Chapter 12
I follow Utris past a thorny kutak bush and through the freshly torn hole in the wall, into the rough-hewn stairway beyond. Inhale the thick, rotten-smelling air, so hauntingly still it feels almost solid.
“Gurdeth aahgth … du ien dah,” Utris murmurs, and the ground trembles. The stone smushes back together like it’s made of clay, casting us in total darkness.
I pull out a small jar of captured moonlight I acquired from a traveling merchant for the odd cost of a strand of hair, using it to inspect his handiwork.
Smooth, as though the hole was never there.
“Impressive.” I flip back my hood, deciding this working-with-an-accomplice thing is pretty handy.
If only it could last. “I’m guessing you hear Bulder fairly well? ”
“Not really,” he grunts out, readjusting his hold on Rekk. “But I listen hard and practice plenty.”
Good for him. I practice zero, then spit a few basic words and hope for the best when I have no choice but to call on him. I’ve gotten used to getting ignored. Sometimes he offers something as misshapen as my words, which often stomps harder than his long, judgmental silences.
“I’ll lead the way.” He begins moving down the twisty staircase. “In case I accidentally drop the fucker.”
We haven’t gone far when the air pressure tightens in a familiar way, making my hackles rise. Evidence we’ve passed beneath the arches that cage the Citadel and silence the Creators.
My eardrums squeeze so much they’re on the verge of popping, stirring visions of flaming battles and sprays of boiling blood—
I stuff the memories back beneath my icy lake and crack my neck from side to side, wondering if the runes work the same as the ones that null those battling in the Pits of Khindard …
Curiosity has me using my cloak as a glove to wedge my iron ring off my finger, immediately harassed by squeals and bellows and gushing wails and—
“Creators flay me,” I hiss, stuffing the ring back on so fast I almost unsheathe the bone, whipping my hand up to wipe the blood now leaking from my ears.
Shit.
“Everything okay?”
No, I’m pretty sure Clode just slit my eardrums.
Utris pauses, squinting back, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead into raised brows. Though his expression swiftly morphs into a frown. “You look like you’re gonna spray your last meal all over me. You alright?”
How do I say I appear to be immune to the powerful stone arches intended to null everyone beneath but the Tri-Council members without sounding … crazy?
Impossible.
“I don’t like the change of air pressure.” I smile despite the fresh dribble of blood leaking from my right ear, courtesy of Clode’s high-pitched squeals. Never heard her scream so loud before. “You look worn-out. Wanna slice him in two and share the load?”
Utris passes me a rather condemning frown, mutters something beneath his breath, and continues down the stairway, perhaps thinking I wasn’t serious.
His loss.
I’m left to mull over my odd ability in ear-splitting peace …
The Tri-Council doesn’t fuck up like this.
There’s a reason they hold more political sway than any monarch despite governing only a small pocket of land.
They don’t want more space because more space equals more folk to care for.
They know perfectly well that if you spread a lump of lard over a large piece of loaf, it’s not going far.
No.
They’re resource-rich and picky with who they accept into their small circle, each member gifted and powerful beyond measure. And they know how to wield that power. Faultlessly.
Meaning I’m the problem.
Something best to keep to myself, lest somebody decide to put another bounty on my head.
The air becomes so still and quiet that every breath feels like a roar, taking on a thicker, more potent stench as we emerge on the edge of an underground lake, the lofty cavern large enough to house Rygun—impressive wingspan and all.
I step out on the small cobblestone bay, scanning the body of inky water that certainly appears dark enough to swallow a soul, even without the anthe’s help.
“This it?”
“Sure is,” Utris grumbles, picking a careful path across the stones.
I move ahead of him, eyes on the ceiling; a mural of stalactites speckled with glowing bugs that reflect on the water’s smooth surface, making it resemble the sky in The Shade. Something that jostles me in ways I can’t quite put my finger on.
Looking right, I notice the cavern tapers into a tight tunnel that disappears into the darkness, numerous bell-lined ropes hanging from the ceiling, plunging beneath the water’s surface as far as the eye can see.
No doubt to notify when there’s movement in the water—a jingled warning to get the fuck out.
I look to the left, past a ridge of jagged stone, a chill running up my spine at the ornate entrance that spits out a white-stone pier, carved to look like a pale dragon’s maw with its tongue flopped across the lake.
And tethered to the pier … boats. Numerous long white boats tipped at both ends, some with chinks in their sides.
Like they’ve been scythed by something big scrambling to munch the meal within.
Guess that’s how the Tri-Council dishes out execution rulings. Not sure what’s worse: being fed to the dragons, or this.
“You ever fed an anthe before?” Utris asks, lumping Rekk on the shore. The sound of his head going crack against the stones makes morbid satisfaction crawl across my skin.
I pocket my moonlight and crouch, helping to remove the shroud and unbind the body. “Never had the pleasure.”
“There’s a few things you’ll need to know.
” Utris yanks off the last of the ropes and rips back a blood-soaked layer of cloth, his eyes like bright-blue gemstones in the dull light.
“They don’t have ears, but water movement ruffles their membranes and cues them on an awaiting feast. The moment we drop the body in, the anthe will be lured up from her den,” he says, jerking his chin toward the tunnel to the right.
“They’re magnetized to the water, but the stronger ones can sometimes pull themselves partway out, and this one …
well. She’s big. Soon as those bells jingle, we’ll need to go. Fast.”
I tug the last of the material free and slop it to the side. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Should you happen to come face-to-face with her, do not, under any circumstance, make eye contact.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a territorial challenge. You’ll either earn her respect or lose every one of your senses. Then beg her to feast on you.”
