Chapter 17

Caped in my heavy cloak and a fresh layer of determination, I move through the gloomy jungle alight with chirping crickets, the air so thick and warm it clings to my skin.

Guided by boastful shards of moonlight, I ease through the thick foliage, finding the trail Cainon took me down when he led me to the Unseelie burrow.

Emerging onto the exposed shore, silence greets me, the ocean a stretch of silver that looks smooth enough to tiptoe across—all the way to the shadowed island crouching in the distance.

I sigh.

If only it were that easy.

“Please be there,” I murmur, plucking my path around the cove, making out the sharpest peaks by the way moonlight hits their jagged faces. “Please be there …”

Seeing the small boat nestled amongst the rocks, my shoulders slump with relief.

I make short work of the knot tethering it to a large stone, then dump my cloak in the hull, roll my pants, and drag the boat along the rocks toward the glassy bay, wincing at the shrill, grating sounds that score the silence.

Not exactly the quiet getaway I was hoping for, but there’s no turning back now.

Wading thigh-deep into the cool water, I ease the vessel off the shore and glide it across the surface, then half leap, half tumble into the hull, limbs flailing as the boat rocks. Scrambling up, I find my center of balance and settle onto the seat, slide the oars down the rowlocks, then roll them forward and pull.

The paddles skim the water, carving across the still.

I don’t move an inch.

Frowning, I glance over my shoulder at the island in the distance …

This might take a while.

With a groan, I roll them so far forward I grate my knuckles on the rim, then dig the paddles deep into the water, and heave. The boat jerks a few feet, and a gleeful sound bursts out of me, swiftly smothered.

Suck stones, Cainon. Look who can row her own boat.

I throw the oars forward and dig them deep again, again, again—shoulders burning, arms straining, gaining slow but steady traction toward my destination. I push free of the small bay and into the open ocean, the water a mirror beneath me, throwing back a perfect reflection of the moon and sprinkled stars. It’s almost heartbreaking to rip a line straight through the middle.

Cutting a glance across my surroundings, my feet tingle, the sensation spearing up my legs and into my guts. I pause, suddenly aware of the vastness beneath me …

I release a snarl and plunge my oars into the water.

Don’t think.

Just do.

* * *

Blisters bulge on my palms, agitating my still-raw wound, a lather of sweat slicked down my spine by the time the boat scrapes along some shallow rocks that threaten to tear a hole in its hull. Glancing behind me, I see the shore no more than fifty feet away.

A relieved sigh whooshes out of me.

Pulling the oars back through the rowlocks, I lay them in the hull, stretch the ache from my burning muscles, and grip the side before easing off the seat, slow and cautious.

Teeth gritted, I lift a leg—

The boat wobbles uncontrollably.

“Shit!” I squeak as it tips past the point of no return, dunking me into the salty depths, my hair a heavy swirl around my flailing form. Remembering the sharks that chased our dinghy when we disembarked the ship, I shove off the rocks and clamber to my feet, finding myself in waist deep water.

The vessel self-corrects, like it’s mocking me.

Keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding water, I toss the oars in the hull, grope around me until my fingers tangle with my cloak, then scoop it up and slop it onto the floorboards. I wrap the rope around my hand and pull the boat to shore where I nudge it between two rocks, then loop a tether around the tallest one.

Fingers crossed it holds.

I twist my hair into a dripping knot and secure it above my nape, scoping the steep shoreline, seeking the simplest path onto the grassy mound. Gripping hold of rocks to steady myself, I scale the ridge, out of breath by the time my feet disappear amongst thick, fluffy grass.

Moonlight paints my upturned face as I dig my toes into the soil, inhaling air sweetened by the musk of wildflowers that brush against my calves, painting them in whispers …

An ache flares within my chest.

I’ve spent so many years wondering about that tapestry in Castle Noir. Now that I’m here—standing within the woven depths beneath a litter of peeping stars—I feel as though I’m bobbing atop an ocean far different from the one I just traversed.

An ocean of secrets.

Hearing the desperate echo of Hattie’s rusty voice, I shove forward, paving a path across the mound, scouring the land. Searching for … something.

Anything.

My feet sink into a patch of freshly tilled soil, and I frown, crouching to sift some through my fingers. “Odd,” I mutter, and continue on, stubbing my toe against something hard nestled amid the grass.

