“Call me that again, and—”
“You’ll run to your cave and grab your fucking apple?” Remo spit. “Good luck trying to shove it down my throat.”
I laid my palm at the base of Remo’s taut spine. “He’s your ticket out of here, Kingston. You feed him the apple, you will never see the outside of this prison.”
A pulse point in Kingston’s neck throbbed. “I call dileshit. If Remo had come to free me, we wouldn’t have had to fight off tigri.”
Remo’s mouth curled in that signature smirk of his, the one he used to toss my way. “Is that what you were doing? Fighting?”
Kingston rubbed his mottled neck. “To think I was going to make you wariff. You can forget about having any position in my government after this.”
I stuck one hand on my hip. “Your government? And which government is that, Kingston?”
Kingston shot me another syrupy smile. “Why, the one I’ll inherit from your father, Amara. Why do you think I was kept alive?”
“Except Remo’s my fiancé, which means Gregor has no use for his puppet.”
His smile flickered like a faulty faelight as he absorbed my news. In the end, he spit out, “I’m no one’s puppet, niece.”
“That’s not the rumor circulating around Neverra.”
“Because rumors are always true?” He tsked. “I thought you a tad smarter than the caligosubi, Amara.”
Caligosubi was a term used to mean those who lived below the mist. Now that the mist was gone, it was considered slanderous, and faeries who used it were either fined or their dust was confiscated by the Hunters. Not that Kingston cared about decorum or political correctness; he was as vile and malicious as they came.
“If you weren’t his puppet, then why did Gregor lock you inside this place?”
“Because I asked him to.”
I frowned. “You mean to tell us you knew about this place?”
“Can’t call yourself a leader if you don’t know what your subordinates are up to.”
Was that a jab at my father?
Remo picked up the machete and tossed it from hand to hand. “No leader would ever voluntarily enter a place they can’t exit. At least, not a smart one.”
Kingston’s Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat. “Maybe I can exit. Maybe I’ve chosen to stay.”
Remo raised a brutal grin. “You’re choosing to remain in prison? Please . . . You’re under my grandfather’s thumb, Kingston. Even if the idea to elude death was yours, you obviously didn’t think your plan through real well.”
“What part of me having the apple did you not get, Farrow?”
“Will you be threatening me with your little fruit for the duration of our visit? Because it’s already getting old.”
Should we be pressing my uncle’s buttons? I have dust, I reminded myself. Dust he’d either failed to notice or deemed useless.
Annoyance contorted Kingston’s face, accentuating the welts. “Fine. Don’t take me seriously. It’s your funeral.” A smile formed at the edges of his mouth. “Or Amara’s.”
“You touch her, and you’ll wish for a taste of your fucking apple.”
Kingston’s smile was still turning into a grin when Remo’s machete flew through the air, handle over blade, and struck his skull. His eyeballs flared in shock right before bursting into dust along with the rest of his body.
As the blood-soaked weapon thudded against the sand, Remo said, “We need to find that apple.”
“Or I can gas him when he comes back.”
Remo’s bare, sweat-slickened chest puffed with heavy breaths. “What if you can’t asphyxiate him down here?”
“Then we’ll find the apple.”
He pillowed my cheeks between his bloodied palms, and even though they smelled like death, I leaned into his touch. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Amara. I promise.”
“I know.”
He brought his mouth down hard on mine as though to stamp that promise into my flesh.
35
New Clothes
We’d finished hanging the various cuts of tigri meat on the nearest tree when Kiera came to tell us dinner was ready.
“Dinner?” I flicked my gaze to the bright sky. “What time does the sun set?”
“It doesn’t.” Her eyebrows drew together. “How have you not noticed this? You’ve been through other cells, right?”
“We have.” I glanced at Remo. “But we were locked in the windowless basement of an inn—”
“An inn? How fancy . . .” Her dreadlocks bled water into her top, which looked clean-ish.
Remo frowned. “Did you not go through the cell that looked like Rowan?”