“Oh …”
Interesting.
“Any last words before we wave him off?”
“Yes, actually.” I slide a dragonscale blade from my sheath. If I don’t decapitate the fucker, he might find some way to haunt me despite being suckled into oblivion.
I tilt Rekk’s head, exposing his throat, and drag the blade across his neck one swift slice at a time, severing flesh, muscle, and tendons. Blade meets bone, and rather than waste time sawing through, I set the weapon down, take his head in my hands, and jolt it to the side.
There’s a satisfying crack.
Utris clears his throat, watching me hack through the remaining flesh, sheathe my blade, then raise Rekk’s head like a trophy. “Much better.”
“Guessing you, ahh … spent time with one of the clans?”
Spent time with a king who seems to have rubbed off on me, more like it.
“Could say that.”
“Well, always best to be safe.” Utris grabs Rekk by the ankles and drags him closer to the water, speaking through his teeth as he says, “Though we’ll all probably be dead soon anyway. Since the sky’s about to shit itself.”
Bit morbid. I certainly don’t plan on being dead anytime soon.
We work together, easing what’s left of Rekk’s body into the water, creating very few ripples.
“For Essi and Líri,” I murmur past gritted teeth, then gently slip his head past the surface, enjoying the way it tumbles down the sloped shore and sinks into oblivion …
waiting for the itch at the tips of my fingers to quell.
It doesn’t.
Movement catches my eye.
I look at the pier, now heavy with numerous white-robed folk—
“Shit,” Utris hisses, yanking me back behind the rocky outcrop. Not before I catch a glimpse of the fae they appear to be escorting—bloody and bound in ropes, gagged, being half dragged toward the boats.
But it’s his blaze of hair that has my heart pitching.
That almost looks like Pyrok … though thinner. Paler. And really messed up.
A muffled yell echoes across the water, followed by splashing sounds as daunting ripples disturb the surface.
“He’s being fed to the anthe,” Utris grinds out, tugging my arm. He edges toward the tunnel. “We have to go. Now.”
Bit hasty, given I’m not one hundred percent certain that’s not somehow the blasé, foul-mouthed male I swore off caring for.
I steal another glance over the outcrop to see the poor fuck getting shoved into a boat that’s promptly kicked into the open.
Toward us.
“Raeve. Hurry.”
“I just need a moment,” I whisper, squinting for a glimpse of the prisoner’s face while the robed individuals file back through the ornate exit—gone. In a hurry not to get eaten, no doubt.
The prisoner wrangles into a sitting position, moving in a jagged way. Like his mind is scribbling all over the place. Not the languid way Pyrok moves, but it does little to rectify my concerns.
Finally, he looks back over his shoulder toward the tunnel, offering a perfect view of his profile.
I hunt his too-fine features for any of Pyrok’s signature piercings, finding none, his skin black and blue in places. Obviously beaten. Lastly, I note his hair—shorn short at the back and sides, the rest a flop of semi-tame curls.
Not Pyrok.
The realization should make me feel better.
It doesn’t.
Knowing the way of the world, he probably did nothing to deserve this horrific fate, unlike the male I just dropped into the water.
The prisoner wrestles his binds, and our gazes clash. He squints, screwing his whole face into the motion, like he’s trying to make me out.
His eyes go so wide I’m sure they’re about to pop loose, and he releases a muffled scream. Something that sounds a lot like GO!
Utris grabs my arm. Drags me toward the tunnel while my mind continues to churn. We’re halfway up the stairs before the distant sound of a bell rattles me to the core.
I groan.
Firsthand rescues haven’t worked well for me in the past. I’m much more comfortable with the solitary role of a professional blood-shedder. But—
Fuck it.
I kick the back of Utris’s leg, right behind his kneecap. He plummets backward, bellowing, though I’m swift to buffer his weight, banding my arm around his neck and squeezing.
Hard.
He wrestles, but I’m already braced against the walls, restricting the flow of blood to his brain. “Sorry about this, but I know you’re probably under strict instructions from the king not to let me die.”
He bucks with newfound ferocity, heaving from side to side in stiff, jerky motions. All but confirming my suspicions.
I sigh.
Meddling male.
“When you wake, you’ll find a lark in your pocket with the location of your gold,” I say against his ear, arms and legs straining with the might to keep him locked in place.
His movements grow weaker. Less frenzied.
“Find that love of your life and take her to Dhomm. Live, Utris.”
His eyes roll back, body going limp.
I loosen my grip, tuck the half-folded lark in his pocket, then power down the stairs, exploding onto the cove just as another, less distant bell chimes. “Fuck,” I mutter, the male in the boat now screaming louder than he was before, his eyes so flooded with panic it’s almost catching.
“GO—GO—GO—GO!”
“Not if you want to survive!” I whisper-hiss, about to rip off my ring when I see a second boat slicing through the water one determined row at a time—heavy with two folk.
A messy blaze of red hair lures my attention to the familiar male sitting in the vessel’s nose, brows pinched with determination, green eyes firmly set on the prisoner.
Realization flays me.
They’re related.
“Creators …”
My gaze shifts to the white-robed individual with his back to me, breath catching as I take in broad shoulders and the confident way they move, working the oars in fierce, powerful pulls.
My entire body becomes cold and still. Like a Moonplume that just soared into the big dark and curled up to die.
No.
Please no—
Kaan swings his head around, as though he felt my gaze brush across the back of his neck.
Our eyes lock.
Time slams to a still.
And deep within my frosty lake, something snarls.