Above the Ashen Clouds (Twisted Worlds #2)

30. Cat

Chapter thirty

Cat

H ow could that—brutally ripping me from his arms—be the end of my time in the Ashen Mountain? How could that be the last time I would be allowed to see Zariel? What were they doing to him? Was he safe? Was he in his wintery paradise, pouring over manuscripts, or was he hurt?

This was a nightmare, it had to be. I’d wake up at any moment.

… Right?

I cried and screamed as I was hauled out of the mountain, not caring that angels stopped and stared as I passed. I kept crying as the guard flew me through the ashen clouds, clutching me roughly against him. My gauzy robes caught on his armor, the edges cutting my skin. My ears popped from plummeting from such heights, the wind tossing my hair into snarls and knots.

My protests and howls ended up being a good thing—they hid the fact that the ash clouds didn’t burn me, not like they used to. Zariel’s magic, his gift to me, had worked. Mostly. The clouds were uncomfortable, but they no longer felt as if they were tearing my skin and setting it aflame. Without the magic of the interior of the Ashen Mountain to negate the effects of the ash, I was instead left with stings, as if I had merely received a hard slap. Zariel was right—I had his magic, but a weaker version of it.

There was no way I’d reveal our secret to them . I had a feeling that if I did, I’d never be allowed to leave.

“Here,” the angel said when we landed at the mountain’s base with a thud, just outside the ashen clouds. I squirmed out of the angel’s arms right as he practically tossed me on the rough ground. I caught my fall and squinted, staring at the bright morning sky for the first time in weeks. By now, the season had passed fall and turned to the drab of winter, which was mild compared to the weather of the Ashen Mountain. After a world that was nothing but snow and light, what surrounded me was overwhelmingly brown and gray. Yet the sun almost blinded me, my eyes blinking hard while they tried to adjust—I hadn’t been in direct sunlight for weeks. I was really back, wasn’t I? We were on a side of the mountain that didn’t connect to a road. I was near a brook, and thanks to the mountain dismantling a lot of the roads, I’d have a bit of a walk before I came across anyone. A lonely walk.

Something was wrong. What happened to the people who were supposed to be waiting for me?

“Here?” I asked, turning around.

The angel was already gone, flying back to the mountain and soon hidden by the clouds. For the first time since I left, I was truly alone. No Zariel, no angels, and no humans. There wasn’t even a pigeon to greet me. I crossed my arms, thankful that the angels’ clothing was warmer than it looked.

The High Artist lied. No one asked for me to come back, did they? That was just an excuse to make me leave. I turned to look at the mountain, which was nearly hidden by the ashen clouds. Zariel was in there, somewhere. He’d find his way to me, someday. I couldn’t worry, not now, not when I had to get home first. Even if the humans didn’t ask for me back, people would be looking for me by now. Silv would be worried.

I gripped my skirts, lifting the gauzy material out of the mud, and stepped forward, wincing as the wet soil soaked through my fabric flats. God, I hated wet feet. I hated it so much. And it was windy, far too windy. And I was dressed like I belonged in a nativity scene. I had my own problems—I couldn’t think of Zariel.

Zariel would be fine. Now that I was gone, the angels had no reason to be mad at him. He’d be left alone.

Right ?

Gadriel had seemed so smug when the High Artist announced that I was leaving. Gadriel likely knew about the High Artist’s plans, considering he was so far up the High Artist’s ass he was basically a feathery hemorrhoid. The ritual required seven deaths—could one of those be an angel? Surely, they’d use the other creatures in the prison, and not an angel—not that that was better, all things considered. But Zariel had been a pain to the High Artist. And there was still the fact that the High Artist had this plan in place at all—Zariel wasn’t just going to relax and let him do it. And they just happened to find a reason to send me away right as we figured so much out.

Maybe I was reacting over nothing. Maybe Zariel was fine. Lonely, but fine. Maybe the High Artist wouldn’t be able to do the spell at all and their plan was just talk. Zariel would go back to his manuscripts and scrolls and then he’d find me when he had the chance.

Right?

I stopped and closed my eyes, smelling the sweet decaying earth that came right before the heart of winter. There was nothing but the scent, the wind, and my self-imposed darkness. Gently, I touched the lower part of my stomach, tracing what I could not see. What would the rune tell me? Could it tell me anything? Behind me, from inside the mountain, I felt two different tugs against my heart. Two that were oddly close together, considering the height of the mountain and where Zariel normally stayed. Two that were surely below ground.

Fuck.

Without thinking, I turned around and rushed back to the silvery chaos, towards the Ashen Mountain. Desperately, I used the flimsy fabric to cover my face as I plunged into the ashen clouds. The clouds would burn and batter me, but I’d live. The fabric was thin enough that I could see, to a point—well enough to make it to a mountain at any rate. Mountains were hard to miss.

I had lost it. I had actually lost it. What if I was wrong? The rune may not work as well as we thought. The angels might find me and imprison me. Yet I kept walking, even as I hissed from the stinging ash, like thousands of mosquitos having their way with me. I had to keep going, because there were only two options that laid before me that I would accept—

Best case was that I’d leave the mountain again, knowing that Zariel was fine.

But, if I went in there and found anything else, there was no way I was going to leave Zariel to face this alone.