Chapter 28

“You sure you’re okay, petal?”

I nod, offering Cainon a soft smile even as the world tips, using the handle to the door of my suite to stop myself from falling.

Plummeting.

“Of course,” I say, the blazing candelabras swaying. I blink away the haze, trying not to slur. “Go to your meeting. I need time to prepare for the trial tomorrow, anyway.”

“Yes, you do.” He steps close, rumbling in the back of his throat. It’s a teeth-gritted battle not to flinch. Not to recoil as he presses a too-hot kiss upon my head that cleaves off another chunk of my heart.

Crumbles it to the nether.

He smells like fried flesh …

We both do.

“Get some sleep,” he instructs as he moves toward the foyer door and swings it wide enough that I see Kolden standing sentry in the hall beyond, his stare firmly set away. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Passing me a hungry smile over his shoulder, he leaves, shutting the door behind himself.

I picture the lid of a coffin settling into place.

Releasing a shuddered exhale, I close my eyes, waiting until his steps fade down the hall before I crumple against the door, folding forward, hand slapped upon the wound on my throat. Cainon’s bite mark—freshly torn.

Freshly feasted on.

I open my eyes. See the room’s spinning.

Repress a whimper.

Get inside—just get inside.

I twist the door handle, stumbling as I push it wide. My legs buckle, and I watch the stone floor rush toward my face—

I’m jerked upright, bolstered by a hard body.

“Fuck,” a deep, familiar voice hisses.

Kolden.

He sweeps me into his arms and shuts the door, then carries me farther into my suite and sets me on the bed. Shafts of silver moonlight pour through the open balcony doors, making my broken heart ache.

Mind drifting amidst the muddy haze of my heavy thoughts, I reach for the light, wanting to tangle my fingers through it …

Kolden takes my outstretched hand and wraps it around a glass, nudging it toward my mouth. “Drink,” he orders, tipping it to my lips.

I force the water down my throat until there’s no more, and he lowers the glass, crouching before me.

An aching quiet settles between us as I gently untwist a vine from around my ribs and spine, gathering it like a spool before pulling its roots from the tender organ in my chest. A vine that sprouted from the splits in my heart, blooming a burst of dull, silvery flowers while Cainon clawed at me—his teeth so deep in my flesh I could feel them grating against my tendons. Like it was trying to tell me this is wrong.

It’s all wrong.

I pinch the petals closed on the big, ashy blooms nipped with streaks of silver, tuck them amongst the vine’s coiled mass, then reach for one of my ready-made domes and ease it into the hollow, cradling its wilting corpse until I can no longer watch it slip away. Until I can no longer feel its dying breath kissed upon my brow.

Don’t cry.

I pin it against my insides with all the rest of the domes that are starting to look like gravestones.

“You need to go,” I whisper, blinking, a tear rolling down my cheek. If Cainon catches Kolden in my room, there will be another burning.

I’d rather die than go through that again. Than watch those flames gobble him up.

“No,” he growls, the impasse boiling. “With all due respect, my loyalties now lie with you.”

“Why?”

He sighs, holding my stare as he says, “They just do.”

My face crumbles, and I look away, desperate to avoid his eyes while this sudden surge of emotion strangles me.

The air between us tightens, and I feel his gaze scrape across my throat. Across that raw ache thudding in my neck, making my stomach pitch with the need to vomit.

My cheeks burn as I reach for my freshly bound braid and drape it over my shoulder. “I’m fine, Kolden. I asked for it.”

His stare hardens. “Asking out of want and asking out of need are two entirely different things.”

What I want, what I need, and what is right are three entirely different things.

The backs of my eyes burn, Rhordyn’s words landing a different blow than they did when I was bound in a red dress and my own cloistered naïvety.

I told him I wasn’t as innocent as he thought. He told me I’d look back on the moment and realize I was wrong.

It hurts how right he was.

Nipping a glance at the door we came through, Kolden clears his throat. “What do you need me to do, Orlaith?”

Heart hammering with a feeble, hopeful beat, I tilt my head to the side. “Do?”

He leans forward, an intensity burning in his stare. “How can I help?”

A surge of relief impales me, a sudden alertness clearing some of the fog from my brain.

He wants to help me.

I dash a tear off my cheek, sniffling. “Do you … Do you happen to know where the High Master’s fleet is stationed?”

Kolden frowns, then gives me a tight nod that would bring me to my knees if I weren’t already sitting.

My throat works, prickles bursting against the backs of my eyes as I release a shuddered breath, feeling the tides swirl around me, turning …

Finally fucking turning.

