Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Spiral
“You were out late last night,” Elena said as I descended into the kitchen, bleary-eyed.
“Mmmm” was my reply. I had gotten home only a few hours earlier. My head pounded from lack of sleep, and red scratches ran up my arms and legs from the rough ride in the River of Souls. My entire body ached down to my bones.
I had floated into Analon Bay, then swum to shore and searched for any sign of Darion.
But after only a few minutes, a contingent of Royal Guards began to scout the beach, no doubt looking for us.
I watched from the shadows. After nearly an hour of searching, the guards finally left.
Only then did I make my way home, wracked with guilt that I might have been responsible for Darion’s death.
He had gone into the catacombs because of me, and he had only entered Queen Amara’s tomb because I’d led him there, all under false pretenses.
My last memory of him was our kiss. I couldn’t bear it if that was my final memory of him. It would shred me to pieces.
And all for this stupid parchment that didn’t even make sense. I was sorely tempted to throw it in the fire and be done with the whole thing.
When I moved into the sunlight, Elena’s jaw dropped. “You look like shite,” she said. “What in the dust happened to you?”
“None of your damn business,” I snapped. I didn’t mean to be so harsh, but I was in a foul mood.
Elena’s face crumpled, and then she lashed back. “Look, I don’t care if you were out messing around with Darion and it got a little rough.”
My jaw dropped. I must have really riled her up, and I needed to defuse the situation before it got out of hand.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to shout,” I said. “I’m sorry. It was a terrible night, and it’s complicated.”
“But you’re not going to tell me what happened,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
My only reply was a sigh.
“You were out with Darion, weren’t you?”
“No…” I said, then shook my head. “I mean, yes. He was there. Just not in the way you think.”
“Did you kiss him?”
“Kind of. But it was just a peck.”
“So what happened?” she said, her face softening. “You know I’m not a kid anymore. I understand more than you think.”
“You’re right,” I said. “You’re not a kid. He and I got separated. And I’m not sure what happened to him after that.”
“Separated in the catacombs.”
“How in the dust—” I blurted.
“You sometimes talk in your sleep,” she said with a shrug.
When I stood there, speechless, she continued, “I know you have your secrets and that you think it’s important to keep them from me.
I’ve learned to live with that, but I want you to know that when you’re ready to share them, I’m ready to hear them. ”
Elena was growing up faster than I ever could have predicted.
Maybe she was ready to hear more. But I didn’t know how to start.
There were just too many secrets, and once I started, I wasn’t sure how I’d stop.
And what if she didn’t understand my motives or disagreed with what I was doing?
My primary goal had always been to protect her and make a safe home for us outside the city, and I couldn’t let anything jeopardize that.
I just couldn’t handle being honest at that moment. I wasn’t ready.
“We don’t want to be late for the market,” I said.
Elena shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together, and walked away.
The entire day, I searched the crowd for that mop of curly brown hair and those emerald eyes. That coy smile—slightly sarcastic but friendly—was sure to sneak up on me when I least expected it. But each time I thought I saw him, it was somebody else.
He didn’t show up, not that day or the next.
With each day that passed, I felt worse, sure that his blood was on my hands.
Every time the bell rang, I stared up at the massive Citadel Clock, knowing that it was the next destination in the Emberlight Trials. But what would that knowledge cost me? Was Darion’s life the price?
I felt unmoored. Between being banned from Garrick’s tavern, my concern over Darion’s fate, and the uncertainty that I was even worthy of joining the Order of Emberlight, I felt like my whole life was caving in on me.
Each day, I walked by the Bleeding Oak on the off chance that I might see Darion. Each night, I headed down to the Lantern Mile and stopped by the Last Lantern, where I had bumped into him on that fateful night. But each time I came up empty.
I also stopped by Mrs. Crowe’s potion shop each night to ask her more about the ozone-and-citrus smell and what it had to do with Emberborn. But each time, her shop was shut up tight with no lights on and no sounds coming from within.
On the third day after the catacombs, Elena confronted me. “Cas, I’m worried about you. I want to help.”
“I don’t think there’s much you can do. There’s not much anyone can do.”