Biting down on a squawk, I drop to my knees, brushing aside tufts of grass and lofty flower fronds, revealing a man-made chute capped with a metal grate.

My stomach drops.

I whip my head around, scanning the moonlit vista. The dark, distant smudge of the palace.

It can’t be …

Tingling with nervous tension, I scramble back to the island’s craggy shore and clamber down. I scout the circumference, hunting between glistening rocks, breath catching when I discover a shadowed tunnel like the one Cainon led me down when he took me to the burrow.

The Unseelie burrow.

My heart thumps like a wild animal jailed beneath my ribs, and I stumble sideways, gripping hold of a rocky outcrop to steady myself. Feeling the hairs on my arms lift, I glance over my shoulder and look upon the palace. Back down the dusky tunnel.

My instincts fist my spine, attempting to drag me across the bay. Screaming at me to clamber into that boat and row for my fucking life.

But my curiosity has her nose in the air, urging me forward so she can scamper into that shadowy hole and uncover its secrets.

Well, I’ve come this far …

Dragging my hand along the lumpy wall, I follow the staircase down into the darkness, the air thickening with each uncertain step. Ripening with an all too familiar, potent scent.

Blood.

But it’s muddied by other musks that make me want to breathe through my sodden shirt; sour, rotten smells that remind me of the shantytown beyond the wall. Makes the voice in the back of my mind scream louder.

Louder.

Run!

Skin pebbling, I spill into a curved hallway lit by flaming torches, and my heart sinks at the sight of cells lining both walls.

Another Unseelie burrow.

I force myself to look into the first cell on my right, and my stomach knots, hand whipping up to wrangle a wail.

Burnished firelight spills through the bars, igniting a slight, slumbering person tucked in the corner beneath a soiled blanket. Their hair is unevenly cropped, cheeks hollow, mouth lax as they breathe soft and slow.

Too slow.

Festering wounds tarnish their dark skin, like someone … or something took bites so deep they almost tore off chunks of flesh.

My vision blurs with unshed tears, my heart a lump of lead.

This burrow … it’s no ancient, ugly scar nobody talks about anymore.

It’s a fresh, gaping wound. It’s everything Cainon warned me against.

Run!

“No,” I rasp, and scour the next cell, releasing a soft whimper that cleaves straight from my split chest.

A red-haired woman is hunched on a filthy mattress, barely an inch of her visible, pale skin unscathed by welts, bruises, bites.

I can’t imagine Rhordyn doing this to anybody.

I just … can’t.

That voice continues to scream at me as I force myself further down the twisting hallway, counting each breathing inhabitant within each small, stuffy cell.

Men.

Women.

Children.

Nobody stirs as I drift past, their dreams perhaps a better place to be than the horrors of their reality.

Moving through a shaft of moonlight, I see a male huddled in a ball by the bars of his cell. A mop of filthy iridescent curls falls across his brow, concealing all but the peak of his thorned ear.

I stumble to a halt.

Aeshlian.

A vision of Baze flashes. Of his scarred skin and pale, lackluster eyes after I ripped that ring from his hand. Of the way he dragged his gaping shirt across his chest like he was desperate to hide his scars.

I know the hurt is loud—

His past words—once a balm to my wounds—now anchor my heart somewhere deep and dark where there is no light.

Was this his loud hurt that still whispers to him now?

A lump forms in my throat as I glance up through the grated layers. Focus on the spindly silhouettes of a few delicate wildflowers arching over the sky-hole’s edge, like they’re peeking in.

A painful thought wraps my heart in a thorny vine …

Hattie knew about this place. She knew and somehow sent a tapestry to Castle Noir perfectly depicting this very island. A pretty picture to adorn the stark, black halls … or a clue?

A plea?

A woven scream she couldn’t voice, shipped off for someone to see?

Perhaps she knew something I didn’t allow myself to explore—that there’s a goodness in Rhordyn she trusted. That if he received the message and understood her meaning, he would have helped these broken people.

He would have helped.

That wound inside my chest throbs so hard and deep my hand flies up, fingers gouging at my breast as I marinate in the pool of guilt shoving down my throat.

Choking me.

As I battle the urge to use what little luster I have to forge a dome and corral the thorny guilt up against my sides—because I want to feel this. Deserve to feel this.

My.

Fucking.

Fault.

