Chapter 15

Every pull of Cainon’s arms powers us through the turquoise water slapping at the hull, bringing our rowboat closer to the monolith of navy marble dominating the bay like a thick, sturdy tower forged by nature. A large hole is bored through its base, creating a window to the other side, a clutch of empty rowboats bobbing in its protective embrace.

My gaze travels up the jagged staircase chipped into the edge of the gigantic structure, to a platform sitting atop it. From there, a rope bridge sways in the wind, stretching across the water to the top of the cliff that curls around the sheltered cove like a giant hook.

Protected in the cove, we don’t feel the blast of wind that whips the bridge into a crawl, making Cap, Zane, and the seven unfamiliar men currently scaling it stop and cling to the rope rails. A vision that sparks trepidation in my chest.

“We should’ve gone first. That thing looks frail …”

Cainon steals a glance at the bridge over his brawny shoulder.

Hair tied in a loose knot at his nape, he’s wearing a deep blue, tailored jacket with gold buttons that aren’t done up, offering ample view of his muscled chest.

Of that scar just above his heart.

His oversized shirt is huge on me, rolled to the elbows and tucked into a large pair of navy pants cinched around my waist by a length of rope—all left outside my door this morning. A subtle order for me to change out of my Ocruth garb before we docked. It was the first interaction we’ve had since the violent storm struck after I boarded his ship a week ago, forcing the fleet to sit offshore and wait for the worst of it to pass.

“It is frail,” he says, working the oars harder, shoving us through the silky stretch of water. Such a contrast to the riled ocean beyond the cove where I can see the fleet’s bulk receding through the haze of rain as it sails away.

Somewhere.

“They’re checking it for faulty planks.”

My eyes spring wide. “You sent a child to check the bridge for faults? Are you mad?”

He shrugs, giving me a half smile that makes his eyes glint. “The kid begged me. He said you’re his favorite person, and he wants to make sure you’re safe.”

My heart bobs, stunting all the words sitting heavy on my tongue.

Cainon spears his gaze at the sack between my feet and lifts a brow. “That’s going to be a pain in my ass to carry up those stairs. They’re steeper than they look. Sure there’s nothing in there you can leave behind?”

I tighten my knees around my belongings and stab my stare at the heavily vegetated cliff face, watching Zane and Cap finally step off the other side and onto sturdy ground.

Relief cools my veins, and I skate my attention further around the harsh cliff—hands twisting, knee bouncing, toes curling as I picture them digging into soil for the first time in weeks.

A shadow cast by a tree weeping off the cliff’s edge snags my stare.

Not a shadow.

Something … more.

The huge, black blur steals my breath, like I’ve just been shoved beneath the water by a hand caught around my throat.

My heart thumps, skin flushing with a burst of goosebumps.

“What’s that?”

Cainon twists to look in the direction I’m pointing, hand slipping off the oar. There’s a grinding sound as it begins to slide free from the metal thole, and we both launch for it at the same time—my teeth gritted as we drag it back into place.

“What’s what?” he asks, tone short as he spins again. But when I look at that tree, there is no dark smudge.

Nothing.

I frown, desperately scanning the cliff’s edge.

Perhaps I’m going mad. Perhaps my nightmares are leaking from the shadows of my mind just to fuck with me.

“Never mind,” I murmur, but the hairs on the back of my neck don’t smooth, the air still tinged with a lingering charge that tries to shake me up.

Screams at me to flee.

“Where are we exactly?” I rip my gaze from the cliff.

“A back entrance.” Cainon throws the oars forward, digging deep. “The palace is on the northern tip of this small island, two days’ walk from here, with a bridge connecting it to Bahari’s capital.”

“The capital is Parith, yes?”

“Correct,” he confirms. “The southernmost point of the main continent before it crumbles off into a litter of islands. Docking in the city harbor is too risky during rough weather. The chain goes up whenever the swell tops five feet.”

“Why?”

“Too many rock shelves. I don’t relish the idea of sinking another ship.”

Blazing screams echo in my mind, and I’m ripped back to the ire I felt watching sailors dive off the engulfed deck, lathered in flames.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He shoots me a sharp look, and I close my fist around its cutting edge.

Refuse to look away.

He tsks. “Such pretty lips spitting such bitter words when there’s much better things you could be doing with them.”

“You have an overactive imagination,” I mutter, and he flashes me a smile I don’t reciprocate, shoulders bulging as he plows those oars through the water.

“Oh, petal. You have no idea.”

My cheeks blaze, his words a lick of warmth to the area defenseless to the fact that I’m in a confined space with a powerful High Master twice my size, looking at me like he wants to drown me in a sea of pleasure.

I skim my stare across the water to escape in whatever meager way I can.

His responding chuckle only riles me more.

“As I was saying before you led my mind into such delightful territory, we’ve already taken severe damage from the storm. Much of my fleet will require extensive repairs before they’re fit to sail again.”

