Chapter 20
Vera
Iscan the deep shadows of this dark, inky cave, crouched down and creeping as silently as I can with Ikar’s enormous sword in my grasp. Rupi chirps disapprovingly when it bangs against the wall for the fourth time.
“You try carrying it. It’s blazing heavy.” I defend myself, feeling sweat gather beneath my clothing. “He’ll never know if we don’t tell him.” I raise an admonishing brow at her where she perches on my shoulder.
She narrows her eyes the smallest bit, and I’m struck all over again how devoted my bird is to a man who’s much too close to the high king.
“You shouldn’t care for him like you do,” I warn.
By the way she looks at me, we both know the words aren’t just for her.
I refocus on the path ahead, stepping across the moist floor carefully.
I debated for about thirty seconds if I should wait for Darvy and Rhosse to return to camp to help, but I decided that if I didn’t follow the spider we might never find Ikar, and I’m not willing to risk losing him.
Now I’m glad I did. The entrance is nearly impossible to find, and I never would have located it if I hadn’t trailed the spider.
I never got close enough to actually catch sight of it, but I could hear the popping of its legs far ahead, which are ridiculously fast for its size.
I lost it once it entered a hidden hole through a grassy hillside, and now I’m left to pick my way through the dark, echoing cavern on my own.
I hold an orb of bright white light in my hand, but it casts eerie shadows off every bump and crevice.
The scent of wet rock overwhelms my senses, and something else hovers on the edge—like rot.
I gag. Rupi tried to stay behind when I found the entrance, perching in a tree and attempting to wish me good luck with a couple of firm chirps and a ruffle of her quills, but I finally convinced her back to my shoulder, where she currently trembles in all her spiky splendor against my neck.
I wince when she shuffles and my neck gets stabbed, again.
I’m still grateful to have her with me, though—this place is beyond creepy.
The cave eventually widens into an open space filled with all lengths of strange rocky growths growing from the ground and dropping from the ceiling in odd shapes.
Chilled drops of water cling to the tips, growing heavy before falling on my head and shoulders as I walk beneath them.
The drips echo around me, amplified eerily by the cavern walls.
I follow iffy rock paths that grow thin, bridging gaps between endless deep-black recesses beneath.
An instinctive scream tears from my throat when I slip and reach out with my free hand, grabbing the only thing that seems likely to hold my weight and that of Ikar’s sword—one of the long slimy rocks.
The sound of the thinnest part cracking as I pull myself up and away from the cavernous space below leaves my heart racing and my breath shaky.
I eye my situation warily while wiping my free hand along my trousers.
The other clammy hand grips Ikar’s sword like a vise.
Maybe it didn’t come this way. Would these fragile bridges even hold the weight?
I eye the thickness of one across the way. Doubtful.
I almost turn back, but stop, positive I heard something besides the incessant dripping. I turn my head and focus completely on listening. Rupi lifts her head from where it was tucked beside a wing, her trembling easing.
“You hear that, too?”
She shoots from my shoulder in a blur of white and takes off down the dark cavern.
I didn’t think her night vision was that great, but half a minute later she comes flying recklessly back through.
She flaps around my face, and I can’t tell if she’s overwhelmed with panic or excitement, but I figure either one means she’s found Ikar.
I set my shoulders and forge ahead, more aware now of the slippery, occasionally sloped, surface beneath my boots.
I reach the opposite end of the cavern and find two paths leading in different directions.
All I can hear is the same steady dripping now.
I stop for a moment, but Rupi continues flying down the cave to the right, and I follow.
“Ikar?”
It comes out sounding like I shouted with how my voice bounces off the walls.
I cringe, crouching a little lower on the dark path as I wait for a pack of venomous bats or some other sort of horrid creature to come flying at me in irritation for the disturbance.
I don’t even know if there are such things as venomous bats in these caves, but there’s something.
There always is. Or, with my luck, the spider will hear. Nothing comes, but I do get a response.
“Vera?” The echo of Ikar’s voice seems to come from every direction, all at once.
I readjust my grip on his heavy sword and forge ahead.