“No one goes through the same cells.”
“What sort of cells did you go through?” I asked.
“Quinn and I got a Jurassic Park themed one. Then there was the frozen lake cell.” Her mouth hooked to the side in thought. “The Honey I Shrunk the Kids one where we were the size of ants. Oh, and the landmine one. That one was especially annoying. I think Quinn got blown up six times and me four before we made it to the train.” She shuddered. “Oh, and the cell with the shipping crates that fell from the sky was quite memorable.”
“So five cells?” That was one more than us.
“Five?” She snorted. “More like fifteen. How many did you go through?”
“Four.”
“Lucky you. Almost as lucky as Cruz. He reached this one in three.”
“How is this number determined?” Remo asked.
“Your grandfathers built this place. How is it you guys don’t know how it’s rigged up?” Her suspicious gaze raked over us.
“Neither of us even knew it existed until we got here,” I admitted.
“So you didn’t come to break us out.” It wasn’t a question. “I knew you two were lying.”
I displayed the bracelet on my wrist. “These are called Infinities. They’re powered by our pulse and used for everything, including tracking. However, whatever jams our powers here jams the band’s electromagnetism.”
“So, what you’re saying is: it’s useless?”
I looked toward Remo. “Not useless, per se. The only reason for the band to stop broadcasting is if the wearer dies. We’re hoping our parents won’t jump to that conclusion and will launch an investigation.” I sighed. “And if that fails, your brother knows where we are. Hopefully, he’ll tell someone he sent me here.”
Although the lines of her body remained hard as ice, her sapphire eyes seemed to glow a little brighter. “The number of cells is determined by how you cope with the tests thrown at you and how many times you die.” Was answering Remo’s question a peace offering to thank us for giving her hope?
“How come neither you nor Quinn ever ate the apple?” he asked.
She stared at the jungle, her eyes a little unfocused. “Gregor warned us about it before tossing us in here. It was his only warning.”
“A practical one, at least,” Remo said.
Her dark blue eyes slammed into Remo. “I really really don’t like your grandfather, Remo, so if you’re going to be defending him—”
Remo raised his palms. “That wasn’t me defending him, Locklear; that was me stating a fact.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t look convinced. “Anyway, you might want to get cleaned up before dinner. You both stink.”
Frank, much?
“Kingston mentioned extra clothing in the caves we could borrow,” Remo said.
She nodded. “I’ll drop some off at the beach for you.”
As she turned, Remo asked, “Is Kingston back?”
“He is. And with more bites.” A diminutive smile tugged at her lips. But as fast as it had appeared, it was gone. “He has the apple, so be careful.”
“He mentioned it a few times,” I said.
She drummed her fingers against a trunk the color of wet clay from which hung the chops of tigri, swinging among the odorous panem leaves. Even though I’d always enjoyed the
doughy taste of the leaves, the mere smell was turning my stomach.
Remo jolted his chin to the pelt strung up to a vine. “What should we do with the fur?”
“You killed the tiger, so it’s yours to keep, just like its claws and fangs.” She stared toward the heap of bones. “Oh, and chop off a piece of yellow aloe.” She patted one of the curly yellow plants. “The sap makes for great soap.”
I walked over to one and snapped a stalk. A golden, gel-like substance oozed between the leathery skin. “Thanks, Kiera.”
My gratitude gave her pause. She didn’t acknowledge it, though, simply ducked beneath a liana and left.
We took turns bathing. I sensed that until Kingston was dealt with, and by dealt with, I meant killed, we’d be taking turns doing a lot of things.
While Remo rinsed the pelt, using some of the golden gel to wash it, his gaze roved over the curve of tropical plants rimming the beach, over the tree from which hung another chopped-up carcass. On the summer and winter solstices, it was a Neverrian tradition to tie glass ornaments and ribbons to calimbor branches. If I squinted hard, I could almost mistake the slick, dangling meat for solstice decorations.
