Chapter 28
When I finally step out of the underground, my knees buckle. I close my eyes against the burning light and finally breathe in fresh air after the staleness of below.
Raker’s a few steps ahead, but I don’t even acknowledge him. Not after—
No. I won’t think about it. He’s right. It wasn’t real. Raker is incapable of wanting anyone, least of all me, someone with traitorous secrets across her skin. If only the head of the king’s guard, a knight trained to kill or capture anything silver, knew what he had been touching.
Even in the dark … that was reckless. Stupid.
On the other side of the gates, I don’t doubt a glimpse at my bare skin would have him dragging me straight to the king himself, which might as well be a death sentence.
Yes.
Fuck. Him.
Finally, I get to my feet, eyes on the horizon, dread curling in my gut. The land in front of us has been razed. There’s no green. Just an empty crater sits where a lake once must have.
My eyes burn. I would cry if I had the liquid to spare.
I expect Raker to stalk off ahead, but he waits, back toward me, until I’m closer, and then he takes off, a wall of metal.
When dusk falls, we can’t find a cave with water, so we make camp by the remnants of a stream, no more than a few puddles of misty water we lay in the middle of. It’s not ideal. Not even a little bit. But I would sleep on a bed of nails right now.
I collapse against the ground, and I don’t even have the energy to dream.
We take off at the first sign of sunrise. We don’t speak, and I’m grateful. Anger and hurt still churn in my chest. I’d be happy if we spent the rest of this journey in silence.
It’s been more than two days without food or water. My heart is beating too quickly, like a last burst of life, a final, desperate push. Nausea roils through me. It’s an effort to take every step, but my body moves anyway, knowing very well that I will die if I stay still.
It’s not just me that’s affected. Raker is moving slower than he ever has. I want to suggest he take off the armor, leave it behind, but after having said those words underground—in a desperate plea—in very different circumstances … I decide to keep my mouth shut.
The land slopes like it’s melting. I ready myself for more desolation, for more thirst.
But there’s something green ahead. A forest? Hope surges through me until we reach the putrid waters.
A bog.
A scraping sound escapes the back of my throat, a weak little noise that Raker ignores.
My veins feel dry. My breaths are shallow. I can’t keep going. I must keep going.
Because there is clean water close by. If this journey has taught me anything, it’s that there is always an end to the turmoil. Always an end to the rot, and the mists, and the darkness.
I just have to keep walking.
Thick trees abound, half rotted and wrapped in vines covered in thick barbs. The waters are various shades of murky gray. There’s no way around, only through.
One moment of frustration.
Then I follow Raker into the water.
It reaches his knees. At my height, it reaches my waist. I keep my distance, watching him move, to make sure the water doesn’t deepen.
It doesn’t. It’s still and steady, and it smells disgusting. My body lurches with a retch, but there’s nothing in my stomach to vomit.
Insects buzz around us, the sound spiraling through my mind.
Thick, black moss covers sections of the water.
I push through it, frowning at its grittiness.
I slide my feet against the ground, kicking hard objects out of my way.
Strange. My mouth opens when I feel something new.
A caress against my leg, like a piece of fabric.
I pause. In front of me, Raker keeps going, parting the waters with his broad body. My voice is hardly more than a rasp as I finally break our silence. “Do you—”
I’m pulled beneath the swamp’s surface before the rest of the words reach my lips.
This time, I don’t gasp. I don’t fill my lungs. I’ve learned that much. My eyes open instead, stinging in the acidic water, and my body goes rigid.
Glinting metal. Everywhere. The bottom of this bog is covered in swords, and chalices, and other priceless prizes.
And bodies with shriveled skin that have somehow been preserved in this stinging water.
Not all of them are dead. My throat constricts as the creature that pulled me under finally comes into view.
It has the pale face of a man, but it—it doesn’t have a mouth.
Its eyes are milk-white. Sharp bones erupt from its skull in a crown; each spire covered in ashen flesh.
Tattered rags with gold stitching hang off its bony limbs, a glowing spot of crimson in the center of its chest is visible even through the fabric. Terror spikes through me.
Skelmire.
It was in the book. Legend has it they were once royalty consumed by their greed. Now they keep everything that stumbles into their bogs. I should have remembered before I stepped foot in one.
Fuck.
