Chapter 11

Iland heavily upon the stone back on the safe side of the wall and shake out my hands, glancing up at the lightening sky.

I need to get back.

My domes quake, like everything tucked beneath them disagrees. The one containing my rage rattles the most—hairline fissures crackling through the sparkly surface.

I bog up the gaps, paint them each in another layer of light, and stumble a step toward my stuff tucked beside the wall.

After securing Rhordyn’s sword down my spine, I heft the satchel over my shoulder and begin moving down the tight alleyway.

Two broad-shouldered men dressed in the decorated garb of a palace guard ease around the corner, cutting off the exit—each heavy-booted step echoing off the wall, stoning the silence.

I slow at the sight of the gold-tipped spears strapped to their backs. At the surly looks on their clean-shaven faces—barely visible in the dull light.

Perhaps they’re just … out for a stroll. Fully armed. At four in the morning.

Doubtful.

If they see me with Rhordyn’s sword, I’m fucked. There will be questions that all point in the same damning direction.

That I killed the western High Master.

I backstep, almost tripping over my feet as I spin, bursting out of the opposite exit just before two more charging guards have a chance to box me in. I dodge them, ducking a swoop of snatching hands that skim the top of my head.

Crap—crap—crap—

I sprint down the street, my heart a drum in my chest. Commanding bellows and boots pounding the cobbles draw people to their windows and out their front doors.

Muddying the situation even further.

I sidestep toward a dark alley, stumble for traction as my feet slip on the slick cobblestones. Slamming my hand down to steady myself, I throw a glance over my shoulder to see a stampede of gold-plated guards gushing down the street, whisking the smog.

Coming straight for me.

Where the hell did they even come from? Shouldn’t they be sleeping?

I charge down the alley, dashing wet laundry out of my way, leaping over fallen bins and puddles of piss while I muddle over my predicament.

This changes things …

I really, really have to get back to Zali so we can formulate a new plan now that Cainon has set his dogs on me.

Exploding free of the alley, I dart down another that’s almost too thin for me to fit through. Cutting a glance behind me, I see a guard trying to follow, but his inflated chest plate makes it impossible for him to jiggle sideways like I am; trying to prevent them from getting a good look at the sword strapped to my back.

I pick up my pace, biting my bottom lip in concentration as I jiggle.

Jiggle.

Jiggle.

I bust through a bush into a small cobbled courtyard to see a ring of armed guards standing shoulder to shoulder.

My heart lurches.

Their arms are crossed, expressions stern, standing so close I can pick apart their scents from the smell of piss and mildew.

Churning breath, I nudge the bush aside to look back down the alley. One of the smaller guards has removed his chest plate and is shimmying along faster than I did, blocking my only out.

My domes oscillate, thorny vines of emotion scraping at their undersides, producing an ear-splitting screech.

I hiss a breath through gritted teeth, looking at the shield of guards again. Each of the men cut shrewd glances at the sword strapped to my back.

A few of them even frown.

I can see it in their eyes. They’re wondering why I’m wearing the Western High Master’s sword. If they were to run a bag check, they’d also find Rhordyn’s shirt.

Icky, oily unease floods my chest, clogging my lungs and making it hard to draw breath into my starved lungs.

Zali made the implications of Cainon discovering Rhordyn’s fate very clear. But there’s no way around that now that I’m surrounded by a wall of Cainon’s men who look ready to drag me back to the palace.

Wearing Rhordyn’s sword.

Shit.

If I don’t admit the terrible thing I did to acquire said sword, there’s no way Cainon will reignite our agreement. He explicitly told me that so long as Rhordyn was still sniffing around there would be no coupling.

It’s the only line I have to reel him in and secure those ships … A poisonous risk I now have no choice but to swallow and hope for the best.

“Gentlemen,” I rasp, lifting my chin, scanning my austere crowd. “You’re up early.”

“We need you to come with us to the palace,” one guard announces in a gruff voice, dropping his hand to rest on the hilt of a golden dagger sheathed at his hip.

My skin nettles, fingers twitching to reach back.

To snatch the hefty blade threaded down my spine.

