32. Jet #3
We turn a corner and the lights flicker again, the sound of our steps bouncing off cold stone loud.
At one point, the flickering light takes longer to come back on, and I hear Amal’s cry through her lace gag.
I stop, turn to take her in my arms, to hold onto her and for a moment, for one dreadful moment, I don’t feel her there.
I can’t see her in that pitch black. Hell, I can’t see my own hand before my eyes.
“Amal!” I call out for her.
She makes a sound, as much as she can make through that lace. The lights flicker back on and she’s there again and I breathe a sigh of relief when she throws herself against me and I hold her, feeling her body tremble as tears wet my neck.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.
” I don’t let go of her again. I weave my fingers with hers and finally, fucking finally, another of their damned secret doors is opened to us and we’re pushed inside what looks to be a study with a fire burning in the far corner and the only lights are those of candles even though there are lamps set throughout the room.
Senna removes his mask, his cloak. The main door opens, not the secret one, and Robertson enters, Jameson whispering something to him. They’ve removed their masks too. Jameson keeps his cloak on, but Robertson slips his off and takes us all in, the soldiers, Senna, my brother and I. Amal.
“Remove her.”
Amal makes a sound of protest and presses herself into my side.
I hold on tight. “Over my dead body. Let’s get this signed. I’m fucking done with this bullshit.”
Robertson opens his mouth probably thinking he’ll order a soldier to take her. I ready myself to battle but I’m surprised when Senna puts his hands up in a gesture to say hold on to Robertson.
“We’re almost done here. We can then escort them all to the boat. Leave it, Master Robertson. It doesn’t matter.”
I glance at Sev who is watching with an expression of intense disbelief. This isn’t normal for the Society. Certainly not for the likes of us who have been excommunicated.
The man behind the desk, I guess the attorney who drew up the paperwork, starts to describe what’s changed as he uncaps a fountain pen and holds it out to Senna.
Senna takes it, signs his name to the contract that looks like it’s been hand-written on old, yellowed paper. The Lawyer is still talking but no one is listening.
Sev is next, he glances through it but he, too, is quick to sign and I don’t even bother reading it before signing my name beside my brother’s.
The attorney melts wax over a candle and drips it onto the bottom of the old parchment, typical fucking Society. He presses the seal of IVI’s Tribunal onto it and once the wax hardens, removes it.
“We’re done,” I say.
“Yes, you are,” Senna says, picking up the sheet, no longer sparing even a glance for us. “Escort them to the boat.”
I look down at Amal who keeps her face buried against my chest. I kiss the top of her head, wanting more than anything to rip the lace from her but knowing we need to get the fuck out of here while we can.
Not quite believing they will let us go.
I won’t believe it until we’re safely on the mainland.
Hell, until we’re back in Devil’s Peak. Trevino territory.
Even IVI wouldn’t dare fuck with him in Cassian’s territory.
Soldiers lead us out of the room back down that freezing, narrow corridor with its flickering lights.
We turn off down another passage fairly quickly though and begin a long descent.
This corridor grows colder and colder, freezing and damp, the only light coming from the flashlights soldier are carrying.
I touch a wall, feel the jagged, wet rock, the sound of the sea growing louder.
I glance back at Severin who shakes his head. This is no good. No fucking good. Only three soldiers accompany us. We can take them. Even if all three are armed, which I’m certain they are, we can take them. But not yet. I need to see the boat. We need to ensure our escape off this hell-island.
The ground grows wet with sea water coming in.
We’re almost there. And when I see the light at the end of the tunnel and realize it’s a spotlight from the boat bobbing on the wild sea, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Maybe this is it. Maybe they will let us go after all.
We are Blackstones. We cannot simply disappear.
People will look for us, and they won’t want any attention drawn to them.
We step out of the cave like tunnel, our feet in several inches of water, the bottoms of our clothes drenched. I keep hold of Amal. She’s barefoot and it’s slippery.
“Go. The boat will take you to the mainland,” a soldier says. He points as if there are several to choose from when there’s only one.
I look out at a wobbly boat tied to a rickety pier slimy from seaweed and disuse. I look at the man I suppose is the captain. He looks rough. As do the two soldiers flanking him. Not anything like the soldiers within the walls of the castle.
I glance at Sev as we walk toward that pier, soldiers blocking the way back into the cave.
“This isn’t right,” I say quietly although the sea is so loud it doesn’t matter.
“I’m not sure what choice we have.”
“You coming? It’s only going to get worse,” the captain calls out, taking a drag on his cigarette.
“We’re coming,” Sev says as I glance back up at the castle at the top of the cliff we just came out of. I see the lights of the Great Hall from the windows.
“I’m telling you, this isn’t right,” I repeat.
Amal grips my arm with both hands, and I look down to see what she’s trying to tell me but it’s too dark out here to see her face and she can’t use her voice.
“It’ll be okay,” I reassure her.
Sev steps ahead of me and as he passes me, he whispers something. “I took the letter opener on the desk. Things go south, I’ll take the captain.”
This feels better. “I’ve got the others,” I tell him and follow my brother onto the pier. Frigid water splashes us. One of the soldiers jumps out onto the pier and once we’re on board, he unties the rope then hops back in. The captain starts the engine, and we take off into choppy waters.
Keeping hold of Amal, I scan the castle as the shabby boat bounces on the stormy sea. The captain glances back at us from behind the helm, his cigarette now a stub in his mouth. We’re barely out to sea when he gives the nod and the two soldiers approach, taking pistols from their holsters.
They’re not wasting any time.
I push Amal out of the way and she stumbles backward.
“Get down!” I yell at her as Sev plunges his dagger-like letter opener into the throat of the one closest to him. It’s such a surprise that it takes the second soldier a minute to process the other dropping, blood spurting from his jugular.
“Thought you said you’d take the soldiers!” Sev yells as he moves toward the captain who can’t hear over the raging sea, who probably thinks it’s our bodies thudding to the boat floor.
I attack the other soldier, gripping his gun hand, hurling myself at him so the boat wobbles at our joint weight crashing against the side.
We battle, my fists against his gun. He manages to smash the butt of the pistol against my temple, and the world goes sideways for a second.
Or maybe it’s just the fucking waves. I grip his gun hand and slam it against the side of the boat so hard I hear the crack of bone, but it’s muted by the sound of the gun going off.
He’s off balance and I throw him over the side. He screams before the black sea swallows him whole. I glance at Sev who slits the throat of the captain, but when I hear a woman’s cry, all the blood in my body goes frigid.
I turn. And it’s fucking slow motion. I fucking turn and Amal is there, on the floor of the boat, lying in a puddle of water. But as I move closer to her, I see that water is turning pink. Her hand falls away from her chest as I rush to her.
“No!”
There, in all that lace and silk, red pools beneath her, the fabric at her breast black with her own blood.
Sev calls out as the boat crashes down from the top of a too-high wave, but I can’t hear him. Not over the water or the storm or my own frantic brain.
“Amal. Amal!” I drop to my knees beside her, rip the silk open at her chest, see where the bullet entered her heart. The very center of her heart.
No. No. No!
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t—
A gasp. A hand on mine. Bloody.
I look up at her face. She can’t breathe. She’s trying to breathe.
I grip the lace that binds her face and, with an animal roar, I tear it in two. A sound comes from her, a gasp, and I know it’s her last. I know it as I stare down at her.
At her beautiful face.
But it’s not Amal’s face.
It’s not Amal.