The skelmire leans forward, and its flesh … it begins to peel off its limbs in long ribbons, leaving behind only bone. A spindly hand reaches toward me—
In a flash, those ribbons of flesh uncurl, pinning me to the bottom like shackles.
I thrash beneath its hold, lungs constricting. Everywhere it’s touching me burns.
It bows its head, so I’m only facing its crown of flesh. It gets closer, as if it’s about to stab those bone-sharp spires through my skull—
Before it can, it’s gone. I’m freed.
I crash through the surface, sputtering, head pounding, only to see the creature standing right in front of Raker. Without a head. But it’s still lifting a sword.
“Its gem!” I sputter out, remembering the book.
“What?” Raker demands.
“There’s a gemstone inside its chest. It keeps them alive even after death. You have to—you have to take it out to kill them!”
Raker’s fist busts through the skelmire’s rib cage, cracking right through bone. I swallow at that raw strength. His hand emerges holding a glimmering ruby.
The creature breaks apart, bones scattering before sinking into the bog.
Raker looks back at me, and by the tilt of his head … he almost looks impressed.
Not pathetic. Not nothing.
That’s what I say through my glare as I pant, relief settling my blood.
But before my heart can return to a normal cadence, the still gray water all around us breaks. And dozens of skelmires slowly emerge from its depths. All holding swords they must have fished from the bottom of the swamp.
Raker and I share a look.
We’re surrounded. I’m exhausted. I want to sink to the bottom of this bog and give up. I want to let this swamp win.
But just that look … I can’t see his face, but I can feel the intensity of his gaze. It’s like a promise. We will fight. We are tired, and fading fast, and I fucking hate him right now, but we will fight. “Keep that elbow up,” he says, voice like ground stone.
I nod. I unsheathe my sword. It glimmers.
The skelmires lunge forward.
My blade swings widely, cutting off three heads at once.
And I do manage to keep my elbow up. Energy pounds through my dehydrated veins, every last shred of strength rising, fighting.
I can’t break their bones with my fists, not like Raker can, but when they stand still, I plunge my blade through their chests, cutting the precious stones out.
Rubies, diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds all spill into the water as the skelmires go down, one by one.
Each body that drops is soon replaced. Ancient swords shatter against my own, but the skelmires reach down and get new ones.
I turn, fighting them off, and catch a glimpse of him.
For a moment, I forget myself, I forget I’m surrounded by swamp creatures, I forget my thirst. I just stand, unable to do anything but watch as Raker’s blade carves through the air in perfect arcs, every movement precise, like he and the sword are one.
One hand holds his weapon, and the other keeps breaking into ribcages, over and over, splitting bone like snapping twigs. He takes down ten creatures in mere seconds.
A dagger glints in the side of my vision, and I barely turn in time, distracted. I cut another creature down, then steal its stone. “Is that all you have?” I growl.
As if they understand me, two of the skelmires slowly drift closer. Closer. Until they’re touching. Until the bones within them begin mingling, cracking, reforming, and they merge to create a beast double the size, with four arms. Two weapons. Two gems.
“Fuck,” I say, watching helplessly as skelmire after skelmire emerges, uniting into one monstrous beast now wielding a dozen weapons.
“Run,” I breathe. I turn and sprint, before I hear the creature following, upending the bog, a torrent forming from the force of it, nearly pulling me under.
The skelmire horde is faster. Its ribbons of skin shoot out. Sheets of flesh wrap around my arm, dragging me back.
I scream, my body roaring in pain where it’s touching me, like my bones are melting beneath my skin.
I see the flash of metal right above me, a blade coming down, and I bring my sword up at the last moment, just barely blocking it.
The weapon shatters, and I cut the flesh around my arm, but another thick ribbon of skin replaces it. Another. Until the creature is lifting me out of the water. I gasp then choke as one wraps around my neck.
A dozen faces study me, flesh pulled thin over smothered screams. My strength has nearly left me. My legs are numb. I’m tired. So tired.
But with one last flash of resolve, I cut the skin holding me up in one smooth motion.
I drop into the swamp, my head banging on the bottom, the water barely cushioning my fall. The back of my head pulses. If I’d landed on a chalice, or a weapon, I would likely be dead.
Vision spinning, I rush to my feet. When I rise, I don’t see Raker. I blink away the blurriness, searching wildly.
I’m still looking when the horde lunges forward, right at me.