I frown, finding a thorny weed of rage hiding between my ribs. I rip the errant thing out and stuff it beneath my anger dome, squishing deviant tendrils that try to claw free as I pin it back in place. I smooth another lustrous layer upon each dome, wavering from a surge of chill that bites all the way to my bones.

“That’s an awful l-long w-walk,” I fudge out between chattering teeth. “I’m pretty spent from my morning j-jog.”

And I desperately need to speak with Zali.

One of the guards raises a brow. I cringe inwardly, recognizing him as one of the men who escorted me back to Cainon after I spent the night comatose in Rhordyn’s bed. I’m sure this is getting old for him, too.

“How ab-bout we pretend you never saw me, and we all just … part ways? I’ll meet you back there after I’ve had a n-nap.”

“If you resist, we’ve been instructed to carry you there, kicking and screaming.”

I chomp down on a curse.

Boxed in by a swarm of towering men, I’m escorted through the labyrinth of streets, the light growing less murky by the second. Zali will be awake soon. When she finds me gone, she’s going to think the worst …

Fuck.

I should have leashed my restless energy and stayed in Rhordyn’s room. Now I’m tending a sparkly patch of domed emotion, plucking rogue weeds that keep slipping through the cracks while I’m escorted back to the palace by Cainon’s tight-faced guards.

Things really took a turn for the worse.

Given the new circumstances, I’m left with one option … and it goes against the grain of my tender, aching heart.

My soul.

I won’t think about that right now.

Can’t.

A wispy white blur snags my attention, and my heart leaps into my throat, hope pooling through my chest. I don’t dare turn my head as my gaze chases the little sprite frolicking about us at lightning speed, like a bee bopping about on the hunt for troves of pollen.

Please be the sprite that saw me leave Graves Inn …

“All I wanted was a bit of fresh air,” I blurt, receiving sideways looks from the guards. “Oh well. It’s a lovely morning for a stroll to the palace with such spritely chaperones.”

One of them clears his throat. “Are you okay, Mistress?”

“I’m fine!” I yell in the most upbeat voice I can conjure, stomping through a puddle of something putrid that slops up my calves. I grit my teeth. “Perfectly fine.”

The two guards behind me whisper between themselves, voices so low they probably think I can’t hear them pondering over my withering sanity.

Whether or not Cainon’s promised to a dud.

“Though I do wish I had a chance to tell Cindra I won’t be meeting her for breakfast,” I continue, praying the sprite understands my bizarre ramblings and passes my message on. That it gets down the line to Zali—her name too explosive to throw around in front of Cainon’s guards.

“Guess I’ll get in contact with her later.” I dodge another puddle that looks suspiciously like the contents of somebody’s emptied chamber pot. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

The sprite darts off in the direction of Graves Inn, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

We round a corner, a quenching blow of sea breeze ruffling my hood, and I catch a glimpse of the lapis lazuli palace glimmering in the morning light. My skin prickles at the thought of what I’m about to do …

Fall to my knees before Cainon and beg to reignite our coupling.

A grieving sprout pokes above the surface of my aching heart and crawls up my spine, delicate tendrils curling around my ribs and anchoring it in place. Floret unfurling, it tips its head to me and bares a flush of silver petals that make the backs of my eyes sting.

It looks like a grayslade.

I snip it at the stem, untangle its twining length, and stuff its coiled corpse beneath a dome where I don’t have to look at it.

* * *

Wooden rowboats pock the ocean, fishermen stooped in their bows with glistening lines threaded deep. The salty air is baked with the smell of fish guts, the gentle slap of water on rock echoing off the underside of the bridge as we draw closer to the looming palace.

I’m no longer marveled by its beauty. By the gold trim that glints in the sun or the massive, buffed blocks of rich, blue stone I’d never seen before I stepped upon these shores.

All I can see are those shacks barely holding together. All I can smell is the putrid taint of rotting things still clinging to the back of my throat.

How many men, women, children from Ocruth and Rouste are making the perilous trip to Parith in the hopes of finding refuge behind its impenetrable wall, only to end up in that Blight-infested band?

