Chapter 53

Ithread between the pedestrians walking the esplanade, my cap pulled down low enough to cover my eyes.

The shadowed dents beneath them.

I frown, thinking of how I slept all day, only to wake feeling more tired than I was when I crawled into bed at dawn.

My thoughts turn to Kolden’s absence; my disappointment at finding a stand-in guard when I peeked out the door, putting a stop to any midnight tunnel digging without drawing suspicion. But with one plan thwarted, I’d quickly made another: to sneak out once my evening meal had been cleared away. A meal I rarely indulge in due to my lack of desire to be poisoned to death.

With feet planted on the Bulbs and Botany welcome mat, I retrieve a big, soft parcel from my knapsack. Zane’s cloak—wrapped in a piece of sparkly gold material taken from the underskirt of one of my gowns I’ll probably never wear, complete with a curtain-string bow and a note tucked into one of the breast pockets:

I rap my knuckles against the door, then dart down the esplanade that weaves around the shore, shops and people growing more sparse the closer I get to Gael’s shorefront community.

The street ends at a pair of ornate gates, a stern-looking security guard standing sentinel in the light from the lantern hanging at the entrance.

Whistling a tune, I nod in his direction, push my hands into my pockets, and turn to walk the perimeter, scoping the seemingly insurmountable wall beneath the curve of my hat. The well-lit path veers to the right, and I see a tree that’s woven up the side of the wall like a parasite.

That’ll do.

Glancing over my shoulder to check I’m alone, I swing myself up, teeth gritted when the rough bark bites into my blistered fingertips. Pulling myself onto the ledge, I drink in a blow of sea breeze, then crouch amongst the foliage to peer down at the ornamental houses and quiet streets. Such a contrast to the bustle of town.

Some of the houses are brightly lit from within—a sure sign that people are home for the evening, and I realize with a twinge of trepidation that I could easily be seen.

Clusters of trees hug the wall’s interior, branches sweeping the top, offering me some protection from the flickering lantern lights dotted at regular intervals. I scurry toward the first, pausing amongst the leaves, heart hammering as I hug a branch and spot the familiar glass and stone façade of Gael’s home not too far ahead.

I take a deep breath and peel from my cover, slinking into a shadow between lanterns, then another, and another. Looking down onto their manicured backyard, I see a bloom-speckled lattice bolted to the wall, excitement zapping through my veins in hot bursts.

Almost there.

With a final scan of the quiet streets, I dart into the lantern light, drop to my knees, and clamber down the lattice, leaping onto a thick, spongy bed of well-tailored grass, its blunt tips shoving between my toes as I dash behind a bush.

I scan the vast windows of the opulent home. Remember Gael telling me her room is on the top floor—four stories up.

I see with relief that it’s the only one brightly lit.

“Must be hers,” I whisper, tiptoeing closer.

I just need to see with my own eyes that she’s okay, then I can pull this thorn of dread from my heart.

Taking a moment to scan the neighborhood, I ease my knapsack over my head so it’s secure against my back, then grip hold of the drainpipe, ignoring the deep throb pecking at my clavicle as I haul myself up, scaling it like a ladder. I lift onto her window ledge and inch toward the opening plagued by the gray, gauzy curtain frolicking at its entrance.

Peeling it back, I peek inside.

The riot of colorful clutter warms my heart, and I immediately know it’s Gael’s room.

I smile at the array of vibrant scarves draped over her four-poster bed, the blown glass sculptures in all colors of the rainbow decorating every flat surface, and the assortment of rugs spread across the floor—none woven with less than three bright colors. Various bits of art hang on the walls, mostly abstract or nature scenes that remind me of the tiny orchard we visited.

The place she once shared with her papa.

My gaze is lured to a large piece hanging above her writing desk, so unlike the other pictures.

This one is a painting of people.

Of Gael—aureate curls a cropped swirl around her face while she beams one of her intoxicating smiles—held in the arms of a man dressed in a gray robe.

