Chapter 33
J A N E
I admit my weakness once we’re at the battlements of the castle, disappointed that I’m actually relieved. My legs are shaky from hours of being bound and hauled around, and my wrists throb where the rope has bitten into my skin, and I hope so badly I get to be freed, even if it’s to a cell.
The castle appears to sprawl along the coast. Unlike the Spiraling Stone, which towers above the jagged cliffs, this fortress is squat and solid, built with practicality in mind. Its wide walls end at the ocean, as if daring the sea to claim it.
I risk sitting up to get a better lay of the land once we pass through a large, thick archway, the teeth of a portcullis pointing down right at me until I'm officially within the castle’s walls.
Okay, free the sirens.
Whatever that means.
When no one barks at me to lie down, I can’t stop staring . Whereas Skull’s Row is a hot mess of humans, these ones are all dressed nicer, wearing the same black robes with an orange belt around their waists, the fabric evenly cutting off at their ankles. Sometimes, someone wears a white version.
There’s even red robes, and my jaw drops when I think back to Blackwell and his fire mage—we’re really in the Fire Isles, aren’t we?
Curiosity overtakes my exhaustion as I turn to get a better view. The wagon moves beneath a colossal, decorative archway that acts as another entrance to the even more inner circle, its surface wrapped with flames. The structure is breathtaking, carved from pale, almost luminous stone. It depicts two figures—men or women, it’s hard to tell—leaning against a massive circle at the apex of the arch. The fire that wraps around their sculpted forms is mesmerizing, licking up their bodies in continuous, living ribbons of flame.
Two fire mages stand in concentration at the base of either person, clearly in charge of ignition.
I can’t help but find that absolutely fucking interesting.
Is this what the rest of the world is like? Vastly different from where I’ve grown up. Well, now I want to know what somewhere like Belstead is like. Or the Huntswood.
Or across the Black Sea.
Pale stone, along with polished wood, seems to be what the majority of structures are made from here, most of the edges crisp and the streets clean. The castle is made of the same materials, with more angles and rounded rooms, a massive circular piece in the center with a tall, pointed roof, windows lining it in rows, a few birds flying off of it to really exaggerate how large it is.
I’m a little angry this place is so beautiful.
When the wagons finally stop within the castle’s inner courtyard, I notice the ocean stretching out behind the walls, a vast terrace ahead of me that one could reach after walking through a pathway made of arches. The entire opposite side of the fortress is open to the sea, the horizon vast and unbroken.
That’s one way to escape.
And the sirens are out there.
Is that where I need to go?
Can Melona feel me? Is she angry at me for being a naive child who believed what she was told? If she’s out there, and willing to help, I could literally just run for it and jump into the waters, fulfilling Cypress’s task in under a day?—
Stop trying to escape . You need to know where the sirens need to be freed from… the open ocean makes no sense.
Gods it’s hard to change my thought process. I’m so used to fleeing as my only source of fighting, always dipping out of outposts near Coalfell if people from Skull’s Row ever seemed to close.
I watch as Anya’s carriage is taken further down, our gazes connecting for the first time in hours , her expression blank but her eyes sharp, assessing everything around her.
It’s real, now.
She’s officially taken somewhere else.
My attention snaps to the commotion behind me when the guards falter, their postures stiffening as though bracing against an unseen force—looking further over my shoulder, I catch sight of a carriage that seems to drain the light from the air around it. Its construction is menacingly sleek, crafted entirely from a black so deep it swallows details. Even the metal framework seems painted, as though polished with darkness itself. The people bow low, heads dipping in synchronized submission as the carriage creaks past.
A hand clamps firmly on my shoulder, the grip rough and impatient, yanking me out of my trance. “Enough, Jane,” Blackwell’s voice growls. “You’ll have your day with Misery. Lucky you,” he says, his mockery clear.
I don’t reply and move forward as told.
“You have a lot less fire now,” he comments, a guard guiding me to a side entrance.
“I’m just tired of it all,” I reply, trying to lean into a meek personality, even letting my voice waver slightly. Is that too dramatic? Probably is.
“Oh, really? ”
“I’ve heard that hunters will sometimes wound an animal and chase it until it just gives up. I’m tired of running. So good job catching me.”
He has no idea of the undertones for me. And Misery can’t read that, and while I might be tired of running, it’s because I badly want to bring them all to their knees.
A strip of fabric is wrapped around my eyes before entering the castle, much to my disappointment. Don’t worry about that for now .
