Chapter 4
I swing my arm back, then thrust it up, smashing my fist against the ice that just
won’t
budge.
Another punch. Another. Pain shoots through the fine bones and tendons in my hand, up into my elbow, feeding the bloodlusting fury simmering in my chest.
I’ve tried everything. Sharpened my consciousness into a blade that’s only bent against the ice. Blunted it into a hammer I used to try to bludgeon my way through, searching the frosty expanse for an area that might be weaker. Thinner.
Nothing works.
I even pretended to drown, hoping my Other’s protective instincts would lure her back beneath the ice and hopefully crack open a hole for me to climb through.
Wrong.
She either doesn’t care or is perfectly aware my consciousness doesn’t require oxygen to exist in this watery tomb of doom.
Another strike shreds my knuckles and the remnants of my composure.
“FUUUUUUCK!”
My plan was meticulous—indulge my ravenous hunger for vengeance on a banquet of carefully plotted torture before I’d finally plug Rekk’s mouth with his intestines, pinch his nose, and watch him choke to death while reminding him exactly why he’s being so brutally ended.
For murdering my beautiful, miraculous Essi.
For torturing Líri to near death.
Until my Other stuffed me down here like one of my stones; like she expects me to bundle up and sink to the bottom while she does who knows what to the spangle-shit stain I coaxed into my trap—
Wait.
Is that the answer? Sinking?
I whip around and peer down into the gloom. Dark, aside from the speckled light far below, like a squashed star that’s splattered its effulgent guts everywhere.
My eyes narrow, gaze bouncing from luminous speck to luminous speck.
Maybe there’s something down there I can use to break myself free? An option I wouldn’t usually consider, but she’s not down there. She’s up there, slaughtering. Probably feasting on Rekk Zharos’s flesh.
I frown, thinking of all the shit I’ve tossed beneath the ice. Things I don’t particularly want to see again. Ever. But so long as I don’t dive too deep, I should be fine. Theoretically.
Fuck it.
Kicking off the ice, I dive through the crisp water one determined stroke at a time until something long and luminous tangles with my fingers, making me pause. I pull my hand close and turn it over, eyes narrowed on the silver hair that’s longer than I am tall.
A chill skitters across my skin.
I’ve seen this exact shade in the tomb beneath Kaan’s sleepsuite.
Seen it in the sky south of the wall, nesting amongst the aurora ribbons that sometimes blend with that wonky moon I love so much.
I’ve seen it in my dreams, and in aching flashes of memory—the luminous tone coupled with milky eyes framed in pale lashes—
No.
I dump the thought, swish the tendril away, and shove deeper into the unknown.
Find an object to bash against the ice. Break free. Take back control of my body. Make Rekk’s final moments a living slumber-terror, the fuck.
The distant splatter of light swells, taking on a clustered shape of hexagonal ice pillars poking up from the gloom. Like I’m coasting through the dark above Netheryn, the Moonplume nesting grounds. Something else I refuse to mull over.
Refuse to consider too deeply.
I propel closer, drawn to a wide pillar at the center of it all—shorter than the others, fenced in by taller ones crouching close.
I focus on the concave dip typical of a well-used nesting perch.
And within that dip, a large pile of treasures.
Mainly silver, egg-shaped stones that make my breath hitch.
Make me want to turn around, propel toward the surface, and wait patiently to be released, then never come back down here again.
Perhaps I would do just that, were my fingertips not itching to gouge Rekk’s eyes from their sockets, then puncture his fucking heart.
Snarling, I shoot toward one of the taller columns and shift to the edge. Look into the dark chasms woven between the pillars, hoping to find something helpful, squinting to make out the distant shape of—
Stones.
Thousands of stones jammed between the crevices like long-forgotten junk. My stones, each mossy mound belonging to a memory or moment I’ve tossed away with the intention of never seeing them again.
I spot a particularly sharp one I lobbed down while Essi was bundled in my arms—unmoving.
Lifeless.
I flinch, ripping my gaze away.
Fuck no. Not going down there.
Which only leaves one option.
Hands fisted, I study the large pile of silver egg-shaped stones covered in luminous moss that sways with the water’s churn, frowning when I notice a long pearly tooth wedged amongst them.
From what I can see, it’s longer than my foot and likely strong enough to split ice, though it’s odd I don’t recall tossing it down here …
I ignore the part of me that knows I didn’t. The part that’s piecing together the shards of this strange, shattered puzzle, shaping it into something too big and round and heavy to bear.
I kick over the chasm and land on the buffered slope of ice, sliding deep into the massive nest. So large, Rygun could coil up in it, though he’d mostly be hanging off the edges.
The angle mellows, and I shift closer, pausing before the mound of treasures almost taller than myself to assess the situation. Unlike my stones—tossed away like trash—these look lovingly shaped. Cradled.
Nurtured.
A thought I squash like a bug.
I need to move at least one before I can free the tooth. Unfortunate, since tampering with someone’s treasure is a sure way to piss them off.
Shifting around the pile, I hunt for the best angle. Realize my options are dimmer than the chances I’ll be able to deliver my well-planned monologue to an even partially conscious Rekk.
Do I move the velvet-looking stone that reminds me of a lump of coal or the blue, teardrop-shaped crystal that appears a little easier to reach?
Fuck it, no time to dally.
I swish away strands of silver moss, shove my hand down the cleft, grip the teardrop, and tug. It comes away, leaking a dulcet sob of song that weeps through the water—words sung from a voice I recognize, laced with mourning so deep it drenches my skin. Floods my bloodstream.
Sloshes against my heart.
Shrieking, I toss the crystal with such gusto it arcs through the water, plunging into the crevice while I heave big bouts of icy water into my laden lungs. The slow, sorrowful tune infesting my essence, lodging in my mind like a seed of sadness I certainly didn’t ask for.
There’s a reason I don’t listen to Rayne. I don’t want to make space for understanding her language. Now some of it’s wedged in there like a sordid splinter that’ll probably fester.
I fucking hate this place.
I force down the unwanted thickness in my throat, crack my neck from side to side, and eye the pile before me.
Definitely best not to touch the others. Who knows what they’ll dislodge.
More careful this time, I thread my arm down the gap and grip the smooth ivory saber, giving it a tug.
It doesn’t budge.
I tug again, gritting my teeth as I strain, putting all my rage and frothing thirst for vengeance into the heaving motion—
The tooth comes away so suddenly I’m tossed back, a few of the egg-shaped stones shifting with the disruption. One of them brushes against my retreating arm, those mossy tendrils caressing me like the stroke of a Moonplume tail, tossing me into a swallow of …
elsewhere.
Somewhere I’m not myself but something larger.
More powerful.
Something furious, packed with flexing strength that fans from between my shoulder blades, my chest puffed with a roil of frosty fire threatening to burn a trail up my throat—