Chapter 42

“You actually dug this with a ...” Kolden pokes my blunt chisel out past the tapestry he’s stuffed behind, giving me privacy while I change my top. “With this?”

“It wasn’t always that stumpy,” I murmur, threading my arms through the holes of Rhordyn’s shirt—his leather satchel on the ground at my feet, pulled from the urn on our dash down into the palace’s bowels. I pull the shirt over my head, unable to stop from shoving my nose into the fibers and drawing deep.

Sating my lungs full of him.

That dome inside me rumbles so much a little bit of crystal flakes off the otherwise perfect surface.

Shit.

The shirt tumbles halfway to my knees, my legs clad in comfortable leather pants, feet bare, hair loose and heavy since I lost my hairpin in the burrow. The sheath Rhordyn gave me is bound around my thigh, my dagger snug inside.

I buckle Rhordyn’s sword across my chest, tuck his leather satchel into my knapsack, then slip the handle over my shoulder and bunch my hands into fists, feeling more myself than I have in …

Too long.

I pluck my wooden sword off the ground, picturing Rhordyn’s wisteria vine tangling through my fingers, up my wrist and arm, infusing me with mighty strength.

“I’m good,” I rasp, tightening my hand around the hilt. “Let’s go.”

Kolden edges back and looks me over, gives me a firm nod, then wrangles his square body into the very small, very round hole again and wiggles through. Once his boots aren’t tenting the tapestry, I pull it back and clamber in after him, crawling over blue dust and a few remaining shards of stone.

Poking my head out the other side, I scan left and right down the tunnel dimly lit by our torch lying on the ground, the acrid smell of death and decay coming to me on a soft breeze that whistles around corners.

Kolden stands about four feet below, reaching up with empty hands. He shed all his golden armor back in my suite, left only with what he was wearing beneath—simple brown pants and a blue tunic—his gold-tipped spear strapped to his back, tawny hair half down and draped around his shoulders.

“You’ve explored this tunnel?” he queries. “There’s a hive of passageways beneath the palace—remnants of the old structure that was torn down years ago. Are you certain this one goes to the right place?”

“I’m certain.” I hand him my sword, which he places on the ground, then maneuver my body until my legs are hanging over the edge, waiting for him to grip my waist before I drop.

He settles me on the ground amongst a litter of stone shards, and I wipe my hands on my pants. “I ran it this morning to check if it goes to the right place,” I say, picking up my sword. “Barely made it back in time for the trial preparations. This way.”

I take off to the left.

Kolden’s on my heels, accompanied by the whoosh of our flaming torch as we power through the tunnel that dips and rolls, like it rides the waves of the ocean’s currents—the ocean I can almost feelpushing down on us from above with its mighty force.

The tunnel becomes short and wide, then so tall and narrow we have to turn sideways to edge through. Some segments of the walls are smooth, others sharp enough to slice a hide.

This tunnel … it wears so many emotions that when I ran down here this morning, without my own stuffed deep, some areas made me want to curl up and cry.

We continue chasing the stench of death until we’re spat out through a small entryway on the other side of the burrow’s domed feeding arena lit by blazing torches. Cainon’s father is tucked on his side, eyes closed, bunched near the center where a torrent of rainwater gushes down from the sky-hole and pours through a grate in the ground.

Fierce bursts of light spill down from the angry sky, igniting the glassy veins carved into his flesh. The dried, jagged threads of blood that have leaked from it—stitched across his skin.

He’s rumbling in his sleep, every deep, even breath a rockslide, making the hairs on the backs of my arms stand on end.

“He’s chained,” I whisper over my shoulder, settling my wooden sword and knapsack on the floor. “Earlier, he was sleeping at the edge of that white line, and his chains were pulled taut. He can’t reach us.”

The storm continues to bang its drum as Kolden follows me around the arena’s edge, sticking to the outer side of the white line that maps the entire circumference. Despite knowing we’re safe, I keep a watchful eye on the slumbering form, though it’s not until we near the mouth of the prison-cell tunnel that I notice something in a sporadic burst of light flashing down from the leaky sky-hole.