I need to be complacent.
The air changes as we step inside, cooler and tinged with the faint, earthy scent of stone. My ears prick at the steady cadence of Blackwell’s boots, accompanied by a chorus of obedient greetings, “Sir… sir… good evening, sir…” It’s a long fucking walk to wherever we’re going, and I just know Blackwell is probably getting hard at the idea of being so respected here. I don’t need to be well-traveled to feel the energy is different here than at the Spiraling Stone.
Blackwell is getting a taste of nobility .
Eventually, we hit so many stairs, all in a circle, the stony steps unrelenting in how many there are. Each turn feels like an eternity, the muscles in my legs burning until I falter.
Blackwell lets out an annoyed grunt. “Carry her,” he orders.
I’m chucked over a shoulder almost instantly, the pressure on my relatively empty stomach knocking the wind out of me, blood rushing to my head.
The unlocking of doors almost brings me relief, wanting to know what—I’m dropped back down on my feet, my knees buckling as the guard roughly grabs the rope around my arms to keep me steady.
Shoved forward, my body stiff as I worry I’ll hit something, until the fabric is ripped off of my eyes and finally everything is taken off of me.
The space is actually quite nice, far from the dungeon I was anticipating. It’s a circular room, and even has a hearth. A bed, with what looks like fresh linens. I raise my brows in confusion, shocked at all the amenities as there’s even a rug on the floor.
Only one window, though.
As soon as I step inside to maybe look out and see where I am, the door is shut behind me. I don’t bother turning around. The subtle click of the lock tells me all I need to know.
I’m alone.
For now.
It’s been at least two days.
The only person to visit me is a woman that goes by the name of Marissa. She’s a fanatic of Misery and probably thinks I’m royalty, and I bet would kill someone just to sniff his robe.
I already miss the noirs of Skull’s Row.
I spend every moment plotting, planning. Devising backup plans to backup plans. Trying to decide on how I want to behave. Do I let Jesper do whatever he wants, knowing that I’m only working to foil him, and that I can take advantage of the rule that Misery said I am to remain un-accosted? Or do I fight him because, again, I can’t be accosted?
It’s on the third, uninvited morning that I stare at the cold, tower window for the entirety of the day, eyes raw and reddened from crying as I miss everyone, and it truly hits hard I have no idea when I’ll see them again. What if freeing the sirens means once I’m across the waters?
For your family. For Soren’s sister, who has suffered more than you.
The bite of loneliness reminds me that Anya has to be feeling these terrible emotions even more than me, as at least this is an official bedroom. No doubt she’s in a cell; at least, I’d assume as much.
She needs me to keep my head straight.
I can do this; I know I can. I waited in Coalfell for all that time, didn’t I? Maybe I’m more like my father than I realize, in that we’re both extremely proficient in patience when it concerns the safety of others.
Patience doesn’t matter, though, when I have less than two weeks before whatever happens… happens . I need to take advantage of these people not knowing me or my behavior patterns. I need to act, and soon . My fingers find the spot on my neck— Cypress helped me. That has to count for something.
I’m jolted out of my miserable thoughts at the sound of my locks being undone. The heavy sound of a latch is lifted, the door finally opening.
Marissa saunters in with her tight smile, which fades as she looks at me with such perplexity it’s as if I’ve offended her. “Why do you cry? Is the food not to your liking? Has it given you a stomachache?”
My speaking is more controlled than normal, knowing that no matter what plan I create, being in good standing is my only way closer to Misery. “I am crying because I am not supposed to be here,” I gently say, trying to play the victim with her.
“You will provide Jesper with the lineage needed to rule in Morvock’s new world,” she says, almost too softly, as if I’m a child that doesn’t understand why wars happen. “If it’s the babies you’re worried about, they’ll be completely taken care of when you’ve offered your skin to Morvock.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, suppressing an exasperated groan. “I—suppose,” I let out, realizing empathy is not what I'll receive from someone who views me as lucky.
“Maybe you’d like some more tea,” she offers with exaggerated kindness.
I know exactly what that tea is. One sip of it, and my energy zeroes out as I become a shell of myself. It’s what they use when they want me to go anywhere or do anything, like take a bath. “Yes, that’d be great. I could use the forgetfulness,” I lie. I’ll just pour it out the window and let it trickle down the stone and then pretend to sleep.
It’s so funny, because when Soren first took me, I was willing to fuck my way out of this. Now, that thought feels so juvenile and repulsive. I want to interact with everyone here as minimally as possible.