I drag a shuddering breath, gaze transfixed on the man’s hairless head. On the upside down v etched into the spot between his eyes.

Memories flash, loud and boisterous, gouging their claws into the gnarly scars on my heart …

A big man walks toward me and the boy. His head is shiny, and there’s one of those wood-cutting things hanging from his hand. I think it’s called an axe.

Why is there red stuff dripping from it?

“No …” I whimper, the word barely audible past the clog in my throat as that memory continues to hack and hack and hack …

“Get out of the way, kid. Mercy is not preserved for those who stand against the stones.”

The boy runs forward with the sharp thing held above his head. His scream stands out the most ... until Mommy makes a louder sound at the same time the axe is swung.

He stops.

I push to my feet, try to follow ...

Watch him fall.

Watch the light leave his eyes.

I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t stop staring at his big, bright smile—much the same as Gael’s.

A man who loved his daughter. Who climbed fruit trees with her and gave her all of her best memories …

Then took my brother from me.

I stumble back a step, my foot sliding off the edge of the windowsill, hand whipping out to snatch hold of the drainpipe before gravity can land her deadly blow. I slam against the wall, a pained sound slipping free.

“Hello?”

Gael …

There’s a small sniffle, then, “Is someone there?”

Her voice comes at me from inside the room, shoving me into action.

Teetering somewhere on the precipice of losing myself entirely, I scurry down the pipe, body and mind trapped beneath a shroud of numb oblivion.

I barely feel the pain in my raw fingertips as I climb up the lattice. Barely notice where I’m placing my hurried footsteps as I negotiate the wall; barely feel the shock that ratchets through my legs when I leap off the tree from halfway down, landing in a crouch on the esplanade below.

I dash through the streets, pausing on the outskirts of the busy market square where I lean against a wall amongst a swirl of people, the chaos and smells nothing but a haze on the fringe of my new reality.

There was a kinship with Gael—like our threads ran unnaturally deep for the short amount of time we’d known each other. The sort of bond I’d imagine sisters would have.

Now I know why.

We’re sisters in death—both victims of the same tragic end that changed our lives forever. Took from us the people we loved most.

Her papa took my brother from me. I took her papa from her. In a way, I took her mother, too.

Took her naïvety. Her childhood.

How will I ever be able to look her in the eye again?

* * *

The world is spinning—churning around me in a blur of black and light. Face tipped to the drizzling sky, my hands wobble around like tentacles.

“I’m a jellyfish riding the ocean!” I giggle, moving my hips and my arms and twirling on the ball of my foot. “I’m freeee …”

I stamp my heel down, and I think my body stops, but my mind keeps going round and round and round.

“Wow,” I mutter, dropping.

Dropping …

My knees crack against the stone, and a bubble of laughter pops from between my numb lips that still taste like cinnamon and cloves and rich, merry things.

I smack my tongue against them …

So many merry things.

“Damn, I taste good.”

Clambering to my feet, I battle gravity as it tries to tip me to the side again. I don’t want to be down, I want to be up. I want to be high above the sky, dancing with the stars …

I swirl again, around and around and around, before slamming my foot to the ground and peering down the tight alleyway to the bright blur of babbling merriment churning beneath the twinkly mail tree.

I need more wine.

It takes me a flurry of unsteady steps before I realize I left my bag atop the wooden crate I was drinking by, including my coins. Probably my dignity, too.

My shoulder knocks into something hard, and the entire alleyway rocks to the side.

“What the fuck, boy!”

My arm is snatched, and I’m spun so fast I giggle, catching a glimpse of a tall, scruffy male. I somehow manage to dodge the meaty fist that comes barreling toward my face with a swift arch of my spine. Impressive, considering my current circumstances.

The man snarls, sparking me full of reckless thrill.

I twist my body and rip away, then dance back, hopping from foot to foot, weightless like a mail sprite as I size him up.

I whistle low.

