice-cold water. Staring up at the blood red moon. The darkness. The peace.

The few who waited alongside me, whether human, or something else, stirred, as the ferry approached in the distance, cutting through the fog that lingered at the water’s surface.

I stepped closer to the edge of the pier.

Closer.

The water stood calm and inviting, its depths invisible beneath the pitch-black surface.

Let go.

I toed the edge of the pier, my whole body shaking.

‘Don’t do it, Tu’Nazhja.’ That beautiful deep voice I loved brought my movements to a halt.

Glancing around showed no sign of him, only the few who’d gathered at the end of the pier, to board the approaching ferry. With a frown, I turned my attention back toward the water, and my breath hitched when I saw his handsome face in the reflection. Standing behind me.

“Jericho?” I whispered, but I turned to find no one there again.

Shame rippled through me, and I placed my hands on my stomach, eyes burning with holding back the tears. What had I almost done? Should the baby live inside me, it’d be the only thing left of him. Sickness coiled in my stomach, and I stepped back from the edge.

Clutched in my hand was the coin Barchiel had given to me, and when I opened my palm, it only brought thoughts of Jericho rolling it over his knuckles. The wily grin on his face when he’d held it up in taunting. I wanted to keep it forever, but it was time.

Time to return.

I made my way to the end of the pier, where a big, burly man, dressed in a long, black, hooded robe held out his palm. In it, I dropped the coin and waited as the man studied it. He held it between his teeth, as if testing its authenticity. Then, with a jerk of his head, he urged me onto the small boat.

Six benches made up the deck of it, four of which were already filled by the other passengers. An older woman eyed me up and down, and I pulled my robe closed to both the cold air and her prying eyes. Head low, I took the seat behind her.

As the ferryman unhitched the boat from the dock, I turned toward the water again, and something on the bench beside me captured my attention. Frowning, I scooted closer, my heart caught in my throat as I lifted the book.

The Baron and Witch’s Daughter.

A quick glance around showed the other passengers seemingly oblivious, some looking off toward the water, while others stared downward. With a shaky hand, I cracked open its cover, and something slipped from its pages, falling to the floor on a clink.

A coin.

I lifted it to see it was the same coin I’d given the ferryman.?When I glanced toward him, he turned away, steering the vessel away from the dock.

As the boat set into motion, I held the book to my chest.