Elena frowned. “Well, just promise me you won’t do anything stupid. Okay?”
“I’ll try, Elena.”
That night, I was too distraught to sit at home. The image of Darion’s bloated body washing up on some beach consumed my thoughts. I tried to banish the image by remembering his warm, bright smile. But every time I pictured it, the smile morphed into a grimace plastered on his dead, rotting corpse.
I wasn’t typically the type to drown my sorrows in ale, but tonight nothing was stopping me from getting drunk, so I made my way down to the Last Lantern once more.
Just before I entered, I swore I saw movement across the street out of the corner of my eye. I spun around and scanned the shadows. Absolute stillness. Apparently I was just chasing ghosts.
The clientele at the Last Lantern was a rough bunch.
When I walked in, I attracted more than one long stare from the patrons, who looked like they might just as soon slit my throat as say hello.
While I didn’t exactly look like a topsider who had accidentally wandered into the wrong part of the Underworld, perhaps my lean physique and short stature made me look like an easy mark.
I ignored the looks and strode up to the bar.
The bartender, a surly older man with a shaved head and more scars than I could count, looked up and grunted.
“Ale,” I said.
I sat in the corner with my back to the wall, gulping my ale, surveying the room, alert and vigilant. At least I was alert to start. After the third drink, the room got fuzzy, and I tipped to one side. But the ale was doing its job—I had only thought of Darion once in the last five minutes.
Out the window, I saw something move in the darkness again. Or maybe it was just my imagination.
I was staring into my fourth mug when a shadow fell over me, blocking the golden lantern light. I looked up to see a very tall, very thick man looking down at me. He had a long scar across his face and a grin that didn’t look friendly.
“Oi, you,” he bellowed in a gravelly thick accent from the southern regions. “What’s a precious thing like you doing drinking alone in a place like this? You’re liable to get mugged…or worse.”
I didn’t particularly care for his characterization of me. Precious thing?
“I can take care of myself,” I said. It came out shakier than I had hoped, likely because of the many pints I had just consumed.
“You sure about that?” the man asked just as two others joined him on either side. They nearly looked identical but for the first man’s scar. My pulse kicked up a notch. One oafish idiot was easy to dodge. But three?
“Look, gentlemen, I don’t want any trouble,” I said.
“Funny you should say,” the scarred man replied. “See, we was about to offer you a chance to avoid just that. I reckon that if you give us your coin purse, we’ll make sure you make it out of this tavern alive.”
Well, that had gotten nasty quickly.
Fortunately, I had a plan for dealing with opponents who outmatched me. I acted fast, tossing my ale in their faces with one hand and reaching for a smoke vial with the other, all while ducking under the table.
At least that’s what I tried to do. In my drunken state, what I actually did was slip on the ale I knocked on the floor and land hard on my back, missing my smoke vial completely.
I lay on the ground under the table in a puddle of ale, gasping for air. The man with the scar threw the table across the room as if it were a toy. As he reached for me, I squirmed away. I finally got a grip on my smoke vial and tossed it right at their feet.
Clouds billowed throughout the room. That was enough of a distraction for me to crawl past them, but as I did, a hand reached through the smoke and grabbed my tunic. I pulled out my dagger and dragged it across his hand, drawing blood.
“You little prick!” a voice yelled out.
I got to my feet, a little wobbly, steadied myself, and dashed for the door.
I was only feet away when hands grabbed the back of my cloak, lifted me, and smashed me against the wall face-first, the entire body attached to them pressing against me.
The force of the impact sent my dagger clattering to the floor.
“You’re going to regret that,” a deep man’s voice whispered into my ear. His breath smelled of rot and nearly made me gag.
I shoved my elbow into his torso. He didn’t flinch. The metallic sound of a blade being unsheathed rang out behind me. Perhaps this was the end.
The man’s hand moved. I gritted my teeth, waiting to feel the cold steel and hot pain of a blade in my back.
Instead, there was a loud thump behind me, and my captor fell to the ground. A hand reached out through the smoke and grabbed mine.
“Let’s go!” a familiar voice called.