Chapter 35

Warm water swallows me in a splashing gulp.

I plunge deep and fast, colliding with the stone bottom, pressure bulging my eardrums. A burst of bubbles punch from my lungs, skin tingling with the instant sense that I’m not the only living thing in the dark bowels of this bowl right now.

I fumble around for the rope, stretched arms sweeping until my fingers connect with the coiled lump. I snatch it up and shove off the bottom, more bubbles escaping as I kick skyward, reaching toward the sunlight painting my upturned face.

Breaking free of my inky prison, I draw greedy breaths, treading water, head swiveling, gaze darting for any sign of my slippery friends. An eel pokes its snout above the surface and gulps a mouthful of air less than ten feet away, and a shiver scuttles up my spine.

Make it quick.

I sift the rope through my fumbling fingers, trying to haul the heavy bell toward the surface.

Something bumps against my arm.

My breath flees, like I’ve just leapt into an icy lake that’s seized my chest.

My hands still, gaze rolling down, becoming transfixed on the eel nudging me. My attention whips to a ripple of disturbed water—the other eel rapidly approaching from another direction. The gasps and screams of the crowd fade into oblivion as every cell in my body stands at attention.

Please don’t shock me.

It slows, then disappears below the surface, and I feel it slither against my leg, curl around my foot. It drops away, but the other bumps into my shoulder this time, and the hairs on my nape lift.

Please, please don’t shock me …

It seems to squirm its entire body along the expanse of my back, and my skin bursts with goosebumps that make me want to shudder all over. It moves away, and cheers ring out across the roiling crowd as a quenching breath powers into my lungs. I spin to double-check they’re gone, then let the welling shiver rake from the base of my neck to the tips of my toes.

Peeking at the High Septum’s blazing eyes, I keep lifting the rope until I can finally grab the bell, then try to worm my trembling fingers into the knot and loosen it. A growl boils in the back of my throat, frustration welling. I try my teeth, but all that does is almost rip them out of my gums.

Cursing, I look down past my churning legs …

I need to find the glass.

Drawing my lungs full, I dunk, flip my body upside down, and kick—pulling at the water with my free hand, propelling myself toward the bottom one lopsided pull at a time. All the noises from above muffle into oblivion as I reach the dusky depths, equalizing the ache from my ears before brushing my hand across the stone floor. Hunting for the lowest dip where I hope the glass has settled.

The breath in my lungs begins to burn, making my chest jerk with the suffocating urge to inflate. I’m just about to push to the surface when I hear the scrape of glass on stone.

My heart lurches.

I retrace the same sweep, slower this time, the shard’s sharp edge slicing into my finger. My hand tightens around it as an eel slithers down the length of my arm, making me want to shed my skin.

My throat spasms, a gurgle escaping my lips, and I shove skyward, frantically kicking, my legs tangling with the rope. I feel the eel chasing me, shivers raking over me as I scramble up, breaking through the surface.

Gulping breath, I slice at the rope in short, frantic swipes, flushing the water with the constant ooze of blood seeping from the stinging slash in my palm.

The curious murmurs of the crowd are a distant drone. Flicking disturbances and sporadic ripples haunt my peripheral, stirring my pulse and this anxious ball squiggling through my chest.

I rip the bell loose, holding Elder Creed’s shadowy stare as I stem the urge to toss it at his head. Limbs heavy with exhaustion, I release it and the shard of glass, then bind one end of the rope into a large loop. I spin, legs screaming their objections, gaze landing on that stubby stone plinth the eels were housed upon.

Lifting the rope above my head—and to the collective gasp of the crowd—I whip it around, then throw, maintaining my hold on the tail end as the loop flies through the air … and slaps against the side of The Bowl.

A surge of disappointment slams into me.

This was much easier in my imagination.

I drag the loop close, pull a ragged breath, and toss it again. The sound of wet rope slapping against stone impales me with the lance of failure, and I curse.

Much, much easier in my imagination.

I dare not look at Cainon’s platform, not wanting to see the satisfaction on the High Septum’s face.

Again and again, I reel the rope in and toss it. Again and again, the crowd distracts me with their antsy murmurs as I fail.

Fail.

Fail.

“Come on,” I growl, sitting deeper in the water as my legs begin to tire, shoulders growing heavy, strained. I battle to draw air into my aching lungs, water sloshing into my gaping mouth, making me choke and sputter.

I drag the sodden length to the surface and grip the loop, skin flushed from this tepid water slowly boiling me alive. Using every last bit of strength I have, I throw the rope, already preparing to wind it back when the loop slots perfectly over the plinth.

My stomach lurches, and I blink back tears of relief. Gasps and cheers blast the amphitheater full of riotous excitement I can feel in my bones.

I pull the rope taut and test the catch it has on the stone, a smile splitting my face when it holds true. Pride pumps through my veins in a hard, hot rush, and I almost laugh, reeling myself toward the side. I place my feet on the edge and secure my grip, preparing to haul myself up—

Something flicks against my waist before a bolt of paralyzing pain snaps through me, ripping up my arm to where my cupla rests against my wrist. Every muscle in my body bunches before a cool numbness replaces my bones.

A surge of screams is the last thing I hear before a shrill ringing fills my head.

I drop through the tiers of a deep, watery grave, unable to draw breath. Shock and fear are replaced by a light, airy feeling … like I shucked the layers of a heavy existence I can’t grasp the meaning of.

Who am I? Why am I here, slipping toward a silky darkness?

My back thumps against something hard, and I’m no longer sinking, but looking up at a round window of light that’s too small and far away. Like I’ll never be able to catch it, even if I try.

Try …

The word picks at me, making me feel something.

Uncomfortable.

A dark, fluttering shadow circles high above, like it’s churning within that beam of sunshine that almost looks like a moon—stirring it up. I want to grasp at it, a fading urge that slips out of reach.

I’m caged in this watery end.

Within this body that doesn’t work.

Caged …

A thought niggles at me, prods, then bites—visions flashing.

Metal bars.

Big eyes.

Curly red hair.

A promise—its steely echo blooming inside me like a flourishing wildflower.

I’m going to get you out.

A gurgle wrenches up my throat as fiery determination flames within my heart, turning my blood into a sizzling rush. I force my seized muscles to work. To move. To scoop at the water in powerless pulls that don’t shift me fast enough toward that distant surface, but they move me.

They move me.

With each sludgy kick, with each desperate wade, my body becomes more engaged.

I punch through the surface to the frantic gasps of the crowd, treading water while I choke on sips of breath. Willing more strength into my muscles that still feel bunched and broken. I ease toward the side, flapping around until my hand collides with the rope, retching more water free of my laden lungs.

My savage snarl cuts the air, and my upper gums ache as I lift my legs, set my feet upon the stone, then tighten my hands and pull—hauling my spent body from the tepid water, pouring everything I have, everything I am, into the slow but steady ascent.

I’m going to get you out.

I repeat the promise to myself until I’m busting over The Bowl’s lip.

The crowd erupts—hoots and cheers and squeals of delight as my head swirls, heavy lids threatening to tug down.

I look at Cainon, seeing him standing—applauding. Boasting a proud smile that curdles my guts.

Beside him, Heira’s also clapping despite her thin lips and scathing stare that fills my hollow belly with a gluttonous feast of satisfaction.

I crawl across a litter of sharp shards, pushing up, kneeling before Elder Creed, broken glass slicing into my kneecaps as I look into his wide eyes and flash him a smile that’s all teeth. “Nice try,” I slur, wobbling. “I hope they shock you while you’re trying to sift them out.”

Darkness.