I fight the urge to open my mouth and scream—resist the temptation to draw an ill-fated breath. But then we’re surging forward, Kai’s powerful tail propelling us through the darkness and into the light.
Thud-ump.
Thud-ump.
Thud-ump.
My lungs burn, muscles bunching ...
We break the surface and I draw a gasping breath, reviving myself with big gulps of Kai’s scent. He bangs my back, forcing me to cough and splutter and heave against his chest until I’m certain I’m going to cough up a lung.
“Treasure? Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” I rasp, and he cradles me closer, keeping us afloat with the gentle back and forth of his hips.
Glancing around, I realize we’re well past the breakers, though the surface is still choppy enough to splash. The wind out this far is biting cold, and I shiver, teeth chattering, mind still whirling from the wave’s twisting might.
I nuzzle Kai’s neck again, letting my spent body wilt. Partially because I want to leech off his warmth ... mainly because I’m worried what he’ll see if he looks at me.
Will he notice my mask? Now that I know it’s there, it feels so blatantly obvious. Like it’s cracking in places, exposing who I am beneath.
The luster.
The ugly.
I just want to pretend everything’s okay. Like I’m not destined for that boat moored to the brittle dock just beyond my Safety Line, taunting me with its bobbing presence. I want to pretend I don’t have a blue and gold cupla hidden in my bag on the shore.
Kai threads a hand into my hair and grips tight. “You should not have come out this far by yourself, Orlaith. You know it’s not safe.”
I’m in too deep. It felt appropriate.
I almost say it aloud, but I don’t want to drag him down, too.
“I just needed to swim ...”
“In this weather?”
I close my eyes and shrug.
His chest vibrates, as if some great beast is trapped within its confines, shaking the bars of his ribs.
“You’re smarter than that. Who knows what could have snatched you up?”
“Perhaps that’s what I wanted?” My reply is instant.
Too instant.
He tugs my hair, forcing my chin high. “Open your eyes, Orlaith.”
A command laced with a powerful undertow impossible to deny.
My lashes sweep up and I peer into wild, seagrass eyes spilling so much wrath I almost flinch. But the moment our stares tangle, all that anger melts off his face, replaced by such a tender regard it stings the back of my eyes with a thousand pins.
“What’s wrong?”
The question probes my soul, making me shudder.
I love that he asks; that he cares enough to do it.
Not that it makes me want to answer.
He loosens his grip on my hair, and I tuck myself against his chest again. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
His lips skim up my neck, and he plants the next words straight in the shell of my ear. “Your lies don’t work on me, Treasure.”
I’m warmed by his gentle approach to my fib, like he’s chastising me in a loving way.
Still ... I pull deep draws of his salty scent rather than validate the statement with an answer. For not the first time, I wish I had gills so I could slip into his safety net forever. Wish there were some tonic I could take to wipe my memory, my emotions, and dissolve this crushing sense of obligation.
“I know.”
I dig my nose closer to his neck and breathe, his beat pushing against every inch of me, as if I’m deep inside the throbbing heart of the ocean.
“Then what is it?” he asks into the crook of my neck. “Gift me all your problems, Treasure. I’ll toss them in my trash trove.”
I tug back, seeing his handsome, heavy-lidded regard. “You have a trash trove?”
He shrugs a shoulder, lips curling into a half smile that flashes the sharp tip of his canine. “Anything for you.”
His grin is infectious, and I fold forward, wishing I could stay right here forever.
But the moment I close my eyes, those shadows rear up, and every drop of happiness falls right off my face.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I say past the lump in my throat.
I swear the ocean calms a little, like it’s listening in.
A long pause, and then; “I’m not going anywhere, Treasure.”
I bite down on a sob. Maybe he’s not ...
But I am.
Every footstep is a proclamation, like I’m staking war with the stone. There are no torches blazing my path down this staircase, the darkness almost too dense to breathe through, let alone see anything. But I’ve walked this staircase thousands of times.
Too many times.
I’ll probably walk it a thousand times more.
My grip tightens on the hooves, the stag’s sodden underbelly warming the back of my neck. The ground is slippery beneath my boots, and not just from the blood running down my body, wetting the floor, casting the otherwise stale air with the stench of death.
This deep below the castle, the walls seem to weep.
Perhaps they’ve seen too much over the years ... I know I have. My eyes are just as weary as my soul, but unlike these walls, I’m all dried up.
I come to a landing barred by a door with a small grate inviting a peek into the room on the other side—a little less obscure than the stone stairwell I just descended.
Balancing the animal on my shoulders, I clank the deadlock aside and kick the door. It swings open, rusted hinges protesting with a squeal.
The hairs on the back of my arms lift.
She’s looking, watching ...
I step into the holding chamber the size of Orlaith’s quarters, stone walls on three sides and strong, metal bars lining the other. A round shaft of silver moonlight shoots down from the high rooftop window, offering little reprieve other than to etch out the shape of the square room and to highlight the blood on my body, casting it black.
I let the stag slip off my shoulders, landing behind me with a wet thud. My hands drop to my sides, and I crunch them into fists, chin falling to my chest ...