“The—ah—urn over there,” I say, raising a trembling hand to point at it. “There’s some bits of parchment and a stick of sharpened coal stashed inside.”

He stands and walks to the urn, lifting the lid and reaching in. I close my eyes and breathe, trying to stop the room from swaying.

It’s going to be okay.

Kolden passes me a piece of parchment, and I flatten it against my thigh, then scratch a jittery note upon the surface—difficult with a shaking hand.

Signing the paper, I hand it to him. “Please take this to the mail tree and ask that it be sent to Cindra at Graves Inn. If you’d scribble your own instructions on how to find the fleet, that would be greatly appreciated.”

I pause when I see the tiny crystal bloom sitting in his palm. The imperfect one with a few jagged petals from where I cracked them off.

Heart tumbling, my hand becomes still as I lift my eyes, looking at him. “I found it at the markets,” I whisper.

The hard glint in his stare tells me he doesn’t believe me before he even speaks. “If one of the Elders were to come across that—”

“I’ll get rid of it.” The words come out harsher than I intend them to, sown with a frantic seed.

His jaw hardens, and he regards me with intense focus. With another curt nod, he sets it in my palm, curls my fingers around it, then takes the parchment and makes for the door, easing it shut behind him with quiet finality.

My pulse roars in my ears, my tremble returning twofold—so rampant that when I push to my feet I almost crumple to the floor again. I make for the wall and lean against it, choking back the smell of smoke, citrus, and salt dousing my hair. My skin.

This fucking dress.

Groaning, I rip at the strips of material barely holding me together, feeling them tear beneath my jittery fingers as I stumble toward my washroom. I don’t bother to turn the dial on the mounted lantern, opting instead for the comfort of the silver light spilling through the frosted windows.

I place my bloom on the ground and crank the faucet, then step beneath the spill of water that pours from the cleft in the wall, gasping at the rushing torrent of chill that drenches me from head to toe. Cupping my hands before my mouth, I draw deep, gulping drags that surge straight down my arid throat—shoving back images of Cainon’s mouth on me. Of his teeth tearing at my already shredded flesh, making the same thick sound every time he swallowed.

You bleed so beautifully for me …

My body surrenders to the weight on my shoulders, and I crumble to the floor, hand slamming down to absorb the force. I screw up my face and release a silent scream that morphs into chest-wrenching sobs.

There’s still so much that needs to fall into place, and with this fresh throb in my neck, with the smell of scorched flesh sitting in the back of my nose like a thick smog, I feel hopeless.

Drained.

I can’t afford to feel either of those things.

I blindly slap at the wall and turn the faucet to warm, snatch a bar of pumice-infused soap, and scrub myself—the warm water unlocking the complexities of the citrus-scented bar and making me want to gag.

Time slips by as I scrub harder than I ever have, the bar turning paper thin, disintegrating against my chafed skin.

I rest my head upon the wall, water puddling in my lap, and stare blankly ahead, my vision of the washroom distorted by the flowing wall that makes me think of Kai. How everything felt lighter with him around. How he would flash me one of his mischievous grins I couldn’t help but mimic and my worries would sift away.

Just thinking about him almost makes me smile.

Lifting his conch to my lips, I tilt it, then pour three small words into the hollow scoop that gobbles them up …

“I miss you.”

I instantly hate myself when the words come out raw and choked, weighing down the shell. Because I know he’ll worry, and that’s the last thing I want.

Swallowing thickly, I tuck the conch close to my heart. Something little shifts beyond the spilling water—darting through the door, then settling on the ground. My curiosity scrapes together my remaining dregs of energy, and I ease onto my knees, pushing my upper body past the gushing sheet.

Wiping my eyes, I look at the familiar sprite lost amid the steam, though I can still make out the tiny black piercing in the tip of her tapered ear, poking free from cloudy curls sticking out in all directions.

“Hi, Spider Bite.”

She blinks at me.

My gaze drops to the package she’s hugging against her chest, as though it’s the most precious thing she’s ever been given.

“Is that for me?” I ask, composing my voice.

My face.

She nods, hopping forward, her fluffy brows bunched, worry staining her big, inky eyes.

“I’m fine,” I rasp, flopping my hand onto the stone between us—palm up. “I just … haven’t eaten enough spiders today.”

Her frown deepens, and I internally curse myself. I’ll probably end up with a stack of them stuffed beneath my pillow later.