A flop of iridescent curls …

A pointed ear with crystal thorns lining the shell …

Somebody’s tucked beneath the monster’s arm.

My feet stop, that dome inside me creaking as I take in the deep bite mark on the Aeshlian’s neck, his closed eyes, lips slightly parted. I look at his chest, willing it to inflate.

Willing him to breathe.

The faintest flutter of his eyelashes, and I feel the motion in my chest like a butterfly sprung to life.

He’s alive.

“Orlaith,” Kolden whispers in my ear, and I almost jump right out of my skin. “We must prioritize the people in the cells.”

He’s right. I’ll have to leave this boy till last.

With a heavy heart, I drag my gaze away from the haunting scene and dash around the corner, then fall to my knees before the child with curly red hair. She’s tipped on her side in the middle of her cell, bunched like a ball, blank gaze cast ahead. Through me … like she’s not even seeing me.

A porcelain doll broken on the floor.

I frown, dread settling on my shoulders like some clawed beast just perched upon me, waiting to snatch up the whittling life.

“Hey, sweetie,” I whisper.

She doesn’t even blink.

My heart skips a beat.

Finding my hairpin in the middle of the hallway, I set my sword on the stone—

We must prioritize the people in the cells.

Kolden’s words register like a blow to my chest.

How did he know there were cells? All I told him was that there were people to rescue, hidden beneath an island in the bay. That I knew of a secret entry that could get us in and out with relative ease.

A metallic jingle cuts through my thoughts, and my hand snaps down to my dagger, fingers tightening around the hilt.

The girl’s pupils narrow, registering something beyond me with a flash of familiarity.

Registering him.

I swallow, feeling the air shift as Kolden steps up behind me. My heart drops as he digs a key into the lock.

Twists it.

Clicks it open.

Why does he have a key?

A prickly thought snares me like barbed wire …

“She knows you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse; fragile.

“Yes.”

I harden my resolve and reinforce my trembling dome, hand twitching to reach for the dagger tucked against my thigh.

I refuse to accept a reality where I fail to save this little girl’s life.

I. Refuse.

If I have to go head to head with Kolden right here in front of her, I will.

He reaches past me with his other hand, and I release a raw, primal noise from somewhere deep inside my gut. He pauses for a second, then pushes the door open.

I expect him to pick me up and try to shove me in—poised for the fight that will surely ensue. Tension crackles between us, my gums igniting with an intense ache to gnash my teeth against something hard and unforgiving.

With a deep sigh, Kolden pulls the key out of the lock, and I feel him shift closer, like he’s crouching. Voice hot on my ear, he says, “I was ordered to look after Calah while the High Master was away.”

My thoughts scatter, turning my insides into a battleground.

He had the chance to save these people, and he didn’t.

He. Fucking. Didn’t.

That crystal dome rumbles so violently my entire body trembles.

What will be left of me if the dome erupts? What will be left of him? So much has happened since I built it. I have no idea what’s grown beneath. What I’m going to be forced to face once I finally lift the lid.

I look over my shoulder, right into broody blue eyes, and Kolden winces, as though I just struck him with something sharp.

Funny, since that’s exactly what I’m considering.

Hunched behind me, he hangs his head, keys dangling in his limp hands. “I—” He sighs, keeping his attention cast to the ground. “Very few of them will come to me, but I can help by opening the doors.”

He pushes to a stand and, without even a glance my way, walks to the next cell to the internal tune of my creaking dome while soiled words gather on my tongue.

Not now, Orlaith. He’s not the priority now.

These people are.

I slather another layer of light on my dome and focus my attention forward.

Gaze fixed on where Kolden was crouched, the girl is unmoving, the color drained from her skin, hair a blaze against her sickly pallor.

The shadows beneath her eyes are so dark and daunting.