The blow to my chest leaves a dull ache.

So my hard-earned fleet won’t be setting sail toward Ocruth anytime soon.

Wild panic worms up my throat.

“No welcome parade, then.” The words are cold and crisp—something to fill in the silence while I try to tame this jittery beast swelling inside my chest. Because every day that slips by without Rhordyn and Zali’s proposed intervention is another Vruk attack. Another slaughtered family.

Another child without a mother, or a father, or a brother …

Every day, I fail a bit more.

“Not when we arrive, no. We’ll save the official celebrations for when we’re coupled.”

He’s watching me. Regarding me. Like he’s waiting to see if my curiosity will snatch his dangling bait.

“And when might that be?”

His eyes gleam with a hint of satisfaction. “We only have to wait until the next full moon. Our ceremonies are unique and take time to prepare, so it’s good we have a few weeks to get things in order. I’ll settle for nothing but the best, since I only intend on doing this once.”

Only intend on doing this once …

Those words rummage through me.

“And the ships? When do you expect they’ll be fit to sail?”

Another powerful pull strains the tendons in his arms, up the length of his neck. “By the time we’re officially coupled,” he puffs out, and my heart drops.

In other words: just accepting his cupla doesn’t count for shit.

No coupling, no ships.

I have to open my legs for the man before he’ll do his part to preserve innocent lives, and something about that grates me the wrong way, mining a humorless laugh from somewhere deep down in my ashy depths. It spills out while I hold his crushing cobalt stare like he’s my captive and not the other way around.

He frowns. “Something funny, Orlaith?”

We drift into the hollow belly of the cave as my laughter tapers off.

He’s forced to break my stare in order to maneuver our small boat right beside an empty one. Deep, amplified thuds bounce off the curved wall like an attack as he secures us to the edge of a smooth stone platform, and my feet burst with a tingling sensation that makes my toes curl.

I swallow, overwhelmed by the ravenous surge of yearning to plant my feet on that stone.

Cainon reaches for my sack—

I snatch it closer.

He stares down at me through blown pupils. “You’re going to carry it up those stairs yourself, are you?”

I nod. “I’m sick of watching you throw it around like it’s a sack of trash.”

“And what about your hand? Your shoulder?”

I toss my belongings over my healing side, not even wincing from the dull twinge of ache. “Your medis’s near-constant care over the past week has done them both wonders. My shoulder feels much better, and my hand has scabbed over,” I say, waving it at him.

“The stone is slimy in places. With all the extra weight, you’ll likely slip. Especially without any boots on your feet.”

My heart drops, and a surge of desperation claws up my throat.

Softens my voice.

“I’m not used to shoes. I’m more likely to trip with them on than with them off …”

Silence boils between us.

“I’ll put them on when we get to the top,” I add, peeking at the stone, resisting the urge to leap past him before he can object.

Please don’t make me put them on yet.

Please.

“Very well,” he finally says, indicating the platform that meets the nose of the boat. “Ladies first. Watch your step.”

I scramble forward, ignoring his outstretched hand as I clamber off the wobbly boat and onto Bahari land. The blue marble is smooth and steady, packed with a warmth that soothes my soles.

Goosebumps sprout across my skin, and I close my eyes and pretend the stone is rough and black—that the slapping sea echoing through the cave is an ocean of silent clouds that stretches as far as the eye can see. That I’m on the balcony of Stony Stem, face tipped to the sky, bathed in warm beams of sunlight that rarely touched the rest of the castle.

For a moment, I’m home.

“Everything alright?”

“Fine,” I croak, eyes snapping open.

I swallow the unwanted bulb planted in my throat and push forward.

Trailed by Cainon’s heavy presence, I follow the platform that leads out the mouth of the tunnel, curls to the right, and meets the base of the stairs, cushioned in places by clumps of spongy moss. We begin the arduous climb, edging up the side in jagged increments, each stair a different height than the last and puddled in places, water splashing up my straining calves.

Though my legs are conditioned to this sort of labor, a few weeks stuffed in a boat has taken its toll, and my thighs are burning as much as my lungs by the time we near the top.

Trying to hide my labored breaths, I step onto the wooden platform saddling the monolith, head swiveling, hair torn about by the wind as I take in the vast expanse of the bay stretched beneath us in all directions—Cainon’s anchored ship looking dwarfed from all the way up here.

Another blast of wind makes my feet tingle.

I shift further from the stairs, giving Cainon room, and trace the bucking swing bridge to where it’s tethered to the top of the cliff.

The bridge is long.

Frail.

Cainon eases past, stepping out. “A few of the planks need replacing. Watch your step.”

Adjusting my hold on the sack, I grip the rope rail with one hand and mimic his footfalls, heart dropping as I step over a gap where a plank is missing, the world falling away beneath my feet.

A giddy swirl in my gut electrifies me, a smile dragging up the corners of my mouth …

One wrong step, and I could plunge.

