Chapter 9

Ilisten to Zali’s footsteps fade until there is nothing but silence—the kind that sits heavily on my chest, making it thump harder.

Harder.

Slowly, I lift my gaze to the bed cast in candlelight. To the sheathed sword nesting amongst the rumpled sheets.

A sudden ache tightens my throat, and I swallow, stand, caped in the fall of my fluffy, frazzled hair as I ease around the desk and stop just shy of the bed.

I study the sheath, the intricate detail swirled across it only visible when the light touches it just right, like wisps of smoke kissed their shadows upon the surface. The sword’s hilt is dominated by an inky stone not unlike the heavy one hanging against my chest … The same bottomless black. The same infinite pull that makes me feel as though I’m falling into a seeing end—

I blink, slamming my palm against the bed’s end post to stop my sudden sway, feet tingling, like I was just standing on the perilous crux of a deadly plummet.

Heart thundering, I reach out, hesitation bunching my hand before I force my fingers to unfurl and grip the hilt. I gasp as a sudden jolt locks my bones and shocks my heart into a brief pause.

A wave of trepidation punches down my throat.

I suck a sawtooth breath, brow furrowed. Shaking my head, I pull.

The sword whispers free, the sable length glinting in the flickering candlelight—such a deep shade of black that I’m again reminded of the darkness I tumbled through while I was falling toward that glittering iris.

I lift it high enough for me to study, and my arm shakes with the heft of it, as though the sword is laden with the life I took. With every drop of blood I spilled from his chest. With the crushing weight of my regret.

My hand tightens, the backs of my eyes stinging with unshed tears. Suddenly, the thought of not bearing this burden feels selfish.

I ease the sword back into the sheath and study the leather strap I’ve seen bound across Rhordyn’s chest, gaze darting to my dagger sitting on the side table.

I edge around the bed and snatch it up.

Smoothing the leather across the wood, I set the tip of my blade much higher than the rest of the holes and punch through the thick material.

Zali told me to rest and hide until we form a sturdy plan, but the thought of climbing into that bed and falling asleep shrouded in his scent is a luxury I don’t deserve. And sitting still—swiveling in Rhordyn’s chair while I stare at that unfinished map—is quicksand. I’ll do nothing but slip into the gullies of my mind and steep in my mistakes. Dig my toes into the dirt of a thousand what-ifs.

No.

I need to go. To roll like a tumbleweed blown in a stiff wind. To move my feet and distract my thoughts from churning in the wrong direction.

I drape my cloak upon my shoulders, then thread the strap across my chest and secure the buckle between my breasts, shouldering the sword’s heft. Hands bunching into fists so tight they shake, I look to the floor, my vision obscured by puddled tears.

Just roll like a tumbleweed until I find somewhere to ground myself. To ease this restless energy.

Dirt makes everything better.

I lift my head and glance toward the window; at the moon peeping through the gap in the drapes. The sun will be up in a few hours, and the city will blink awake. I can absolutely be back by then, hidden away from prying eyes like Zali suggested.

I dash my hand across my cheek and grab the leather satchel resting against the desk, then tuck it full of Rhordyn’s shirt, my diamond pickaxe, and the drawing he did—hesitant to leave them for even a few hours while I expel my restless energy. I chug a glass of water, secure my dagger to my thigh with strips of material fashioned into a sheath, and move toward the window, cracking it open.

I crouch on the sill, drawing deep gulps of air as I look down upon the city’s sleepy stillness. A wispy blur of white darts close enough for me to feel puffs of air kiss my cheek—a familiar, comforting presence that soothes the plowing thump of my heart.

The sprite doesn’t still long enough for me to make out her shape and confirm my suspicions. She zips off like a star shooting through the alleyway, dragging my gaze north toward the wall that hugs the city tight.

My curiosity thrashes, gnawing at her restraints.

From the moment Rhordyn became a presence around Castle Noir, he tried to get me to step outside my comfort zone. My Safety Line.

To live.

Until recently.

Don’t climb the wall that borders the city. It’s dangerous.

He placed the warning upon my chest, and I felt stomped. I bucked it off and threw my own words, sharpened into barbs aimed to maim.

I didn’t give enough attention to the break in his pattern. His contradicting desire to keep me in this city he obviously disliked. Which begs the question …

What’s on the other side?