My wrist feels too light.
You lied to me.
Her voice may have been fragile, but everything else was the opposite. Her upper lip was curled with hate, she had fire in her eyes, and she looked at me like she saw through my skin to the monster I am beneath.
Part of me was relieved—screamed for her to look deeper. To delve until she ripped herself on all my sharp bits. Perhaps then she’d see why I’m stuck in her orbit ... unwillingly. Why drifting too close would destroy everything.
But instead of looking, she told me to go.
Guess I should be happy.
I shake my head and sigh, knuckles popping, wishing I could pop the bubble on my fury just as simply. It’s knotted in my shoulders; my neck. It has claws dug into my back and my lungs and my fucking chest.
Stepping toward the bars, I look down at the chain bolted to the ground. It’s thicker than my arm, tugged taut, traveling straight to the roof where it’s threaded through a hole in the stone.
I grip it with both hands, lean all my weight back, and yank.
There’s a shuffling sound in the distance, a soft mewl as the length of chain wrestles me. But inch by stubborn inch I lug it through the hole, until sweat is dripping down my spine and there’s a mound of metal links coiled on the floor at my feet, rising to my waist.
I hook the chain on a prong protruding from the ground and let go, shaking my hands out, fighting for breath.
Always a battle. Not once has she made it easy on me.
The barred door has no lock. Just a deadbolt I slide across before kicking it wide. Turning, I look to my kill that has no blood left to spill.
I’m wearing it all.
I only meant to snap its neck—a swift and painless death. But then I heard the rip of flesh and muscle and sinew, and
the head came away from the rest of it, forcing me to leave the remnants of my wrath in the forest for the flies to feast on.
A deep growl rattles through the room.
“All right, all right ...”
Hefting the animal onto my shoulders, I charge into the cell that smells like shit and piss and dead things. Like feral, chaotic rage that has nowhere to release.
I make for the middle and drop the stag, looking at the ravaged thing, aware that I’m being watched from a blackened corner. “Your favorite, minus the head.”
Her only response is a low, animalistic rumble that riles me more than it should.
I look to the roof—to the sliver of moon I can see through the hole up there. “Don’t be like that. You know I hate it when we argue.”
No answer.
My attention drifts to chunks of stone scattered about the base of the far wall, and I huff. “Been having another go at that hole, I see?” Arching a brow, I look back to the pocket of shadows by the bars, straight into black eyes glazed by a lick of silver light. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
One blink and a slight tilt of her head. Other than that, I get nothing but silence.
Always the silence, never anything more.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Don’t choke it down too fast,” I mutter, storming from the cell. I slam the door closed, slide the deadlock into place, and unhook the chain—watching the entire length whip back through the hole so fast it sounds like I’m standing in the heart of a thunderstorm.
Bones pop and crack and crunch, things splat, and deep, satiated rumblings have me rolling my head from left to right before spinning toward the door.
Sometimes, I imagine that thing is far more perceptive than it really is, but it’s all a lie I tell myself.
I exit the holding chamber and pull the door shut, ascending stairs veiled in darkness so thick it feels like a second skin.
You lied to me ...
Yes, I did.
Orlaith hates the mask I forced her to wear. Message received loud and clear. There is no honor in my decision, but I’ll stand by it until I’m shoved in the ground. Would sooner tear the world apart than let them catch a glimpse of her luster.
If that makes me a monster in her eyes, well ...
About fucking time.
An outside picnic seemed like a good idea, except this thick, fluffy toast doused in butter and a smear of honey is failing to sweeten the bitter taste in my mouth. It’s the first solid thing I’ve been able to look at in days without my insides knotting, and I can’t even enjoy it.
I scowl, stuffing my mouth full, back to the wall and staring out across the courtyard veined with exposed roots that dig through the cracks in the pavement. They anchor an ancient oak to the center, almost entirely caged by three castle walls of black, the tree’s branches providing a relatively sheltered sanctuary. The opening looks out on a stretch of grass that gives way to Vateshram Forest—the dense foliage bathed in a dreary, gray light.
Not a single blade of sun has broken through the clouds in days.
Thunder bludgeons the sky, and my gaze rolls up.
“That was a loud one,” Kavan mumbles, pushing caramel hair from his pale blue eyes. He peeks between branches at the threatening clouds, face pinched in a frown.
Vanth grunts, not even bothering to look up from the spot on the ground he’s been staring at for the past ten minutes.
His long, wheaten hair is pulled back in a low bun, seemingly a common look for Southern males. His appearance is sullen; striking blue eyes overridden by thin lips constantly set in a half-scowl that gives him a sour look.
Both Bahari guards are leaning against the oak’s knotted trunk, garbed in dark blue tunics and battle-ready boots that rise to the knee, gold buckles polished to a high gleam. Carrying spears everywhere they go, they’re ever ready to dive into war, and I’m ever ready for them to leave me the hell alone.
Thing is, they have no idea how to lighten their steps, and they trudge after me—more likely to lure danger rather than frighten it away.
I can no longer lurk or go privately about my business. Every move I make is chaperoned. They even stand outside the door, close enough to hear me pee while I’m using the latrine.