He’s big. Huge even—dressed like a sailor, arms tree trunks and his weather-worn face twisted with fiery wrath as he sneers at me.

But right now … I’m bigger.

I’m a fucking giant.

“Come on then, big guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.” I gesture for him to take another swing, but as he begins winding his arm back, my stomach lurches—violently.

“Wait!”

To my surprise, he does.

The back of my hand slaps against my mouth as my insides rebel against the jug of mulled wine that’s threatening to spill all over the ground between us.

I hold up a finger. “Two seconds, just … let me work through this.”

Breathing deep, I wrestle the cramping surge, swallow the excess saliva pooling beneath my tongue, and stand. “Apologies. That was inconve—”

Gravity knocks my knees out from under me, pulling me sideways, and I stumble, crashing against the merciless cobbles, letting them take my grueling weight as I lump myself back, feeling my hair spill around me.

Actually, this is probably better. I’m much less wobbly down here. And I weigh less.

My hat is no longer on my head, allowing me to look up at the sky from the ground. Rain sprinkles my face, and I open my mouth to catch some on my tongue.

Footsteps thud close, and my gaze rolls down to the meaty sailorman now standing between my wide-open legs, loosening the ties on his trousers with frenzied hands.

His pupils are dilated with a sick sort of excitement that makes me want to vomit again.

“Poke that thing at me, and you’ll lose it.”

My slurred words don’t stop him from ripping at his seam, nor do they swipe the leer from his face.

Strong hands thread around the sides of his head, whipping it with a sickening crack that ratchets through me. His limp body is tossed aside like it’s made of air, exposing a broad man sheathed in the shadow of his cloak—a too-familiar sword poking over his shoulder.

I groan, rubbing my eyes, and breathe a sigh of relief when I see that he’s gone.

Must have been imagining things.

That’s nice.

I roll, shove onto my hands and knees, looking sideways at the sailorman passed out on the ground with his head tipped at an impossible angle.

“That looks uncomfortable. You’re going to wake with a real crick in your neck.” I stagger to my feet, looking down on him. “That’s what you get, you big dickhead.”

I stumble toward the busy market square, realize I once again forgot my coins, and spin on my heel. The world keeps turning, and I topple backward, caught by unyielding arms that sweep me off my feet. Not in the romantic way I’ve read about in my romance books, but like a dead body—arms hanging and head tipped back so I’m looking at the world upside down.

I groan, strain my neck forward, and glance up at a scruffy black beard that looks so soft from this angle. “Ugh.” I let my head fall back again. “You.”

“Yes, Milaje.” Rhordyn begins walking, the world bumping by with each thump of his steps. “Me.”

The word hits like it’s spoken from between gritted teeth.

“You know what I don’t appreciate? Your—”

“Tone,” he finishes, and I frown, wondering how long I can manage this angle before I vomit mulled wine up my own nose.

“And your arms. I’m a graceful jellyfish, and you’re fishing me out of the sea.”

“Yes,” he mutters. “Very graceful.”

Aw, a compliment. Perhaps I should repay the favor.

Straining my neck, I lift my head again, gulping down the view of his profile. “You’re a very pretty man. Even with all this hair on your face. Actually …” I bat my hand up, only slapping him in the jaw a little in my effort to brush my fingers through the softness there. “Especially with this hair on your face.”

I stop just short of telling him I’ve pictured how it would feel between my thighs.

More than once.

Barely dropping his chin, he looks down at me, slicing me with his silver stare, and I feel that look in my chest.

Ugh. Feelings.

I don’t want those right now.

I let my head flop back, arm tumbling to the side as I sigh. “Why are you here, Rhordy?”

“My indifference is just as lethal as my affection,” he murmurs, the smoky words drifting from my grasp the moment they ignite.

“Lethal for who?”

The world continues to thump past.

“You.”

“You’re not making any sense,” I slur, hearing his lucid response moments before I slip into a thick sludge of sleep …

“Good.”