It’s like something in me knew he was my person.
Time blurs once more as Marissa fetches my tea, only to once again swiftly leave the amber liquid sitting so peacefully in the white teacup. As soon as the footsteps fade away, I move to the window to dump the tea. As I slowly do it, so it’s not pouring down in case it were to drip on something or someone, I lift my gaze to stare at the vastness of the ocean that my tower overlooks.
The doorknob jiggles, and I press the teacup to my lips and start to drink the tiniest sip so it might be on my breath. I’m surprised when I see Jesper, his presence drenching the room in discomfort.
This is nothing like Soren. I hate everything about this at such a deep level that I can’t even express it.
“You drank your tea?” he asks, eyeing me curiously—almost suspiciously.
“It’s better than having someone sit on me, pinch my nose, and nearly choke to death on it. Which seems to be a common tactic around here.”
“You are abnormally compliant,” he remarks, shutting the door. He’s dressed in very formal attire, his black doublet custom-tailored and striking, with what looks like gold stitching. His dark wool trousers are tucked neatly into knee-high boots, the smallest sword at his hip.
Pompous.
“The tea is supposed to make you groggy, dull the sharpness of you. Not add compliance,” he retorts, a smile in his eyes as if he’s cornered me.“I’m highly suspicious of you.”
I walk to the edge of the bed to sit, bringing my knees together to rest the empty cup on them. “Alright, fine. Maybe I’m behaving . I’ve seen plenty of kidnappings. Haven’t seen a single outburst that ever saved someone.”
He steps forward, and I watch him carefully as I swear he hasn’t even blinked yet. “Morvock cannot read you,” he states.“Which just makes this all the more confusing.”
“That’s a problem for himself,” I say, knowing the tea is supposed to have an effect on me soon. “He’s already examined me. Said it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to, in order to use me.”
Jesper walks in front of the dwindling fireplace, hands tucked confidently in his pockets. “Should we use your friend? Carve her up? Maybe that’ll get you to reveal your true self.”
Don’t show it. Don’t show any attachment. “For a feast? Are you cannibals, too?”
He narrows his eyes, annoyance clear as day on his face. “I can’t tell if you pretend to be cold, or if you just are.”
“There is a draft,” I say, waving my hand around the room, my eyebrow perking for a moment as if to indicate the joke.
He doesn’t laugh; doesn’t even blink or move a damn muscle. At least Bones might have entertained me. Soren would have snorted at the very least.
This is all wrong.
“Well, to test the theory on if you are hard-hearted, or pretending to be… I have something to show you,” he says, like he’s conducting a very swift transaction. “You see, I have a lot to gain in taming you… but I don’t understand you at all. So, I’ll work with what I know best— fear .”
“If you insist,” is my resigned reply.
He motions for the open door, swinging his hand toward it. I point to myself, still not seeing anyone other than a guard.
“Yes, rise and walk out.”
My shoulders fall, dreading whatever the hells is going to happen. “Not going to tie me up?” I ask, although the weariness in my voice is palpable.
“If you drank that tea, it shouldn’t be a problem,” he quips, his dark eyes hoggishly gleaming.
My heart races and skips multiple beats as I stand, loathing uncertainties.
Jesper takes a step toward me, his eyes wild and primal. “Every single person on this island has been briefed that if they see you unaccompanied by either Morvock, myself, or Blackwell, to immediately apprehend you.” He nears the threshold, his body moving before he takes his gaze off of me. “I want you to realize how I don’t need to wrap you up to keep you here. Morvock insists your compliance is something to be cultured . Which means you don’t have to fake that you drank the tea.”
“I didn’t?—”
“ Don’t ,” he warns. “We can see you pouring it out.”
My heart races, and I want to stab him right in the back for that. My nostrils flare as it’s hard to agree and walk through that threshold willingly. Where would he want to lead me? Will it be to Anya, strung up and bloodied? Or someone else? What if they have Kathleen? Or someone else entirely?
The image of a mangled Soren barely clinging to life nearly makes the room go black as I stand and step forward. Picturing his muscled body as nearly lifeless, displaying the scars I’ve learned to trace in the dark gets me to move, because I’ll do absolutely anything to keep him alive.
We descend the stairs that must be two to three stories in height, two landings giving reprieve for the person climbing up them, with bright windows making it almost inviting. It’s a walled-in stairwell, and when we reach the bottom, the ceilings are immediately taller, the walls expanding out for more breathing room.