Gulls squawk, scrapping over some tossed offal, and I’m reminded of the woman who fell too fast.

Screamed too short.

Cracks pop across the surface of my many crystal domes, and my hands bunch into balls that shake.

Don’t think. Just do.

I pluck at the dimming forest inside myself, squishing beads of luster. Lids growing heavy as I bog up the holes.

Walk in.

Tell him I was wrong, silly, naïve. Play the little broken girl he crossed paths with in that hallway at Castle Noir.

Get down on my knees and beg him to take me back—to keep me safe.

Play it fucking safe.

The tangerine sun lifts above a tuft of low-hanging cloud, spilling rays across the glossy ocean. They cut through the bridge railing and plunge into the scoop of my hood, dousing my cheeks in a warmth that seeps beneath my skin, drips upon my chapped veins, and lubricates my insides with a surge of liquid warmth.

More lustrous beads bloom.

I’m led into the palace’s blocky shadow before I can quench my thirst, and two more guards peel from their posts, their heavy-booted steps thumping after us in perfect unison. A swarm of armed guards slot into place before the golden gate that towers over us like bared teeth.

I frown.

Isn’t he … expecting me?

One guard clears his throat and strides forward, gold-tipped spear peeking over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I must conduct a weapon search before you enter the palace. I’ll start with your sword,” he says, reaching out his hand. “Orders from the High Master.”

A jagged cleft forms in the dome containing my rage, spilling a thick, thorny vine that saws up my throat. An icy calm settles upon me, sharpening my mind, my perception, and the words sitting upon my tongue like thorns.

My head banks to the side, and I hold his stare, unblinking. “You’ll have to pry it from my lifeless corpse.”

His eyes widen, mouth falls open with some semblance of a word squeaking out while my fingers itch to unravel. While I frantically rummage through my insides, plucking …

Try it,I almost scream.

Squishing …

Try it!

Bogging up the hole.

The rogue emotion snips off like a blown candle flame, and my heavy lids flutter as I waver, mellowing. Like I’ve just been dropped in a bowl of oil.

I clear my throat, pull the sword from its sheath, and lay it upon the ground. I do the same with my charred dagger, then force myself to step back.

The man casts me another nervous glance, then drops to a crouch and examines the weapons. Another guard moves closer, lifts my left arm, and begins to pat me down.

My skin bristles, and I cast my mind somewhere else as he brushes along my forearm … my shoulder … my back …

Play it safe.

Play it safe.

Play it sa—

“Let her through.”

The deep, booming words echo from beyond the gate.

My gaze threads through the men, through the golden bars, and down the throat of the domed entryway to the broad-shouldered man with his arms crossed, a stern look bunching his brow.

Kolden—alive and healthy.

His bold blue eyes scrape across me. “I’ll check her over.”

Relief plunges into my chest.

The man with his hand uncomfortably close to my waist steps back, and I crouch to retrieve both weapons, sliding them into place.

A guard inside the courtyard cranks the lever.

The gate lifts, the barricading men step aside, and I move through the short tunnel, holding Kolden’s eye contact until I’m standing right before him.

He frowns. “Your lips are blue. And you’re pale.”

“I’m fine.”

The muscle in his jaw bounces.

“Apologies,” he says, and I nod.

He drops to a kneel and pretends to pat down both legs—all hidden by the fall of my cape. Surprise blossoms inside my chest as he rises and continues the ruse to my waist and hips, a stern look on his face.

The faintest smile touches my lips.

“All clear,” he bellows over my shoulder, and I lift a brow.

He spins, steps close, then matches me stride for stride. We spill into the courtyard lit by bowls of blazing oil, our footsteps a harrowing echo. “I’d hoped you would evade the hunting party,” he rumbles low, setting his hand between my shoulder blades to guide me toward the grand entryway on the right.

Frowning, I look sidelong at my former guard. His gaze is cast ahead, the muscle in his jaw popped and prominent. “Sick of seeing me around, are you?”

“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.”

I whip my stare to the twin doors as footmen haul them wide.

Play it safe.