A brutal burst of wind shakes the bridge, and I pause, hair churning into a tumbleweed of knots. A bubble of laughter pops from my lips.

Cainon looks back at me, frowning, but I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face as we bounce and sway to an erratic, exhilarating beat that makes me feel alive for the first time in days.

For some reason, balancing on this precipice between life and possible death makes my steps feel lighter, not the other way around, and I’m suddenly in no rush to reach the other end. Instead, I take my time, absorbing each bouncing blow, letting the wind have its way with me.

Closing in on the cliff, I can smell the soil, and desperation surges through me again, that vicious hunger intensifying. It shoves me forward so I’m just a few planks behind Cainon as he steps off the bridge.

There’s a splintering sound, and I gasp when the wood gives way beneath me.

I drop—just a short, sharp moment that rips my heart up my throat before Cainon spins, snatches me by the front of my shirt, and hauls me forward.

A roll of laughter shakes my chest, and I’m set on solid ground in a heap. My sack lands heavily beside me, my shoulder spasming from the strain as my laughter tapers off. I fold my knees up under myself and spread my hands forward across the damp ground, fingers stretching …

Heart slowing …

I press my forehead against the dirt and breathe.

“Do you need a hand up?”

“Just give me a minute,” I murmur, clawing my fingers down past the grass, forcing dirt beneath my fingernails. I heap myself full of the raw, near-carnal smell with every intoxicating inhale.

The pain in my shoulder eases, the muscles in my back relax and loosen, and something inside me warms. Settles.

“It’s too quiet,” one of the men whispers, his gruff voice tight with concern—a thorn in my moment of peaceful reprieve. “Something feels … off.”

I think back to that dark shape I saw from the boat, chest tightening.

I peel up, like gently easing my roots from soil, and study the huddle of men clinging to metal-tipped spears, stealing nervous peeks at the trees.

Looking past them, I still.

From the cove, the land above looked like a lush, fertile oasis. But from up here on the edge of it all, I can see that the wild, overgrown foliage is hiding the remnants of a scorched town reduced to nothing but scattered blue rocks and half-standing walls.

Some of the larger trees are charred skeletons, hosts for loose vines that boast big, blue flowers spewing a burst of red anthers that look like flaming pupils.

There’s a cleft in the jungle roof allowing dull, late-afternoon light to etch a path through the gloom—a path that’s well-worn compared to the rest of the underbrush.

Cainon offers a hand.

I ignore it and shove to a stand. “What happened here?”

He looks around as though he only just noticed the carnage, then rips a flower off one of the vines. “Blight got in.”

The torn stem weeps a red tear that drips.

Drips.

Drips.

“So … the entire community was torched?”

“Had no choice,” he mutters, and I see that burning ship. See the way the rioting flames committed it to a watery grave.

I hear those distant screams—wild and hopeless.

The haunting silence that followed.

“Such a shame. A lot of our fresh produce came from here.” He motions toward a half-standing pulley system protruding off the edge of the cliff. “Not to mention the acres of palm sugar crops that fell to the fire.” He looks at the flower in his hand for a long, hard moment. “This is the reality of being confined to a small canvas of livable land.”

I frown, thinking of the maps my curious eyes have traveled over time and time again. “But you have land. Not to mention hundreds of islands scattered across the ocean.”

“Infertile land.” He tosses the flower at the dirt, and it takes all my willpower not to pick it up and stash it away for safekeeping. The thought of all that color leaching away until it’s nothing but a brown smear in the soil hurts.

He jerks his chin at my sack. “Boots, Orlaith. Before we go any further. We have snakes—poisonous ones.”

Zane offers me a pout from his spot cross-legged on a stone, obviously listening in.

I return the gesture, digging into my sack and stuffing my feet into the claustrophobic hollows that cling too close to the backs of my heels, instantly mourning the soil’s warm comfort.

“Let’s get moving,” Cainon says, voice raised enough for everyone to hear. “There’s a brash pack of Irilak that have taken up residence in these ruins, but if we’re quick, we can make it to Blue Hollow before the light fades.”

The men murmur between themselves, lumping bags on their backs before they begin filing after Cainon.

It’s hard to force my feet to move.

Pack.

Hauling the sack over my good shoulder, I follow him, scouring the deep pockets of shade for any sign of life.

I should be afraid, knowing what they’re capable of—having seen the leeching doom firsthand the many times I dropped mice over my Safety Line.

Shay’s special, our relationship cultivated over years of gathered trust and understanding, and I have no doubt he’s the exception to the rule. I have no doubt that the Irilak in these parts are just as deadly as Kai insinuated when we flicked through Te Bruk o’ Avalanste together what feels like a lifetime ago.

But there’s no room for fear beside this overflow of regret.

Shay didn’t have a pack. He was always on his own, except for when he was with me.

... Me.

I was his pack.

The realization chokes me, even more so when I recall the way he spoke to me right before I left. One soul-shattering word that echoed a million more …

No.