She’s got a look to her I’ve felt before, in my chest. Like some parasitic leech that takes greedy gulps of your will to climb out of bed in the morning. To think.

To breathe.

It’s the look of someone who feels trapped inside their body.

“I’m just going to clear the other cells,” I whisper, giving her a soft smile even though she’s still looking straight through me. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

No answer.

Another creak of my dome as I pin my hair into a bun, then dart to the next opened door, smiling at a man with a shock of brown hair. He’s bound in a filthy blanket in the corner of his cell, looking up at me with big eyes that split my chest despite the fact that everything’s tucked so deep.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “We’ve come to get you out.”

His brow buckles. “You can’t be real. You were dead.”

His words steal my breath.

I shake my head. “Not dead. I’m very, very real—I promise. And we don’t have much time, so—”

“I’ve seen what dead looks like,” he says, chilling me to the bone. He untangles, bracing himself upon the stone and pushing to his full height, though his body stays stooped from spending too long crouched in the corner. “You were dead.” His harrowing gaze slides to the mangled cluster of people shuffling past. Placing a trembling hand on the door, he staggers out of his cage.

Strange.

Brushing his words aside, I focus my attention on coaxing more people out of their cells, their dazed and confused expressions turning to sheer terror as we ease around the edge of the feeding arena, past the sleeping monster.

I leave the bedraggled group in the tunnel with instructions to wait, then go to help the remaining captives.

Thirty-three bony, trembling, wide-eyed men, women, and children later, I pause by a cell containing a red-haired lady who’s tucked on her mattress with her back to me. I try to pull the door open, but it won’t budge.

I turn to Kolden who’s ushering a man and woman past, both bound in rags they hold tight against their emaciated frames. The final two prisoners—aside from this woman, the little girl, and the boy in the feeding arena.

Some of them have been going to Kolden, following him out. Freedom still tastes sweet, even when it’s served by the man who led other captives to their demise.

I reach out my hand. “Can you please pass me the key?”

He pauses, looks at me with a guarded expression, then urges the others to continue—one of them leaning so much on the other it’s surprising they don’t topple over.

Kolden cuts a glance behind me, stepping forward.

I step back.

He sighs, stare drifting to the prisoners still hobbling down the hall, then back to the woman behind me. “Not that one,” he says, dipping his voice lower than usual. “I locked it for a reason.”

What the … fuck?

“I’m not leaving any,” I growl, and his eyes soften.

“She’s already gone, Orlaith.”

My heart drops, his words crippling my ability to stand.

I snap my hand out and hang my weight on a bar as he runs to catch up with the others, taking the arm of the woman dragging her foot and wrapping it around his neck, supporting most of her weight.

My head turns, gaze delving between the bars. The woman’s red hair spills across the stone, and realization chokes my next breath, that dome inside me shaking, shaking … like something’s rustling around beneath it.

Is she the little girl’s sister? Mother?

Did the child watch her die?

I move down the hallway, each step feeling more weighted than the last. Like there’s something inside me that’s growing bigger by the second. I near the little girl’s space.

She hasn’t moved.

Entering her cell, I crouch low and soften my steps so as not to startle her. I swipe her hair back from her cheek, her flesh warm despite her vacant eyes. “Your story doesn’t end here, sweetie …”

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.

My lungs compact.

“Small seeds grow into big, strong things,” I rasp, easing my hands beneath her bent body. I lift her, tucking her close to my chest so she can feel the beat of my heart. “But they need sunlight and warmth to set their roots in the soil.”

Her body stays limp against mine … There’s nothing. No sign that she’s alive other than the soft whump of her heart.

Too slow.

Too steady.

I want to scream at her. Beg her to show me something.

Anything.

Instead, I whisper upon her brow, carrying her free of the cage, a lump forming in my throat. “You can’t get either of those things in here.”

A frail breath shudders through her, and it’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received. A tear rolls down my cheek as I tighten my grip.

Something.