Chapter 49
A scalding word burns hot on my tongue, sputters against my lips, hopelessness stomping me like a world lumped on my chest. There’s an ache in my heart that’s leaking …
Leaking …
I think I’m leaking with it, reaching for something I can’t grasp. Fingers outstretched. Desperate
to tangle with—
Something important.
Something …
Mine.
But I drain …
Drain …
Gently drain away …
Yanked away too fast. Too slow.
Cold
Empty—
J erking up, I battle for breath, clawing at my chest, ribs, and belly. Trying to untangle from the tacky tendrils of a slumber-terror that felt too real.
Too painful.
I slap my face, open my eyes, taking in the humid room, shards of light peeking through shuttered curtains I think I might’ve seen before. Somewhere. Perhaps in a dream. But I’m not dreaming anymore. I just woke.
I just woke—
Where the fuck am I?
I thread my fingers through my hair and push it back off my face, trying to piece together the bloody segments of my mulched memories.
The Fate Herder …
The kneeling, motionless colk leaking blood from its slit throat …
Two unfamiliar males slashing each other’s flesh, trying to claim the rights to my body.
Hock’s fist colliding with my face …
Kaan decapitating Hock …
Kaan—
Gasping, I reach for the málmr hanging heavy from my neck and cradle it in my palm, admiring the two embracing dragons …
Creators. That happened.
That.
Actually.
Happened.
“Shit,” I mutter, cutting my gaze around the room again, the walls all made from russet stone, the ceiling a mosaicked clash of black, bronze, and dark red. The space is sparsely furnished, most things grown from the wall or floor—the massive pallet, the twin side tables, the dresser protruding from the far wall packed with woven baskets used as drawers.
Light. Simple. Organic.
I glance down, seeing my attire has been changed, brushing my fingers across the black silk shift buying me all the modesty I could hope for in this oppressive heat. A good sign that accepting Kaan’s málmr is not going to lead me to a life on my back, staring up at stitched-together hides while I grow some mystical offspring meant to save the world from impending moonfalls.
This is good.
I can work with this.
I let the málmr thump against my chest, shove the sheet off, and push to a wobbly stand, my stare landing on a gold and copper framed body-length mirror mounted to the wall. I frown at the image of myself staring back.
The black sleep shift spills off my curves, the neckline draped across my full bust, the hem falling to midthigh and baring my long pale legs. The sheath is a perfect match to the tone of my loose hair that’s cloaking me like a sheet of silk, falling all the way to my hips in long, ruffled tendrils.
Somebody washed me, dressed me, and brushed my hair. Not sure what I did to deserve such service.
I step closer, hands lifting to my face, noticing my cheeks are flushed pink from the heat, my lips a deeper tone of red—my body so unattuned to this oppressive temperature that all my capillaries appear to be working overtime.
Tipping my head to the side, I ease my thick, heavy locks away from the dull throb in my temple, fingers skating over the unblemished flesh.
My frown deepens.
Not a single scar paying tribute to the mace that cracked me open.
Huh .
Kaan must’ve organized a Runi to thread me back together. That’s nice. Fine treatment for a prisoner still bound in an iron shackle. Not that I’m complaining. Pretty sure one more smack to the skull would’ve been the end of me.
I turn away, am about to move to the shutters so I can see where in this Creators-forsaken world I’ve ended up, when a vision flashes, striking me like another blow to the head, making me feel like the world’s tipping.
Plummeting.
I grip the burnished mirror, easing it to the side, revealing a hollow cavity in the stone behind. I thread my arm into the hole, pulling out a leather-bound book I tug close to my chest—
The memory disintegrates, like crumbling dirt sifting through the gaps between my fingers, refusing to clump back together again no matter how hard I try to fist them into shape.
My heart lodges so far up my throat it’s hard to breathe past.
What the fuck was that?
Swallowing, my gaze drifts back to the mirror, an unsteady hand extending toward the frame and gripping tight. I slide it right, and my heart dislodges from my throat, then whumps into my gut when I see a rough-hewn cavity. Empty. Big enough to fit a book and not much else.
My blood turns to a thick, icy sludge …
The door behind me snicks shut, and I whip around, letting go of the mirror. The heavy thing scuffs back into place as I take in the female leaning against the door, one leather boot kicked back. She uses a small dragonscale blade to slice crisp milk-colored shards off a round black fruit, biting into them, zesting the air with tart sweetness.
The female’s skin is sun-kissed, her long hair full of body and a warm shade of brown, threaded with natural highlights that complement her ember eyes. It’s braided on one side, decorated with brown beads.
Freckles dust her nose and cheeks, a roguish elegance to her shapely stature that’s hard to look away from. She’s fiercely beautiful, exuding an aura of confidence that’s palpable in this small, stuffy room.
“Who are you?”
“Kaan’s asshole sister you don’t want to get on the wrong side of,” she says, lashes lifting as she gives me a once-over, then goes back to slicing her fruit, crunching through its watery flesh.
My stomach rumbles, clenching around its hollowness, eyes narrowing on the blade. Becoming primally aware that this prickly female has a weapon.
And I absolutely do not .
“You don’t like me,” I muse, edging right to rest my hip against the side table. She doesn’t shift her gaze from the fruit as I grip the unlit sconce—tall, gold, and heavy enough to knock somebody unconscious with minimal effort. Precautions. “You don’t even know me.”
“Debatable.”