Another hop forward, the fierce flutter of her lacy wings softening her landing as she settles beside my hand and sets her package in my palm.

I curl my fingers around it.

“Thank you,” I whisper, retrieving the bloom and placing it close, nudging it toward her. “For your troubles. You’ve been doing a lot of fluttering about for me lately. I’m sure it’s very tiring …”

She crouches, picks it up, and tucks it against her chest, looking down at the bloom, back at me, head tilted and eyes wide. With a slow nod that gains strength and speed, she leaps off the ground in a dusty blur, then darts through the doorway, disappearing from my line of sight.

I open my hand, looking at the parcel. Wondering.

Hoping.

I pick at the delicate knot of string binding it all together, unraveling the layer of silk to reveal a round, white seed no larger than the tip of my pinky finger.

For a moment, all I can do is stare, a lump swelling in my throat that’s hard to swallow.

He did it.

Zane got my message. Made sure it got to his uncle. Meaning Zali got hers, as well.

You’re amazing, kid …

I clutch the seed within my fist and cradle it close to my heart, then ease onto my back, eyes closed, battling the wave of emotion threatening to wear me down.

Such a tiny, seemingly insignificant seed, but to me … it’s everything.

It’s hope.

Not only do I have the antidote I desperately need for my plan to work, but this seed is a sign that Gunthar’s on board with everything I need from him.

The rest is up to me.

My eyes pop open as I snarl, rolling onto my front, pushing onto my hands and knees. I crawl toward the doorframe and haul myself up, securing a towel around my trembling body.

I clamber toward my vanity, kiss the tiny senka seed, and poke it into the soil amongst my flush of wildflowers that will hopefully conceal its eventual bloom.

There’s a knock on my door, and I groan, my finger still stuffed deep in the dirt. “Yes?”

It creaks open, Kolden’s voice booming through the thin gap. “Izel is here with your evening tea and cake. Are you happy to accept her?”

I almost decline, but then I think of my growing collection of bane bush berries—the ones I’ve been plucking from most meals delivered to my room.

It wouldn’t hurt to have a few more.

I wipe my dirty finger on my towel, then begin loosening my braid. “Thank you. Send her in.”

Izel breezes through the doorway, balancing a teacup and a plate with a large slice of … something I’ve never seen before—layers of custard and pastry all perched atop each other in a pretty stack. I eye it curiously, still unraveling my plait as she sets the refreshments before me with a little golden fork.

“I thought you might like some chamomile tea to help you sleep,” she says, offering me a soft smile that lights up her blue eyes—usually hard like flints.

It almost knocks me off my stool.

The candlelight illuminates her tidy bun and burnished skin as she draws a shuddered breath. “It’s been a … rough day for us all,” she croaks, and I feel those words cleave between my ribs, wanting to coil around the ache.

“It has.” I return her smile. “Thank you, Izel. I really appreciate the thought.”

With a dip of her head, she leaves, shutting the door behind herself.

My smile morphs into a frown.

She seemed … sincere.

Maybe our relationship is finally turning a corner?

I toss my hair over my shoulders, then lift the top layer of pastry, find three teensy berries smudged amongst the custard, and sigh.

Maybe not.

I clean them on my towel, then push both plates aside, yanking the drawer open. I retrieve the tiny vial I’ve been filling with the bane bush berries, corking the top before I pull out my dagger and wave the already charred length through the flame of a stubby wall sconce.

A deep sense of nostalgia blankets me like a frosty breath blown across my neck …

I whip the blade through the air, waiting until it’s cooled before I press the honed tip into the pad of my thumb, hissing as a bite of sting punches through my flesh. A bead of blood swells, rich and red and thicker than usual.

I let one, two, three drips splash directly upon the seed, then cover it with soil and ring out my braid, showering the mound with a healthy dribble of water. “Please bloom,” I whisper.

Please.

“You can do it. I know you can.”

Giving the small pot an encouraging pat, I suck the hurt on my thumb and turn my attention to the bed, edging toward it on frail legs that seem to be finding their strength. I thread my hand beneath the mattress, fingers grazing the leather sheath he gave me.

I tug it out, brushing my thumb across the straps, the buckles, pulling it close and drawing deep through my nose, catching the faintest wisp of crisp, robust him.

My domes rattle, the seed of a whimper slipping through my tightening throat …

I tuck the sheath away again with a tenderness I wish he saw, then screw my eyes shut and shake my head. Once.

Twice.

I grasp my chisel and whip it out, a fire igniting in my chest.

I have a hole to finish.