Oh, I’m not blindfolded.
Don’t draw attention to that. Just observe casually.
As we pass by each window, I can smell the mist of the ocean. Everyone watches us, as if I’m a legend they’ve all heard of but took bets on if I exist or not. It’s a sea of humans dressed in the same black robes, except everyone in here bears a fire insignia on their chest, whether through embroidery or metal.
Our descent is like moving through an expensive labyrinth—full of tapestries, paintings, rugs, unnecessarily gorgeous sitting spaces, and so much cabinetry. After an absurd amount of stairs, it’s clear we’ve descended to the level of the ocean, my legs already shaking from the exertion. There’s even a lovely sitting area with a piano overlooking the ocean. We pass by it right before entering a darker hall.
Even still, we go deeper.
I numb myself to the best of my abilities as he guides us to somewhere underneath the soil. At least, I assume we are underground, as there are no more windows.
There’s something I don’t like about that.
Finally, the stairs seem to end as we enter what appears to be a rounded corridor, only to realize to our right is a stream of deep, free-flowing water. It’s like a giant stone pipe that’s double my height, like how a bottle would look if filled a fifth of the way and tilted on its side, and we’re walking on the side of it, the ceiling encompassing us, too. Fire sconces light everything we see.
There’s even a wooden board with keys hanging on it, like the idea of someone breaking in here is preposterous.
“We call these tunnels the veins of the castle. We collect water from the ocean here, like a giant pipe. We boil it in massive cauldrons to use as fresh water, and we use the remaining salt for various things,” he casually informs me. There are many inlets with elevated floors, and in one is a giant pile of salty chunks. He nears it, licks his finger, and runs it along one before giving a disgusting, languid swipe with his tongue. “Mm. That metallic, oceanic edge is something the inlands don’t know what they’re missing. Wouldn’t you agree, Jane?”
Oh, no. He’s crazy. “Yup,” I stiffly reply. “That’s what I always say.”
He sighs, like we missed out on a good bonding moment, stepping out and holding an arm out down the tunnel. “Let’s carry on.”
The path is well-lit with many candles on the floor, melted wax forming uneven piles, every bit of flickering light dancing across the stone ceiling.
It’s just us down here, which is quite nice for infiltration, but also very unnerving at the implications that anything could happen. When we round a corner, the tunnel curves as we walk alongside it, passing a small bridge to cross to the other side.
The inlets now have iron bars in front of them.
I don’t like this?—
My jaw drops, and I nearly gasp when I see what’s inside one of them. I stare at the image as if it surely cannot be real. And yet, one of the tails flops, splashing water.
Sirens.
Every one of them has a fat, black metal collar on their neck, connected to a heavy chain that’s unforgivingly bolted to the wall. Their striking, scaly tails rest in the water that’s fed from the main tunnel, all sitting on edges, their chains too short to allow them inside . Many wooden buckets rest on the edges with them.
One siren uses a bucket to dip into the salty pool, leaning forward as far as the chain will let her. A long, thin arm outstretches to fill it, then pours it on herself, focusing on her gills.
“The sirens,” Jesper begins, whispering in my ear as a few of the oceanic creatures look our way. “Are positioned just far enough from the water that only their tails can dangle in it. But they have been generously given buckets to splash water on themselves, as you saw,” he says with a smile in his voice. “We’re not terribly cruel, if we don’t have to be.”
I can’t breathe.
In the corner, closest to the bars, is a siren with gray skin and hair so blonde it’s nearly white, the usual wet strands totally out of place with how dry they are.
Melona .
Her gaze holds me hostage; those nearly black eyes widen as she stares at me like she sees a ghost. Her high cheekbones only add to the drama of her expression, broad lips parting to reveal her sharp teeth.
No emotion—don’t show anything.
I owe Cypress for giving me that privacy.
“I’ll leave you here for a bit, Jane. He’ll be watching.” Jesper waves a finger around, before using it to poke me in the shoulder . What a fucking weird person. Once his hand is off of me, my body loosens. My breathing is ragged as I’m shocked to watch Jesper walk away.
The sirens are completely silent.
Do I say anything? Do I move? He means Misery, right?There’s no way he left me alone here.
“ Jane ,” Melona softly mutters.
A shudder seizes control over my composure, and I clasp a hand over my mouth to keep quiet, as if I’ve just given away my position. Another siren tilts her head to look me over. Her skin is a deeper shade of gray, her dried-up hair completely black and coiled, dangling over her shoulders. “Would have been better if it was Mother,” she opines, her rich voice raspy like someone who needs a deep drink.