Best be more careful not to hit the stone with it again as he’d likely hear it echo and never forgive me.
I skirt around gaping death-holes and dodge the scattered growths trailing throughout the cave.
Then I round another corner and stop. The narrow walkway opens into an enormous cavern, the ceiling shaped in a reverse-funnel, with a small opening allowing weak sunlight from the first of the three suns rising—enough to light up the scene before me.
Ikar swings upside down from what I am sure is a velvet widow’s thread, only instead of swinging behind a spider, it’s attached to the very high ceiling of the cave.
Widows prefer their food… unalive, and are known for their patient waiting while their meals die a slow and miserable death.
I shiver as my eyes dart around at the hundreds of other threads hanging empty around him.
From what creatures, or long-dead people, I don’t know.
“You shouldn’t have followed,” Ikar scolds. “But since you’re here anyway, toss me your knife.”
“Did you try magic?” I ask.
“Of course.” He sounds even more irritated now. “There’s none.”
Naturally, Ikar’s face is red from the position the spider left him in, and I would have laughed at his irritated expression—the painfully handsome, untouchable Ikar hanging upside down from a widow’s thread—but my teasing smirk fades as my gaze is drawn to the way his shirt has slid up, revealing his remarkably muscled torso.
I’ve never appreciated the force that holds us to the ground more than in this moment.
My attention must be too obvious. He quickly tugs his shirt up and tucks it into the front of his trousers.
It immediately slips back out. I’m not complaining.
“I’m going to need your focus because the spider is going to be back any minute,” he whispers as he once again jerks his shirt up toward his trousers and shoves it into the waistband.
My eyes rebelliously dart to where he holds his shirt to keep it tucked, then back to his face. “I’m completely focused.” I raise my brows innocently.
He works to keep his shirt tucked in. “Mmhmm.”
I stride forward like I have nothing to be embarrassed about and toss my knife up.
Without hesitation, he snatches the handle with one hand.
Rupi soars up to perch on the sole of his left boot and proceeds to offer him an assortment of encouraging chirps.
I stand several feet beneath him, my attention now diverted to the shadowy, dark edges of the cavern.
I really don’t want to wrangle with a velvet widow today.
“Anytime now,” I call up, still watching the entrances warily.
I turn as I hear a scuffle from somewhere beyond my line of sight, angling my body toward where I think it came from. The only problem is, Ikar’s sword is too heavy for me to fight with, even with both hands, so I slip my smaller sword from its sheath.
Ikar curses and grumbles something as his shirt continues to slip.
“Forget the shirt already!” I hiss, keeping my eyes on the slowly emerging shape to our left.
I hear the telltale popping before I see its giant black pincers.
It steps into a ray of weak light and millions of intelligent, reflective eyes stare at me, followed by a body of deep violet that looks soft as velvet.
A spider aptly named—a velvet widow. It approaches slowly, and I realize it’s eyeing me as bait, exhibiting a complete lack of concern for the swords in my hands.
I glance up at Ikar for a split second, hoping he’s almost free.
He has pulled himself upward with his torso in what can only be described as an impressive ab hold, slicing through the thick rope that winds around his ankles and lower legs.
In his effort, his shirt has once again slipped, and my eyes do an immediate double-take.
Not because of his impressive build this time—though there’s that—but because I spot the edges of a scrawling black mark that reaches almost to his mid-back on the left side, and if I am correct in my assumption, snakes its way up and wraps around his left shoulder, then crawls down the upper left of his chest. Only a select few have a mark like that, and I know exactly what it means.
“You’re a king,” I whisper.
My grip relaxes on the sword handles as numb tingles travel throughout my body, and everything grows fuzzy. I arrested a king. I was alone with him for over a week. I’m stuck on this journey with a king. The weapons clatter to the ground. I kissed the high king. How did this happen?
I shake my head in horror. I am a Black Tulip. I do not associate with kings, or become friends with them, and I definitely do not ever kiss them. Ikar is good. Kings are bad. Ikar is a king.
I press my hands to my temples as I attempt to process what I’ve learned, but my world has tipped, and I have no idea which way is up.
“I kissed a king,” I whisper.