Chapter 31

Ifinish tallying the remaining coins spread across my crisp, white sheets, scoop them into a pile, then snatch my dagger and flip it from hand to hand, my resecured cupla swaying with the motion. I drag my finger along the blade’s smooth face, dangerously close to the sharp edge that slid through Rhordyn’s flesh …

It brought me a twisted sense of satisfaction to watch him bleed for me.

I wanted more.

I wanted to rip into his throat with my teeth. Tastehim as he dribbled from my lips.

The thought shocked me.

Frightenedme.

I got out of there before I did one of the many stupid things barreling through my head and went to buy some of that mulled wine I’d seen earlier.

There was blood on the coins.

Not all of them, but enough for me to know it likely came from the shopkeeper at Thrift while he piled gold into that little leather pouch.

I simply remedied the situation.

Flipping the blade high, I snatch it by the pointy end, eyes narrowed on the shard of my reflection displayed on the buffed silver …

I don’t know who I am anymore, and I barely recognized him. It wasn’t just the extra facial hair roughing up his appearance, or the way he looked at me like he was some ravenous beast chowing down on every second. It was something deeper. Something that made me feel seen in a way that coaxed my cowering fear.

Why is he looking now, when I’ve got everything to hide?

With a snarl, I flick the blade with such gusto, it whistles through the air and sinks into my corner post, pinning the gossamer curtain in place like the lucid wings of a butterfly.

A door clicks open in the lobby, and my head swivels at the sound of footsteps echoing off the walls. There’s a light knock, then the rusty voice of the guard who stands in for Kolden sometimes. “Are you okay, Mistress?”

“I’m fine.”

Fuck off.

I pull the dagger free, then slip off the bed and walk to the balcony door, spinning when I reach the opening. I lift my arm and aim for the same damaged divot—

A cool rush swirls across the back of my neck, pulling my eyes shut, and I shiver all over, heart lurching so hard I’m struck with a sense of vertigo. I grasp the doorframe for support, slowly opening my eyes, and look to the stone bench on the balcony to my right, just below my window.

A small, leather sheath sits upon it.

My breath shudders free.

I stalk to each corner, looking down at the palace grounds, then up toward the roof, before snatching the sheath by the strap. Prying the small scroll from where it’s nesting in the hollow, I unroll it, study his slanted script—three small words that plant sizzling embers in my chest.

I’d completely forgotten about that. Guess it was spent on a ship, wrapped in a storm, suffocating on nightmares of Rhordyn putting a talon through my chest.

I pocket the note and shove the blade straight in.

Perfect fit.

Shaking my head, I grind my molars, hand crushing the leather strap. I’m certain he gave me the pickaxe, the bluebells, this. Perhaps he was even the one to paint the wisteria on my wooden sword. But it doesn’t change the fact that he hid me from myself.

Lied to me for years.

Doesn’t change the fact that he locked me in his fucking den after kissing me like there was no beginning, no middle, no end. Just that one catastrophic moment blazing like a single star in an otherwise empty sky.

I wrestle down the thought and cast another look around the balcony, then lug the doors shut, slamming the lock into place before backing toward the bed one slow step at a time.

The big, heavy glass doors … they suddenly look so fragile. A pathetic, frail barrier he could shatter in a heartbeat.

Ripping my hair out of its low bun, I breathe deep, trying to tamp the shameful surge of thrill I’m struck with at the thought.

Sitting on the bed with my back to the balcony, I toss the dagger aside and reach for the large woven satchel I purchased to pile all my stuff into, pulling out two thick, velvet cloaks and spreading them across the sheets—the larger for me, smaller for Zane. Smiling when I think about the lovely merchant I found tucked in the corner of the market square. How she helped me choose the perfect sizes and explained the Bahari coin system when it became obvious I had no idea what I was doing.

I paid her double for her kindness.

I neatly fold Zane’s cloak, then wrap it in some cloth, smiling as I imagine his face lighting up when he opens it. Legs crossed beneath me, I drape mine across my shoulders and flick up the hood.

Reaching back into the woven satchel, I retrieve a paper bag filled with the honey-bun knockoffs and dust my lap and fingers in powdered sugar as I take a bite so large my cheeks bulge, a glob of pure honey oozing from the center.

I close my eyes, savoring the way the fluffy dough and honeyed cream harmonize together, more flavor bursting with each slow chew.

Not as good as Cook’s, but delicious nonetheless.

I stuff the rest in my mouth that’s still half full and reach into my satchel again, retrieving a blue shirt, brown pants, a terracotta mug with a hardy handle, and a wooden box filled with paints. Then I grab a leather pouch of paintbrushes and a small, homespun bag I filled with clippings as I made my way back to the palace.

I bite into another bun, staring at my collection of wares as I chew, brow pinched, mind churning, gaze darting between the mug, the paints, the clippings ...

Something plops onto my chest, and I glance down to see a drizzle of honey smeared all over my necklace, through the links, glazing Kai’s conch.