I squeezed some aloe from a stalk and walked until my body was submerged to my chin, then dipped my head back and rubbed the gel into my hair. The smell of sunshine and honey curled around me, soothing and sweet. I returned to the beach for more aloe that I slicked over my suit and arms, then dove in, unzipped my suit and peeled it off. After a thorough scrub, I tossed it on the beach, then attacked the rest of my skin.
“Remo, can you hand me the clothes Kiera dropped off?”
He strolled toward the low branch from which drooped a gray T-shirt and shorts for me, and a cream top with a pair of dark jeans for him. He slung his pelt to dry, then grabbed the clothes, dumping his on the beach before fording into the water with mine. Pressing one arm over my boobs, I rose.
His Adam’s apple jumped as his darkened gaze dipped to the glistening swells of my breasts. I pried the T-shirt from his locked fingers and single-handedly pulled it over my head. Once the fabric covered my torso, I lifted my hair out of the neck hole.
His eyes slowly returned to mine. “You don’t have scales here.” His voice was so hoarse it raised goose bumps on my damp skin.
“Is that what you were looking for so intently? My scales?”
His jaw flared with heat, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes?”
I grinned. “Your lying skills need some improvement.”
He shot me a rueful smile, then extended the shorts. Once I took them, he turned around and treaded to the beach. The smattering of stains on the faded denim made me sigh. It was either that or my wet suit, though, and dry won over appealing. I walked out of the water, then quickly speared my legs through and buttoned them up. They hung dangerously low. Although wet, I grabbed my makeshift belt, wrung it out, and stuffed it through the belt loops.
“Can’t believe you didn’t even peek,” I said as I circled him.
He smiled down at me, his jaw still a little pink under a streak of feline gore. “I was afraid you might punch me.”
Even though he smelled of sweat and blood, I stood on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his crooked mouth. “I wouldn’t have.”
“Now you tell me?”
For a moment, as he gazed down at me, I forgot about Kingston, about the Scourge, about our useless Infinities. But then his gaze snapped to the tree line, and his arm hooked around my waist, twirling me behind him. The reminder that this wasn’t a vacation crashed through me as thunderously as the curtain of water at my back.
Hidden behind his broad body, I pulled my dust out and shaped a weapon, then whispered, “I made a wita knife.”
He reached one hand behind his back, and I slipped the golden hilt into his palm.
A man finally emerged from the dense shrubs, and it wasn’t Kingston.
Cruz froze at the sight of us. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was hoping for a bath before dinner.”
The sigh I expelled raised goose bumps along Remo’s shoulders. I extracted my knife from his fingers and made it vanish. “You’re not interrupting anything,” I called out, stepping around Remo.
“Amara, go sit on the rocks over there. I don’t want you out in the open.” He nodded to the jumble of boulders at the base of the rock wall.
“Can’t exactly guard you from all the way over there.”
He stroked the inside of my wrist. “Kingston would have to swim to get to me.”
“Not if he dips an arrow inside the apple and shoots it at you.”
His eyebrows folded over his eyes. “I don’t think . . .” He swung toward Cruz, who was walking into the water fully clothed. I wasn’t sure if he’d kept his pants and shirt on for my sake or because it made doing laundry swifter. “Hey, Vega, how does the apple work?”
Cruz juggled his stalk of yellow aloe between his hands. “What do you mean?”
“Do you have to bite into it and swallow a chunk or can the juice kill you?” I asked.
He clutched the curled stalk so hard a drop of golden gel hit the surface of the pool. “A piece has to get into your system. Juice alone can’t kill you.”
Remo turned back toward me, relief ironing his brow. “Feel better?”
“I’ll feel better once he’s gone,” I whispered.
“Soon.” His thumb drifted to the middle of my tattooed palm and gave it a light squeeze. “Now go. And if you see your uncle, yell and jump into the water, okay?”
