Chapter 48

My breathing is choppy as I creep up the hill, sodden hair slick against my ribs and dripping down the backs of my bare legs. Crouching low, I edge over the rise, seeing the small orchard—blessedly unaffected by my blazing force of destruction.

I inch down the grassy slope, gaze nipping at the rise on the opposite side where twists of smoke lick at the darkening sky, the smell of ash and burnt flesh clogging my lungs.

The distant sound of popping, crunching bones hammers nails into my kneecaps, threatening to make me stumble.

It’s still there.

Still feasting.

Irilak are smudged into shadows of the jungle, tucked within its safe confines, seeming tentative to flit forward and feed despite the heavy clouds blotting the light.

Surely they’ll come forth soon. Suckle the Vruk into a dehydrated lump of flesh and bone.

I hope.

Watched from the jungle’s gloomy guts by countless pairs of eyes that scrape across my naked skin, I move forward, heart in my throat and stomach in knots. I sneak beneath the tree Gael and I ate peaches beneath and wrap myself in her cloak, stuff my blade into my bag, then edge back up the rise one stolen step at a time, stealing glances over my shoulder.

Just a little farther.

Grass tickles my shins as I quicken my pace and dash toward the drain that stabs beneath the city wall, just picking a path over big, slippery stones when the hairs on the back of my neck lift.

A full-body chill rips across my skin.

I swallow. Look over my shoulder to see the Vruk skulking over the knoll beyond the orchard in long, robust strides, nose dug into the grass, whuffing at the soil.

Fear knifes into me.

Another prowling step, and it lets out a low rumble that rakes up my spine, then slowly lifts its head, maw smeared in the gore of the men I just slayed.

A web of lightning forks across the sky as our eyes clash, ricocheting off its catastrophic stare.

My foot slips on a patch of slimy muck.

I fall hard, cracking my knees on the stones to the tune of a slashing growl that cuts straight through me. Hands slamming down, my necklace falls from my grasp, lost in the filthy water.

The ground begins to tremble, like a thundering heart is hacking at the soil beneath me, and I look up to see the beast lunging across the glen in great, barreling strides.

Coming straight for me.

Digging between the stones in clawed, frantic motions, I snatch harrowing glances of the approaching beast—bounding closer …

Closer …

My fingers tangle with my chain, and a relieved breath fills me with the power to clamber up and scramble over the unrelenting chaos of the slippery stones, toward the drain’s illuminated mouth that looks too small for that beast to fit through.

Please be too small.

A blow of hot air attacks me from behind. Tingles explode from the soles of my feet, lashing up my legs and spine, and I release a strangled gasp as I duck my head and dive past the opening, water splashing up my shins with every frantic step.

The ground beneath me stills, and a sharp sound splits the air, like the metal grate is screaming. There’s a distant thud, and the lantern light chasing me through the drain is dimmed in smashing increments until it snips out entirely.

A deep, foreboding rumble blasts through the shaft, infusing my skin and sanding my bones.

It’s everywhere—all around me. Through me. Breaking down the very fiber of my being.

My legs threaten to crumble, palm slamming against the curved stone edge, and I dare to look back into the pall of darkness …

Gruff whuffing sounds saw down the space, and my heartbeat scatters.

“Oh my—”

It’s trying to shove its face down the drain.

Another low snarl frays my composure, and it pulls back, weaves its paw through the hole, and swipes at the empty air—as though it’s trying to reach for me. My stomach drops, and I dash toward that distant promise of light in sloppy steps that feel too slow.

Too slow.

Cobwebs stretch across my face as I near the end, and I choke back a squeal, batting at them with desperate swipes, until I burst past the spill of lantern light and out the other end—shrouded in a sense of safety.

A fall of rain caresses my upturned face, the stormy evening bathing the silent city in a bleak blanket. I scour my surroundings, looking past the bridge that saddles the deep ditch I’m standing in, up the edges of lofty buildings crammed close together. Up the city’s wall—its blazing turrets spilling a shield of light that doesn’t make it into the city’s dark gullies.

I turn, looking down the drain, heaving breath into my starved lungs. If I listen hard enough, I can hear the beast breathing from the other end. Can still feel the blazing trail of its perusal carve across my face like it’s hunting every freckle sprinkled across my nose and cheeks.

A blow of relief batters out of me.

I scramble up the side of the ditch and burst down the desolate alley. Lowering myself behind a barrel, I spin, spine to the wall so I can see through the thin sliver between barrel and stone. Despite knowing the beast won’t emerge, I keep my stare on that drain as I blindly dig through my knapsack, fingers grazing against my snips. I pull them out and thread my finger through one hole, thumb through the other, trying to stop my teeth from chattering.

I drop my gaze and coax the cloak away from my tender shoulder, revealing the black vine and the tiny crystal bloom that’s now baring a full nest of delicate petals—soft to the touch when I brush my thumb across them.

Face twisting into a knot of disgust, I pinch it between my fingers, tilt it to the side to expose its sable stem, and open the snip’s pincers against the stalk.

I draw a breath, holding it in my lungs as I pinch the handles together.

My mouth falls open, a scream threatening to burst forth when the blades slide off the stem, scouring deep gouges on either side.

Pain explodes across my shoulder, the muscle and bone and flesh a mess of mangled nerves, making tears pool in my eyes. The fierce throb radiates across my clavicle, lashes up the side of my neck, and bores into my eardrum.

My stomach churns.

Harder—I have to cut harder.

I hiss through gritted teeth, tilting the tender bloom again, hand shaking, settling the snips against the stem …

Lightning scribbles across the sky, and I squeeze the callous blades together.

A clipping sound plucks at the air as I sever the stalk, struck with a blinding bolt of pain.