“Crap,” I mutter, dashing my hood back and setting the bun aside as I swipe at the stickiness oozing down my chin and chest. I undo my shirt buttons and ease my cloak off my shoulder a little so I have better access. The last thing I want to do right now is bathe, but I can’t leave myself and my necklace smothered in honey …

A rebellious thought strikes, and I stand slow, something restless planting in my chest as I glance at those fragile doors again, remembering the last time I unsullied myself from his lie.

He knew. Somehow.

I will not beg you to protect yourself, Milaje. Put the fucking necklace on. Now.

The words were spoken like the very thought of me not wearing it tortured him. Well. I’m not opposed to the thought of him suffering a little. A silent fuck you for stalking me for the past week.

I double-check the lock, draw the curtains, and make for the bathing chambers to the beat of my thundering heart.

The large, blue-stone room is lit by decorative lanterns hanging from gold wall hooks, their tall glass panels casting the space in an underwater tone.

Reaching behind my neck, I pause, touching the clasp with trembling fingers, trying to calm my staggered breaths.

I swallow, grit my teeth, and release the clasp.

My necklace falls heavily into the palm of my hand, the sound of the tinkling chain seeming to echo through the room.

I shudder.

The tightness peels down, freeing me from its snug embrace in skin-tingling increments that make my chest swell and my lids flutter closed—a deep breath pouring into me like it’s my first in weeks.

I clench my hand around the jewel, squeezing.

I know I’m a monster—that this pretty skin has split to release something truly horrific. I just hate that something so wrong feels so good. So natural and free and me.

Opening my eyes, I avoid looking in the mirror as I run the necklace under the tap, massaging the links with a lather of soap; avoid paying attention to my hands—to my skin that feels silky smooth and petal thin. Just like … my brother’s.

My throat aches with an unwanted swell of emotions.

This was a bad idea.

Heart racing, I scrub harder, faster, rinsing off the suds. The lantern light catches on something scrawled across the latch, and I pause, pulling it close, squinting at the line of script so dainty it’s impossible to make out. “Weird,” I mutter, holding it closer to the lantern hanging beside the vanity.

Movement catches my eye, and my gaze shoots to the mirror, a gasp escaping when I see Old Hattie with her papery skin and tumble of silver hair standing right behind me.

Stomach dropping so fast I almost vomit, I whirl, necklace clasped in one hand, the other whipping up to shield my thrashing heart.

She watches me. Studies me—her frantic gaze scouring every inch of my exposed skin.

Though I can see my radiant reflection bouncing off her insipid eyes, she appears unruffled by my river of pearlescent hair; by my ears that taper and the crystal thorns that line their shells.

Her attention homes on my bare shoulder partially covered by my hair, and she steps close. Panic fires up my throat as her withered hand rises, a blue cupla dangling from her frail wrist, bony fingers unfurling in a way that reminds me of Shay. She eases the tendrils back, exposing my bare shoulder and heaving chest.

She swallows, eyes rising to meet my own.

There’s something unsaid wedged there like a quiet barb …

Something I don’t understand.

Gripping my chain, she tugs hard, urging me to release it from my white-knuckled grip.

“No.” I tug back. “I need this …”

She grunts, an ember igniting in her otherwise flat gaze that rocks me to the core—that grips me by the spine and shakes me until every one of my muscles loosen.

Urgency.

My fingers go slack.

She takes the jewel from my hand and twirls her wrist, indicating for me to turn. I swallow and spin, catching a swift strike of my crystalized stare.

Murderer.

A stinging sensation flares across the backs of my eyes, and I squeeze them shut, tears tracking down my cheeks as Old Hattie lifts the weight of my hair, threads the necklace around my neck, and sullies me in the suffocating grip of Rhordyn’s lie.

My next breath is tight.

Constricted.

I hate it.

“Please don’t tell anyone …”

Hattie gathers my hair, tucks it down the back of my cloak, then turns me to face her, cupping my cheek with her warm, calloused palm. A wonky smile stretches her lips.

“You won’t, will you?”

She shakes her head, and a calm settles inside me. I offer her a wan smile in return—until a clunk at my wrist lures my gaze to my cupla now falling away with her nimble fingers.

My smile falls.

I stare, wide-eyed as she scurries back a step and waves it at me, eyes bright with mischief.

“What are you—”

She turns and dashes through the door into my suite with impressive haste.

My heart flips.

I dart after her, watching her scamper around my bed, trailed by her silver braid that drags along the floor. “What are you doing?” I whisper-hiss, glancing at the closed door that leads to the lobby. And then it hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

She is going to tell Cainon.

“Please don’t,” I plead, realizing there’s a very high chance I’m going to have to wrestle this old woman for my cupla before she reaches the front door, then lock her in my dressing room until I work out how to keep her from spilling my secret.

Oh, Gods. This is bad.

Reallybad.

All I wanted was to stick it to Rhordyn a little. Now I’m contemplating abduction.

She veers toward my dressing room and disappears into the depth of it.

I stop, frowning.

She walked herself right into that one.