I arch a brow. “Meaning?”
Her lashes flick up, that sharp stare scraping across my face, down to the málmr resting between my breasts, bowing the silky material into the generous dip. “ That means something, you know. You don’t just accept one, then toss it in your jewelry box to wear with your favorite outfit.”
Joke’s on her because I have no outfits.
Her gaze meets mine again, and she bites into another segment of fruit, chewing it while I chew on the way she’s looking at me—seeping enough hostility to make me feel utterly unwelcome. Perhaps if she saw the way Kaan sawed off Hock’s head while the male was still well and truly conscious, she wouldn’t be so concerned about me hurting his precious heart.
“Where is he?”
She swallows her mouthful, slicing another segment free. “Probably getting threaded back together. He got pretty messed up trying to save you from a life on your back, tits out with a belly full of some brute’s babe.”
My other brow lifts.
“Let me guess,” she continues, piercing the tip of her blade through the milky shard as she pops her hip against the door, looking me up and down, flourishing the weapon about like a pointer stick. “He took you to a quaint hut in the hills, cooked you a meal, then looked at you like he loves you more than life itself. So you ran away, fell down the waterfall, and ended up being stripped in a skull full of half-naked warriors?”
All the blood drains from my face. “How do you kno—”
“Because I’m magnificent. I’m also loyal, but intolerable when you get on my bad side.” She brings the blade to her mouth and snatches the piece of fruit with her teeth, chewing through it. “I’m yet to decide where you fall.”
Unfortunately for her, I don’t draw self-gratification from the acceptance of others. Not to mention I’m so fucking hungry I could eat a large mound of those strange juicy orbs of fruit, and hearing her crunch through its crispy, tart-smelling flesh is stirring a feral amount of jealousy I’m struggling to tame. I’ve never tasted one of those before, but the tingling nerves beneath my tongue are ready .
“You’d be amazed at how little that bothers me,” I mutter, tortured through another crunchy bite that almost has me leaping across the room and knocking the female out just to steal what’s left of it. “If you’re done pissing circles, feel free to show me the exit so I can exercise my newfound liberty of no longer being chained, bound, or pinned.”
I shoo her with my hand, but she just stares at me, head cocked to the side as she chews her fruit.
“Kaan was brought up constantly being told he’s not good enough. He’ll never admit it, but in his mind, he doesn’t deserve the honor of that being around your neck,” she says, waving her blade in the direction of Kaan’s málmr.
I don’t think she gets it—desperate times and all that.
He’s probably looking forward to getting it back.
Wearing a sharp smile, she says, “Break him again and I’ll break you.” She shoves off the door and swings it wide, fluidly stalking down the hall while her last words sink their teeth into my brain and gnaw .
“What do you mean again ?” I snarl, stalking to the doorway, still white-knuckling the candlestick.
She keeps walking, just turning the corner at the end of the hall when a word bludgeons up my throat unchecked—my mouth shaping the sound as if from muscle memory alone.
“Veya!”
She stops, head turning—slow.
Precise.
Her wide-eyed stare collides with mine like salt to a raw, vulnerable wound that’s not on my body but within . On a portion of the shore lining my icy internal lake that’s not as high as it was before. That’s dropped a foot, leaving a ring of ebony stones achingly bare.
Maybe I’m seeing things? Maybe it was always like this?
“What did you just call me?”
Frowning, I rub my head, wondering who I’m confusing her with. Somebody, surely. Do I know a Veya? I must.
“Nothing. I don’t know. Go away, you’re hurting my head.”
My body must’ve gone into starvation mode, restricting blood flow to all my important bits.
Damn, I need food. And water.
She storms back down the hall, her eyes blazing embers. Tossing the core of her fruit on the ground, she bashes her hand against her chest as she bellows, “I’m Veya. Me. Do you remember me?”
My eyes almost roll out of my head.
Not this again.
“No. My brain just belched in the right direction. I’ve never seen you before in my life,” I mutter and slam the door in her face, clonking the lock into place. “Let’s chat again when you’ve learned how to share.”
There’s the sound of her boot colliding with the wood before she belts at the top of her lungs: “I’m going to work this out. You hear me? I’m going to work this out .”
She’s nuts.
“You do that,” I mutter. “Careful not to strain your brain.”
The only response is the sound of her footsteps stomping down the hall.
Away.
I sigh, toss the candlestick on the pallet, and move toward the wooden shutters, sliding them aside and half blinding myself in the process. I lift my other hand as a shield from the fierce ray of light and heat, eyes widening when they finally adjust to the stark glare.
“Wow,” I whisper, gripping the rustic wooden handle on the door before me, shoving it wide. I step out onto the small stone balcony that overlooks a civilization crammed upon a vast bay that stretches into the powdery horizon, its borders smudged by rippling heatwaves. A shame since something about the western point piques my interest. Makes me want to peel back the layers of distortion and see what’s hidden beneath.
I look directly toward the city below.
From up here—partway up the swooping cliff—the buildings look like a tumble of rust-colored boulders, some paved in mosaic swirls, others capped with round windows that glint in the sun. The pale-blue sky is heavy with dusky Sabersythe moons, as well as a few colorful Moltenmaw moons reflecting in the silky turquoise water that stretches into oblivion, the blazing sun perched directly ahead, lathering me in heat.
I draw my lungs full, shaking my head …
Looks like I made it to Dhomm.