Inching closer to the sirens, my skull pounding from my rapid heartbeats, I touch the bars as if they might burn me. When I only feel the iciness of them, I grip it tighter as I look over every one of them—powerful tails, breasts out, claw-like fingernails tapping on the stone, their large eyes haunting, all of their hair so visually brittle…
I’ll never get over the sharpness of their teeth, either.
My gaze finally lands back on Melona, as if saving her for last. I squat as if it will help quiet my words. “What has happened?”
She smells like a musky version of the ocean.
Melona leans forward until the short chain around her neck is taut. “Blackwell took us.” Pointing to her arm where the flesh is raised in the design of a shark insignia, I can see it’s healing terribly. “And branded us.” She takes in a labored breath before dipping her bucket in the water and pours it slowly on her gills at her neck, the flaps opening and closing like one’s nostrils would if starved of oxygen, and her chest moves as if breathing, but I swear only her gills move.
“What can I do?” I ask through tight lips.
Free the fucking sirens.
She almost chuckles at my clear naiveté, and none of the others join in; they all simply watch and stare. “If you know how to break steel bars, and all these chains, that would be a start. These tunnels have two openings, both leading to the ocean. We’re very close, as these are the end of the tunnels before they spill back into the ocean. We just need freedom and time to get through.”
Well, I can’t fucking do that. There has to be something I can do for them. “How long?” I ask, nodding to the chains, trying to remind myself that Misery, apparently, is watching.
“Two weeks.” Her voice is barely above a hush now.
“You will die soon,” I say, looking over her very dry skin, the slits of her gills a deep pink, as if inflamed. “I’ll do what I can. Even if it kills me.”
Melona raises a thin brow. “You’re acting as if there aren’t those that will miss you.”
“I can’t think of them right now,” I flippantly reply. Not that they suddenly don’t matter, but if my mission is to free these creatures, then I’ll do it by any means necessary. “I won’t say more, though. It’s just me, for now. Why did they snag you in particular?" I ask, afraid our time is paper-thin.
“I am close to the siren princess. And that’s who they have,” she says, motioning to the one with the darkest hair. “Jane. They’ll be coming for you. The ones who miss you. They will come.” Melona reaches out, but can’t fully touch the bars. “Do not be reckless.”
For the first time since being here, I genuinely chuckle, and her dark eyes soften. She used to say that to me every time she’d leave me in that cave.
“Why tell me that, out of everything you could say?”
She tilts her head to the side, looking me over. “It’s something you have not considered.”
Vague . That’s her, though. She’s like Cypress in that way.
“You should go now,” she urges. “I think you just needed to see me.”
How could she possibly know that? No, that’s a dumb thought. Melona is known as their Seer. They’ll come… she wants me to focus on the fact that they’ll come.
I give her a half-smile. “Did you know that I hate riddles?”
The smile she returns to me is so warm, and tears well up without any permission from me, reminding me so deeply of my mother.
A few clinks make me look over her shoulder, to see some of the sirens are trying to get a better view of me. I give the faintest nod, wanting to ask a hundred questions, while also wanting to do what’s right for the moment. “Thank you, for helping me,” I say, standing.
Trust.
Okay, fine. I’ll fucking trust someone, if I have to. Trust that I’m placed here for a reason by Cypress, and that Melona can see it, too. That believing they will come for me is somehow a part of the plan.
And that freeing the sirens makes a lot more sense now.
I’m immeasurably grateful Misery cannot read me right now. In that, I find hope that Cypress might not be using me to my own detriment.
Hope .
Melona dips her head to acknowledge those words before looking back to where I am, motioning with her hand. Okay, I'll, well, I’ll try this trusting stuff, then .
Maybe even trust Cypress, and that I do have a purpose here. If people are coming for me, then I can’t waste time, either.
Walking along the narrow path that edges the water, I voluntarily leave the sirens behind, steeling my resolve as if I’ve never felt a single emotion, glancing back to look at them every few steps until they’re finally out of view.
My head nearly slumps forward in relief when I sigh, so relieved that this is all for something . That I didn’t risk my life just for the sake of bravado.
There’s a real plan. A real web I’m stuck in. One I have to strike a deal with its rubied spider before I can be set free.
Around the corner is Jesper, the candlelight casting dark shadows on his face. We both stare at each other, the leader of the Order of Ash slightly moving his head as if to ask me what my opinion is. “Nothing to say? Not worth pleading for them? Or thanking me?”