I smack the back of my head against the wall and slap my hand over my mouth to smother a scream, snips clattering across the stone as the hurt knots my limbs and fires my blood. I writhe, thrashing through broken whimpers, churning my legs like it’ll alleviate the devastating throb bruising my bones.

It’s gone.

I got it off.

A relieved sob breaks free, and I tip my head, letting the drizzle wash away the tears tracking down my face until I mine the courage to look at my shoulder again.

I slowly turn my head.

The severed nub leaks a black substance down my front, swiftly attacked by the rain, diluting it into inky swirls that get lost in the fold of fabric. I poke at the swollen skin surrounding the hurt, then drop my trembling chin to my heaving chest, gaze sliding sideways. To the golden snips lying on the stone with their sharp mouth wide open.

To the tiny crystal bloom nesting between two cobbles.

My pain seems to sprout more roots at the sight, as well as a seed of melancholy I try to ignore.

The rain grows into a drumming symphony while I shore up the courage to reach for it. I swallow thickly, pluck it from the stone, and cup it in the palm of my unsteady hand.

My lungs are mortar, throat tight as I study the crystal bloom.

Delicate. Beautiful.

Hideous.

I touch the silky sepals, rolling one down, pressing hard before pulling my finger back. It unravels, crimped from the folded bruises I just forced upon it. Tearing it free from the stem, I rub it between my fingers until it begins to break apart, familiarizing myself with this strange thing that somehow sprouted from me.

My attention narrows on the shimmering petals …

I press my finger against them, sucking a tight breath when I find they’re no longer flimsy like a rose. They don’t yield like the sepal did. Instead, they crinkle, then crack—little slivers of their brittle edges breaking off like shards of glass, blunting the hardened bloom that must have begun to calcify the moment I snipped it off.

Like it … died.

A surge of nausea clogs my throat, and I stuff the bloom in my bag. Not wanting to look at it. Think about it. Feel it.

Tittering laughter and hurried footsteps stop my heart, my stare flying down the alley to the right. A boy and a girl dash from the rain, running straight at me.

“Shit.”

I bag the snips, flip my hood, snatch my necklace close to my chest, and tuck myself into a ball pressed against the barrel—easing the edges of my cloak over my bare legs, feet, and arms.

Please don’t see me.

Their steps draw closer, the sound of my rapid heartbeats surging in my ears, battling with the distant memory of a conversation I had with Kai. Back when we were going through Te Bruk o’ Avalanst, looking at the illustration of an Aeshlian climbing from the volcanic basin …

“What happened to them?”

“That’s a very long, very sad story. One I wouldn’t taint your pretty ears with.”

“But you tell me everything …”

“Not that, Orlaith. Never that.”

My mind fires with possibilities that blister my insides.

What if these people see me—will they look at me like I’m an abomination?

Will they worship me? Hunt me?

Bind me to a stake and burn me?

They draw close, stalling.

Fear wells up inside me, and I huddle deeper into my hood.

A coin clatters to the stone by my bunched legs, and then they continue sprinting down the alley, dashing from the rain on hurried steps. My breath pours free, relief blossoming through my chest so fast I feel like I’m going to be sick.

I peel back the edge of my hood and look at the small, silver coin in the puddle before me …

That was too close.

Hands trembling, I thread my necklace around my neck and try to knot the ends together, but they don’t hold.

My skin doesn’t peel back up again.

“No, no, no …”

I fumble, knot, reknot, then pinch the clasp together. My false skin takes me in a claustrophobic gulp that’s never felt so good, and a relieved sob bursts free as I tip my face to the sky.

I need to get out of here.

* * *

Irap the door with torn and bloody knuckles, eating the spike of pain like the penance it is.

Forehead pressed to the grain, I breathe deep, stare cast on the Bulbs and Botany mat scuffed with mud as the thick fall of rain continues to pelt my back.

If this isn’t Gun and his partner’s store, I don’t know what I’ll do.

I have nowhere else to go.

Another crack of lightning, another blow of wind, and the sign hanging above me squeaks as it rocks with the rhythm of the crackling storm.

My pinch on the chain tightens, arm aching with the effort to hold the short lengths together, the dress I managed to climb into on my own only half done up at the back and drenched through beneath the fall of the equally sodden cloak.

Another knock—louder this time. More desperate.

Please be them.

Please be home.

Heavy footsteps thunk on the other side, and my chin wobbles. I feel the vibrations of a lock sliding sideways before the door is pulled open, almost taking me with it.

I straighten and lift my head, squinting into a pair of russet eyes from beneath the shield of my soaking hood—years etched in the fine lines pinching the corners of the man’s narrowed stare. A fine blue garb hangs loosely off his shoulders that are broad, despite his slight form, his face long and sharp, hand gripping a lantern that’s casting warm light across his tawny, freckle-dusted skin.

Behind him, an array of plants hang in planters, nest on wall shelves, and are eloquently piled atop a table in the center of the room.

No sign of Gun.

Panic pounds my chest in deep, crushing blows …

Perhaps this was a bad idea—perhaps I should have tried some of the other plant stores I passed on the way.

The man looks past me, left and right, rusty brows pulling together. “Are you lost?”

Maybe.

Swallowing, I use my free hand to push back my hood. I’m not sure what he sees in my eyes, but all the color saps from his cheeks, making his freckles stand out in stark comparison. He turns, his voice bellowing through the room. “Gunthar!”

Relief compresses my lungs. Almost buckles me.

There’s the sound of a door swinging; heavy footsteps thumping. Gun steps into the spill of lantern light, pinching the gold buttons into place on his dark blue tunic, eyes widening as he casts his gaze across my face. My hands. My bare and bloody feet.

“Orlaith ...”

I’m not sure why, but the sound of my name on his sturdy, familiar voice makes my eyes sting.

He grips me by the arm and pulls me out of the cold.