Chapter 48
M urder guts you, leaving nothing but an animated shell. I realize that while I sit, balled on the wet ground, rocking back and forth in a puddle of my own bile.
All these years, I’ve been hiding from myself. Functioning without a pulse.
The Vruks didn’t slaughter everyone that day. They simply caught the scent of a sizzling meal and came running to gorge on the carnage I created.
Me. A tiny, two-year-old child.
I rock and rock and rock , ripping at my hair, clawing at my arms, my neck, my scalp ...
Me.
There is no pretty way to paint over all that ugly.
I severed my tether to humanity at the tender age of two—lost control and butchered not only the people who broke into our home and took my brother from me, but also the servants, the cooks ... my mother.
I murdered my mother ...
I shudder, dry heave, pray it was a swift and painless death.
Pray she didn’t suffer.
Her scream echoes through my mind; the sound she made when the axe was swung—
Of course she suffered. She watched her son bleed out, then saw her daughter turn into a monster.
Watched me die in a different way.
Rhordyn took me in and dressed me as a lamb, not realizing I’m actually the wolf. Except my weapons aren’t fangs and claws, but an inky fire so noxious it severs— leaving fleshy, bubbled bits that weep their life.
My rocking becomes so violent my bare skin grates across the stone.
No wonder the people in Whispers haunt me. That their perusals burn. No wonder part of me tried so hard to put them back together.
I thought the unintentional paintings were my gift for the ones who lost themselves that day, but it was an overflowing well of guilt worming its way out of me in any way it could. Forcing me to look.
So many faces.
So many wide-eyed, condemning stares .
Murderer ...
A strangled sound claws out of me, raw and roughly hewn.
Did my subconscious create my Safety Line as a way to cage me in? Perhaps it considered me best kept isolated should I lose control again?
And what if that does happen? Do all the people who run the estate end up being torn to bits—their scorched remains scattered throughout the castle halls? Does Baze?
Rhordyn?
I release a low, throaty whimper.
They call me a child-survivor, when I’m actually their unbridled demise just waiting to unleash.
I need to atone for everything I’ve done, and I can’t do that if I’m tucked high in the clouds.
No.
All I’m achieving here is to waste my life, living in a protective bubble I don’t deserve—one that could burst at any moment, be it from the inside or the out.
Cainon’s proposal was much more of a gift than I realized. Fate is giving me a chance to save lives, and I refuse to look at it any other way. It’s too late to go back and change things, so I’ll have to do what I can with what little I’ve got ...
A blue and gold cupla.
I claw up the edge of that mind-chasm, heaving and bruised, broken and bloody. There’s not a single part of my insides that isn’t ugly, so unlike the real me hiding beneath this skin I wear.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Landing on the ledge, I tamp that gulf full of enough shadow to smother the pile of slumbering death and spin, shutting off my mind’s eye.
Refusing to look at the past again.
I lift my head, teeth chattering, body trembling.
I have to go.
Rolling forward onto skinned knees, I scoop water from the edge of the spring, using it to wash my face and legs and the bile from the ends of my hair. I remove the calico package from around my ankle and stand, wavering on unsteady feet.
My vision splits, collides. Splits, collides ...
I draw a deep breath and take one step toward the stairs, then another, until I reach the wall and can use it as a crutch. Tentatively, I begin the climb, legs shaking beneath my weight. But I push myself, feeling my body grow a little stronger with every inhale.
It’s not until I’m halfway up the chute that I realize Rhordyn’s shirt is ripped, exposing my right thigh and a long, fleshy wound that’s dribbling blood.
“Shit,” I mutter, glancing down the stairs, seeing a peppered trail of red everywhere my foot has been.
I’ll have to bind that before I can go anywhere.
I exit the stairwell and hobble down the hallway, every unsteady step bringing me closer to Rhordyn’s inevitable return.
If he finds me like this, I’m screwed. He’ll probably chain me to a wall somewhere and bark at me until I scream my truth.
My heart skips a beat, and I double my speed, shoving myself into a jog—teeth gritted, fists bunched.
Pushing past the zap of pain that lances up my leg every time it drives forward, I practically fly up Stony Stem, rounding on the echoes of an argument.
Vanth and Kavan are at my closed door, doused in blood and rain, throwing profanities back and forth.
Their disagreement comes to a silent crescendo the moment they notice me standing four steps below, and they almost leap out of their boots.
Seriously, worst guards ever.
Kavan looks me up and down, wide eyes settling on my bloody thigh. “What the hell happened to you?”