I look at the broken boy again …

My penance.

Determination uncoils inside me like a serpent, unhinged maw set to strike, fierce fangs leaking beads of opal venom. Swatting a tear from my cheek, I continue down the curling hallway. Continue looking left and right, running out of fingers to count, punishing myself with the ghoulish sight of withering bodies and festering wounds.

I will not leave these people here to rot.

I will free them. Get them off this island.

But how?

I’ll need a boat far bigger than the one I came in. Less shitty.

I need help … lots of help.

The hallway straightens, and filtered light illuminates a domed cavern ahead, akin to the one in the abandoned burrow but bigger.

I gasp at the sight of a monstrous man lumped in the center, wearing only a pair of tattered pants. His high, bladed cheekbones, heavy brows, matted hair, and thick scruff do nothing to distract from the cruel cut of his jaw. Deep, slumbering breaths wrestle out of his parted mouth, exposing the honed tips of his long canines …

Unseelie.

My knees give way, assaulting the cold stone floor.

A beam of moonlight pours upon pockets of bulging muscle, igniting glassy veins that fork across a portion of his brassy back like lightning strikes.Dull metal cuffs bind his wrists, each tethered to chains so thick it’s a wonder he can move at all, the flesh around them folded back like sleeves of skin that healed then tore, healed then tore, leaving a bloody mess that tells a tale of his entrapment.

His pain.

His massive arm is draped over a slight male with tawny, lackluster hair and wide, unseeing eyes pointed toward that hole in the ceiling. Like the last thing he sought was the faraway sky.

My mind whirs so fast I’m certain the room’s tipping …

What the hell is this?

A shuffling sound whispers at me from behind, and I spin.

Small, pale hands cling to the bars of the end cell, and I look past the metal, seeing a nest of rosy curls, a dainty face, and big, auburn eyes staring at me, shaded with too much hurt for one so young.

My stomach churns.

The child blinks, and tears slip down her soiled cheeks as she releases a heaving sob that cracks the silence.

Making calm shushing sounds, I crawl forward. “It’s okay,” I whisper, softening my features with a smile I pray she can’t see through.

I reach between the bars and cup her face.

Her lids flutter, like she’d forgotten what it feels like to be touched with tenderness. It’s an arrow through my heart, lit with fire that ignites my veins.

I may not be able to save them all tonight, but I can saveher.

I can save one.

“I’m going to get you out,” I promise, my voice a punch of steely determination.

Relief crumbles her face.

Damp, heavy tangles tumble down my back as I tug my hairpin free and delve it into the lock, then twist, flick, shove—tipping my head so I can listen close. My hands tremble, hindering my progress. Urgency swells in my chest like a thundercloud.

A growl threatens to rip free, each turn of my hand one too many.

Come on.

Come on.

Come on—

The hairs on my nape lift.

A scurry of motion draws my gaze to the girl shuffling backward, disappearing into the shadowed corner of her small, foul-smelling cell.

My hands still.

I spin, heart jolting at the sight of Cainon behind me, the flaming sconces casting his face in ghoulish shadows that cut his features into harsh, terrifying segments.

I gasp, shoving to a stand.

He darts forward in a blur of motion, and my lungs flatten, head thwacking against the bars so hard lights flash across my vision, a deep throb bulging my brain. My hairpin clatters to the ground as the hard, unforgiving panes of his body lock me against the metal, caging me in his dominating essence, making it hard to draw a full breath.

He smothers my mouth with his salty hand, and my eyes flare, gaze bouncing back and forth between his own.

His pupils have blown so big there’s nothing left of the blue.

“Cai—”

“Hush, petal.” His grated whisper assaults my prickling skin, slamming my heart into a ferocious rally.

A frown touches his lips, and he tucks a tendril of damp hair off my face, warm fingers brushing my thumping carotid once.

Twice.

He leans forward, lips grazing the length of my neck like a lover’s caress, hovering over that frantic, fluttering beat. “We don’t want to wake him,” he murmurs, his voice deep and dangerous.

A bolt of fear shoots up my spine.

Him …

My gaze nips at the slumbering monster chained to the floor, and I swallow—hard—a sense of dread settling on my shoulders like stacks of bricks.

Cainon nuzzles my neck, his words a pattering attack on my fragile flesh. “This is the only time he’s ever truly at peace.”