Snatching my blade off the bed but leaving the stupid sheath behind, I follow, glancing over my shoulder before drawing the door shut behind me. She hobbles toward the long mirror mounted to the end wall, pries her fingers around the edge, and tugs it open on silent hinges. Mouth falling open, my curious heart ignites into a flaming ember as I look down the semi-lit tunnel beyond.

Wasn’t expecting that.

“Guess that’s how you got past my guard,” I muse while she reaches in and around the corner, pulls out two blazing lanterns, and thrusts one in my direction.

My gaze bounces between it and the heavy intention in her powder blue eyes, realization slamming into me. “No. Hell no. I am not going down there,” I whisper-yell.

Even if I kind of want to.

She gives me a wide, toothless grin, then tosses my cupla down the tunnel. I gasp, lunging forward, listening to it tink, wincing a little with every shrill bounce. “I can’t believe you just did that.” She waves her hand at the darkness, and I chew my bottom lip, looking between her, the lantern, the shadowed hollow. “Fine,” I snip, tucking my blade into the back of my pants. “But only if you go first.”

She flashes me another wide, toothless grin before stepping into the gloom.

Checking over my shoulder, I flip my hood and follow.

* * *

Ilocate my cupla partway down the coiled stairwell, brushing it off and checking it for damage before clipping it around my wrist. Hattie continues, and I waver, glancing back up the stairs …

Fuck it. Might as well keep going.

I charge after Hattie.

The stairwell smoothes into a tunnel that seems to go on and on, finally ending at a wooden door Hattie pushes open. A burst of fresh air batters my face, and I pull a deep breath, struck with a cacophony of sounds within the midnight jungle: chirping crickets, the whisper of leaves brushing against each other, the distant boom of thunder. I step out, drawing on the rich smell of damp underbrush, digging my toes into the soil as a cool wash of calm bathes my insides.

Hattie’s hair trails her like braided moonlight, and I dash forward to catch up, following her down a shadowed track littered with fallen branches and shards of blue stone. Inquisitive stares nip at my skin, casting it in prickly paths that make my heart race.

Irilak.

Three lithe shadows stalk the edge of our glow, and a clicking presence darts behind me. I whip my head around in time to see a baby one flicker close to my lantern light, then burst back, like it’s playing some sort of game.

I smile, wondering … hoping it’s the pack from the village we passed through.

Their presence falls away as we push free of the jungle onto a wide, flat clifftop that drops into the ocean.

Soft grass cradles my bare feet, the wind punching my hood back, and a beam of moonlight pours through the split clouds, highlighting the lone tree perched on the cliff’s edge—an aged knot of gnarled wood with a spindly reach.

A lone sentry to the view far below.

Thousands of glowing jellyfish litter the heaving ocean—a living, breathing night sky turned upside-down, smudged only by the mound of a small island in the distance.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, stepping toward the tree, my words snatched by the wind like a stolen secret. Peering over my shoulder, I see Hattie watching me from her flickering web of light. “Do you come here often?”

Her soft smile doesn’t match the teary glaze of her eyes when she offers me a nod, her disfigured hand pressing against her chest.

“It … helps your heart?”

Another nod, and my throat aches, eyes sweeping shut as I breathe deep …

She’s sharing her special place with me.

Perhaps she can see I’m hurting, too.

I open my eyes, about to thank her for her gift, but she’s already edging back up the trail.

Instead, I whisper it to the wind.

Placing my lantern on the ground, I study the tree, then grip a sturdy branch and pull myself up. Settling on it, I lean against the trunk, taking in the ever-moving constellation of life below.

They look so free down there, floating around without a care in the world.

Jealousy bursts in my chest.

I want to float. To be lulled by the ebb and flow of the ocean’s quiet dance. Instead, the ever-swelling moon tides me toward that piercing moment when my body will no longer belong to me, but to my promised—a man who has no idea that I’m very different beneath the skin he thinks he knows.

All the while, I’mlocked in the orbit of a man who sees too much, and I can’t escape. Can’t pull myself free.

Tonight, it became abundantly clear that the distance I shoved between us did nothing to pry Rhordyn from my soul … but something’s changed.

Shifted.

I felt it in the charged space between us. In the way he knelt before me, holding my stare with such dominating confidence, chest bared like he welcomed my barbs. I felt it in the way I salivated at the sight of his blood dribbling from the cut I made …

I swallow thickly, drawing a shuddered breath I blow back out in a rush.

With that blade to his throat, I felt more alive than I have in weeks.

I want him to hurt.

To bleed.

I want him to snap, just like he snapped me.

He’s the ailment, yes ... but also the remedy I wasn’t expecting. A punching bag that absorbs my blows with unflinching stoicism.

How much will he take before he bursts at the seams?

I lift the conch to my lips and brush a kiss across its knobbed surface, tempted to whisper my ugly truths into its hollow in an effort to purge them from my soul.

I squeeze my eyes shut, press my lips together …

Tuck the shell beneath my collar.

Kai deserves better.