I sigh, studying my toast half wrapped in the waxy material Cook packaged it with. It came accompanied with a forced smile that never met her eyes and only poured salt in my wound.
“Is that nice?” Vanth asks, eyeing my toast.
“You’d know if you hadn’t insulted Cook by telling her she undercooked the veal last night,” I say, but all I get in response is a grumbling slur of words that bring me more satisfaction than they should.
I’d usually be having breakfast with Baze at this time, a thought that sits like lead in my chest. Though it’s been a few days since I showed him the real me, I just can’t bring myself to face him.
No breakfasts, lunches, dinners, training ...
Nothing.
Baze knows full well how much I struggle with my identity. I air that frustration with him every morning. Bastard had the antidote this entire time and chose not to use it.
Real friends don’t do that to each other.
The guards mutter between themselves about how much they can’t wait to get back to the South, and I take another bite, anticipating Vanth’s question before it ruptures from his mouth.
“Weren’t we supposed to set sail yesterday?”
“I still have things to take care of, Vanth. I’m a very busy person, you know.”
I don’t bother mentioning my deep-seated fear of stepping over my Safety Line; a leap I intend on ignoring until I’m all out of avoidance tactics. I haven’t been shoved out the door yet, and I’m hopeful Cainon will send those ships ahead of my arrival—buy me a little more time to ease out of my shell.
“So far,” Vanth proclaims, pinching the bridge of his thin nose, “all you’ve done is pick flowers, plant flowers, debark a tree, shed a bramble of all its thorns, collect rocks, accost a gardener for seemingly doing his job, shave moss off a boulder, pluck fungi off a pile of horse shi—”
“That reminds me,” I interrupt, rummaging through my knapsack with my spare hand. “Those mushrooms need to be cured, but first I’ll have to collect some thermal water from Puddles. Fingers crossed I have an empty jar in here somewhere or I might have to dart back up Stony Stem ...”
They groan in unison.
“Found one,” I announce, waving it around. I shove it back in my bag along with the remainder of my breakfast, right next to the rock I finished painting in the early hours of the morning while I was struggling to sleep.
I smile to myself.
It’s the perfect addition to my wall—the final piece in my current reach. With so much unfinished business storming over me, this is something I can control.
This rock belongs in its home, but I can’t place it with those two at my back, nosing in on all my business.
I close my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and stand.
“We off again?” Kavan asks, lifting a lazy brow while Vanth stifles a yawn.
Perfect.
I’ve been luring them everywhere since well before sunup, darting up and down Stony Stem on several occasions to retrieve things I’d purposely forgotten. I even got them to carry a few rocks up my tower—ones I’ve been eyeing for a while but were too heavy for me to haul.
I’ve never heard two grown men grumble so much.
I should be nicer to them, but the way their eyes crawl across my skin when they think I’m not paying attention has sown a caustic seed.
“Yup. Places to be, things to do. You sure you two don’t want to just ... sit this one out? I can swing by and pick you up later. Maybe bring you both some of the servant’s gruel?”
They push off the tree, sighing in perfect, disgruntled symphony. “We’re coming.”
Damn.
“Lovely,” I lie, flashing a smile. It melts right off my face the momen
t I turn for the wooden door pressed in the wall next to me and tug it open.
They may be good at sticking to me like a bad smell, but I have one very special advantage ...
I know this castle like I should know the back of my own hand.
They don’t.
I stalk down a hallway that has no windows—only sporadic sconces that cut the gloom into fiery segments. It’s a special hall, harboring all sorts of secrets. It’s the precise reason I chose to sit where I did while I ate my unsatisfying breakfast.
Take that little door to my left, and it’ll lead you in a roundabout way to Puddles. Take those stairs to the right, the ones that shoot skyward in an almost vertical manner, and you somehow end up in the kitchen a level below ground.
Take this inconspicuous hall that splits off into a shadowed elbow—the one I’m taking right now—and you’re being twisted up by The Tangle before you even register you forked off in the wrong direction.
A smile cuts across my face and I break into a sprint, worming my way through the wiggly hall at a ferocious speed, only stopping once I hit a sharp bend; back pressed flat to the wall as I listen.
Footsteps thunder after me, and my smile grows.
Suckers.
Sprinting again, I take shadowed side tunnels and stairwells, backtracking several times in case their senses are sharp enough to track my scent. Finally, convinced I’ve thoroughly lost them, I skip down a well-lit hallway with nothing chasing me but blessed silence.
I may never see Vanth and Kavan again, and right now, I can’t find a single lick of empathy in my heart to care.
I should be concerned by that slap of realization. The fact that I’m not only adds to the growing pile of evidence I’m trying to ignore ...
I’m losing myself.
I walk, lighting torches, casting my art in a golden sheen that lifts some elements off the wall while digging others deeper into the rock.
When I first stumbled upon this place, the compulsion to embellish it was too much to ignore. It was dark, tucked away, abandoned.
Private.
I began painting, one stone at a time; a mural of tens, then hundreds, then thousands of whispers all pieced together.
To Bleed a Crystal Bloom Page 32