“I highly doubt anything I ask for will be granted,” I say, so much of my being fortified now.
He takes a step closer, clasping his hands together. “Morvock says that Cypress has helped you. Has she coached you to exist without emotion while here?”
He’s studying me, like he plans to use my weaknesses.
“That witch uses any and all for her own gain.” For the first time, it didn’t feel right to speak ill of her. I’ll be dead shocked if she was actually right, this entire time, that I would understand the entirety of her actions once I saw the whole painting.
Irritation flares across his features, and he leans into my face. “You’re not as strong as you think you are.”
Exasperation breeds both courage and imprudence within me. “Why are you complaining?” I ask. “I haven’t fought you once . What do you want from me?”
“Come here,” he commands, waving to me. Not an inch of me moves, so he narrows the space for us until his arm strikes out like a snake, gripping my hair.
Alright, I might chop this stuff off if people won’t stop doing this. “What are you doing ?”
“You are lucky,” he warns, although his tone is as calm as ever, looking me dead in the eyes. “Morvock has a strict chain of commands for his use of you, which means I don’t want these un-accosted times to get to your head. I am your salvation in this, Jane. If you try to grit and bear any of it, you will fail.” I yell out when he pulls on my hair even more, almost growling as I try to claw at his wrists but I’ve chewed off the edges of my nails. He moves us both over to a brazier, and I try to keep his pace to take the pressure off my scalp. He holds my face right next to it, pressing on the back of my head so the flame licks my cheeks. I close my eyes and hold my breath… but again, nothing happens. It just feels like I’ve submerged myself into a very warm, bright wall of mist that makes me clench my eyes shut.
At some point, he pulls me back but doesn’t release his grip on my hair. “Put your hand in.”
I do so, wishing he’d just let go of me.
I leave it in there, the flames dancing through my fingers. The fire is warm; gentle. My clothes begin to singe, but my skin looks perfect. Somehow, someway, this has to be useful to me…
He laughs and lets go, tossing me so I stumble, hitting my knee hard on the ground. I wince with closed eyes, the pain sharp and stretching through my leg.
“Beautiful,” he says under his breath. “Absolutely wonderful. One day, that power will be mine . And Morvock is right—your bravado is your weakness.”
Something pushes my shoulder and I tumble over, getting really fucking tired of him doing this to me. Don’t fight him back . I lift my head to face him, and Jesper slightly leans down. “When you bear me our children, you will sacrifice your skin to Morvock because you need to save them. Whether or not you live in misery between now and then is your choice. You might put on a facade, but the fear in your eyes when the fire gets too close reveals the truth. My men say you risked your life in Coalfell when they burned it down, searching for you, as we knew the flames wouldn’t harm you. But you were afraid. The fear in your eyes was real .” He squats down. “I should let you know that these sirens are not going to live for much longer. Every time one of them dies in there, I’ll bring you her corpse; we sort of have a plan for their blood, but we don’t need the flesh. We’ll keep the one named Melona alive the longest, don’t you worry. But we cannot save her once she is the only one remaining. Maybe even force-feed you some fish soup.” He gives a shaky laugh. “Leave an eyeball or two floating in there.”
Without much transition, he picks me up and pushes me forward. Angry words nearly spill out of me, but I clamp down my tongue, which turns into a weird growl.
They will be coming for you…
Free the sirens.
It’s a long trek back to my tower, Jesper handing me over to guards while he walks ahead. My head pounds from residual trauma and the way he yanked on it just now, and I try not to make it obvious that I’m eager to memorize this place.
Once I’m returned to my cell in the highest tower of this castle, I stand there for a long time before sinking down onto the cold floor, right smack dab in the center of the room, over the rug. Mom’s sunrise meditations come back to me, an act I'd skip because stillness was never something I enjoyed. But as I sit here, staring at the fire in the hearth, an energy centralizes at my wrists.
My magic.
I’m not alone. I am connected to this healing magic . I look at my hands, then roll them over to stare at the blue tattoos. There has to be use in here, too. Cypress chose me for a reason. “Help me heal the sirens. Help me free them. They suffer in there, and I can get them out. I need help . Can you do anything?”
Embarrassment eats away at any hope that my goddess might be useful to me now, as only the sound of a crackling fire answers me.
Closing my eyes, I try to drown everything out as I focus on sending healing magic into my knee.
There is an answer here, somewhere.
I will find it.