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I nodded and then treaded around the foaming crescent until I reached the boulders, climbing over one and onto another. When I felt perched high enough, I pressed my back against the smooth stone and finger-combed my hair, then plaited it while Cruz and Remo spoke in low tones, drowned out by the waterfall.
When I caught both glancing my way and the edges of Kingston’s name on Remo’s lips, I deduced Cruz was being filled in on what had happened earlier. Maybe Remo was looking for an ally, or maybe he was just warning my father’s best friend about our plan for my traitorous uncle.
Whatever they discussed was done surreptitiously and quickly. Before the wet patches on my new clothes had even dried, they were both stalking out of the water, naked. I flung my gaze down onto my pebbled thighs and picked at a thread in the hem of my shorts until large veined hands set on the stone, on either side of my bare feet.
“Just so you’re aware, I never mind if you feel like staring. As long as it’s at me, and not at Cruz.”
The tips of my ears burned.
Remo took a step back from the boulder and extended his arms. “Come, fiancée.”
I stood up, and although I could get down on my own, I braced myself on his shoulders to hop off. “Does he have any idea where Kingston hid the apple?”
“No. But he said he’d help me keep him away from you.”
I stared up into his bright green eyes. “And from you.”
“I’m your uncle’s ticket out of here, Amara. He might try to hurt me, but he won’t try to end me.”
I wanted his words to reassure me, but Kingston was a slippery man-child with a massive chip on his shoulder. To think I’d all but landed in his lap by coming here. “Did you tell Cruz about my dust?”
“No.”
“Because you don’t trust him?”
“Because he’d already noticed it. He asked if you could use it.”
“And you said yes?” We were standing so close that when he nodded, the tip of his nose grazed my forehead. “And?”
“He said asphyxiating him might work.”
I liked the sound of might, even though Remo’s inflection told me he didn’t.
“He also speculated that your blood might poison him if we manage to get some in his heart,” he murmured.
I shivered from his suggestion. “I’m scared, Remo.”
He pressed me against him. “I’m here, Amara. Right here with you.”
I
nestled my chin in the crook of his shoulder. “I’m not scared of Kingston,” I murmured against his honeyed skin. “I’m scared of failing. I don’t want him to end up in the mud field. I want him gone. For good. Forever.”
His hand threaded through my hair, tugging on my plaited strands, before he pressed a kiss to my temple. “When have you ever failed?”
I snorted. “If you want the full list of my failures, Sook knows each by heart. Just ask. He’ll be more than happy to share them with you.”
Sook. My heart thumped hollowly. How I missed him. Giya. Iba. Nima. Pappy. Nana Em. Nana Vee. I didn’t tell Remo how homesick I was, but I clutched him a little harder, because until someone came for us, he was my only piece of home.
36
The Caves
Our four cellmates were sitting around a campfire when Remo and I reached the caves—an elongated grotto bracketed by two parallel rows of shadowy recesses. Pockets of light beamed through crevices in the vaulted ceiling, illuminating a series of bone-and-soot sketches.
Unlike the simplistic images early humans had painted in their caverns, these drawings had been executed by someone of extraordinary talent. Someone, judging by the landscapes, who’d lived in Neverra. I stopped in front of the one depicting the Glades, admiring the intricate details of the stams that bobbed like giant lily pads atop the water and the tentacular roots of the volitors which dipped into the gleaming expanse.
Although Remo stayed by my side while I admired the murals, his attention was on the group, or more precisely, on the scowling brown-haired fae. Even through the pale smoke of the roasting leg of tigri, I could make out the mountains and valleys on Kingston’s skin. Kiera hadn’t been exaggerating when she said his welts were more abundant. His entire forehead was covered in lumps, his nose was deformed, and his chin stuck out like the steel-capped toes on the two pairs of boots swinging from Remo’s fingers.
“Cave one, six, seven, and eleven are taken.” Kiera pointed to the carved etchings above the arched passageways.
“Who sleeps where?” Remo asked.
Reckless Cruel Heirs Page 29