“You’re bleeding,” Vanth proclaims, as if it isn’t obvious. “And dressed in a man’s shirt.”
I ignore his righteous tone and shove past. “We’re leaving,” I rasp, pushing the door open, tossing the month supply of caspun on my bed.
“What?” they bellow as a clap of thunder shakes the tower, followed by a flash of light that etches everything in an eerie brilliance.
Ignoring the calamity the sky is unleashing, I wrap my hair in a knot on my head, using a large pin to prod it in place before rifling through my drawers for something to bandage my bloody thigh.
“ Mistress! ”
Kavan’s use of the title makes me bristle. In truth, I’d forgotten they were there.
“The boat,” I snip, tearing a strip free of a tattered shirt. “We’re sailing for the South. Now.”
Vanth snort-laughs, though the sound is barren of humor.
I spin. “Something funny?”
“Yes, actually. You’ve been stalling for the past few days, and you choose now to leave? Have you even looked outside?” He points out the western window. “Only someone with a death wish would sail in that weather.” His eyes narrow. “Unless you want our ship to sink ...”
“Why would I wan—” I shake my head, dismissing his condemning tone. “Look. We either sail now or you can return to the Bahari capital with nothing but this, ” I say, shoving my shackled wrist in his direction. “Because once Rhordyn gets back from his hunt, I’m stuck here. For good.”
My attention darts between the two, and I wait.
To be fair, these guys haven’t exactly been pushing to get me on that boat. If they take the cupla and go, Rhordyn’s theory will be proven correct—that Cainon was only in this to stir the political pot.
I’ll never live it down, but sailing off into an encroaching storm with a boat full of people I don’t know or trust would be the height of stupidity if I haven’t at least tested Rhordyn’s theory.
The two share a look, neither of them taking a single step inside my quarters.
“Fine,” Vanth grumbles, pointing at a basket in the corner of the room.
“You have five minutes to fill that with stuff, wrap that wound, and change into more ... appropriate attire. If we’re doing this, we have to be out of that bay before we lose the remaining light and your na?vete damns us all to a watery grave. ”
He pulls the door closed before I can say another word.
* * *
M y button-down is rolled to my elbows, my tight, waist-high pants offering an extra layer of pressure for my bandaged thigh.
Sporadic gusts of icy wind whistle down the callous steps behind me, assaulting my ears, threatening to toss me down the cliff and no doubt take out my spear-wielding guards on the way.
Every few steps, I steal a peek over my shoulder, half expecting to see Rhordyn charging after me.
“Can you guys move any faster?”
Vanth grumbles something and they both quicken their pace. Hard to be sure, but I think they might be getting sick of me.
The basket I’m carrying is light, only full of essentials. The fact that it’s all jammed inside a pillow slip that smells of Rhordyn should be entirely discounted.
I know I was supposed to burn the thing, but I kept thinking of reasons not to.
I’m not okay .
These wet, slippery stairs feel like increments toward the gallows. Like I’m being led to an execution block and not a boat destined for a foreign territory where I’ll be sworn in as a High Mistress, surrounded by people who aren’t my people.
Tanith, Cook, Shay, Kai ... I’ll even miss the grumbling gardeners. I’ll miss the trees and the flowers and the bushes I’ve grown from seeds. I’ll miss the view from my spot where I’ve always felt safe despite my haunting past ...
My stomach churns.
The rain has abated. If I were the sign-seeking type, I’d believe this is right, even though my heart is screaming for me to turn back and run. For me to hide in my tower, lock the door, and never come out.
My boots finally hit the sand—boots I wore to prevent from sinking my toes deep and grounding myself. I can’t afford to dig new roots when I’m nursing the nubs from the ones I’ve recently severed.
Our hurried footsteps dent the sand as we sweep around the bay. We’re almost at the jetty when Baze steps out from behind a jagged line of rocks that have always reminded me of shark teeth.
My heart slams to a halt. My feet do the same.
He’s dressed in black leather pants and a loose cotton shirt only half tucked in. Three buttons hang open at the neck, as if he got dressed so fast he had no time to put everything in place.
He pushes back the disheveled flop of his hair with a dash of his hand, revealing eyes that appear almost black, reflecting the dark smudges stamped beneath them.
My brow pleats, gaze falling to the wooden sword hanging from his fist ...
I mutter a curse.
“Take this to the boat.” I shove my basket toward my closest escort while holding Baze’s stare. “I’ll be right there.”