Chapter 6 A Shadow #2
I swallow. “I–I grew lightheaded and then heard unfamiliar men. I-I was afraid. My father warned me about strange men. When they left I was going to try to head down, back to the shore before anyone came back. I’m sure my uncle and cousin are already looking for me. They’ll be worried.”
His face is an unreadable mask. Most people have tells that can be seen through if you look hard enough, but he gives nothing away.
Not an inkling. Not a drop. His pupils widen as he moves from the lighter edge of the cave to the darker part where I stand.
I flinch and strain against the urge to recoil or lash out.
My body can’t decide which, and I end up standing in place, feeling a flutter in my chest as more heat gathers through my body from the crown piece.
He moves within arms length. This is where I needed him, right?
So that he couldn’t shoot me, or something…
wasn’t there a plan?…. The thought is a vague, fleeting thing.
My mind turns as murky as the waters of the siren's lair.
“Give me your hand.” He gestures at my arm—the one not tucked behind my waist—the one dripping crimson all over the cave floor.
I shiver to think of what he’ll do if I don’t comply…
and what he’ll do if I give in. Solomon’s guard is not known for their soft, understanding nature. I doubt he’s looking to heal or aid me.
A flair of irritation spills over his features when I don’t move, and he holds his hand out imploringly. “Give me your hand.” The words are sharp as a blade point. Then, a fraction softer, he adds, “I won’t hurt you.”
I hesitate, trembling, trying to reign in the waves of heat threading through me.
My arm rises and I hold it out, palm up.
It’s splattered with drying blood, like spots of rust against an ivory canvas.
His own hand scoops the air beneath it, hovering but not quite touching the peaks of my knuckles.
Those calculating eyes rake over it, inspecting every inch.
Every dip and curve, the lines, the callouses, like they’re a map to something hidden he needs to find.
His other hand reaches up to ghost along the wispy white strands of hair fallen loose around my face.
And then he’s blinking down at me, an expression sharper than Aurelian steel, more closed and guarded than before as though I’ve shattered a fragile trust between us I wasn’t even aware existed.
“Oyster shucker by day, grave digger by night?
" His scoff echoes through the cave. "You’ve never shucked an oyster in your life. Why are you here?” His gaze cuts through me and then crosses the cavern and over to the waterfall.
The bushes. The chasm beneath it all. Then back to the hand tucked against my thigh.
I see him putting the pieces together, theorizing potential truths.
Gentle panic bleeds through me, dulled some from the lack of blood circulating my system.
How many minutes have passed since Harlow left?
How many until he returns? The fear that wells inside of me is a flame, fueled by the crown and my desperate, urgent need to get away.
Stark heat ripples up my arm, starting from the center of my chest.
"Answer me," he says more forcefully, his warm hand closing around my bony wrist.
To our joint surprise, a roar of silver flame leaps from my fingertips, blasting toward the cavern ceiling.
We both dive separate ways as the first stalactite falls.
My lunge is for the exit while his is toward the waterfall—a good, loyal soldier to the very end, I think, as more and more of the blunted peaks pepper down around us.
They miss me by inches, but he's not so lucky.
I watch as one catches him in the shoulder and he utters a sharp hiss, rolling away as another comes crashing down with so much force it splinters against the floor, right where his head had just been.
Bits and pieces shard out, stinging over my skin.
I quickly lift an arm to shield my face.
After another moment or two the cave begins to stabilize and they stop falling, but be it a twist of luck, a turn of fate, the fallen have built an effective mountain of rock between us.
The man stands, grimacing against what's likely considerable pain. His eyes are voids of night, a deeper blue than I've ever imagined as they narrow on me and mine flick to the cave's opening. Clear. Wide. Practically inviting me to flee.
"Don't." His voice is low warning, like ice, absent of any and all kindness or amusement.
I shift and start to back away, slowly at first in a sort of daze, until he begins moving. Shoving the small mountains of stone back with such ease I have to wonder how injured he actually is.
“Convincing argument, but I think I will.” I turn on my heel.
I take off at a run, steeling my mind against any fear that comes with the sensation of water around my feet.
My vision is hazy, undulated in a way that has ribbons of color moving over the capped waves and clear blue sky, but I can make out a small cluster of Solomon’s guards setting up along the farther side of the cove, likely where they expect Rhyland Crow to dock.
I'm a speck to them now, but I'll need to stay as close to the cliff wall as possible and move quickly before snaking through the trees and bushes that line this edge of the beach.
I groan as pain spiderwebs down my neck and shoulder.
Pale and clammy, I make the first leap out onto the rock pathway, which is considerably smaller since the tide’s started to rise.
The stone’s hot from midday sun, burning the bottoms of my feet.
My arms go out to either side of me like a bird prepared to take flight despite the pain in my shoulder.
I need to balance carefully. No looking back to see if he's following. It’ll just make me panic and fall.
I leap again and again until the sandy beach is in view and the water’s so shallow I can step off the rocks and sprint to the shore.
The spot where I left my boots is just ahead, not far from the shade of bayberry and crape myrtle trees that twist up toward the sky.
Scorching sand sears under my feet as I race towards the shade, desperate for any inch of cover I can find.
Once beneath it, the dire situation I'm in dawns.
If I were fully mortal, I'd already be dead.
The bleeding from my neck hasn't slowed any.
I'm in no condition for a fight. Blue Eyes will break through any moment and start tracking me down by the blood trail I've left.
My best hope is to bury the crown piece as quickly and discreetly as possible and then lead them away.
Maybe try to hide as well. There's no point in running.
I won't make it. Better to wait them out and head back to Helgate for a healer.
My sharp canine finds the fleshy edge of my lower lip as I try to blink and focus against the black spots dotting my vision.
Where to hide it? Thick patches of violently red flowers sprawl between the trees to my left.
If I part them, I can dig between their snaking stems and camouflage the churned, sandy soil when I shift them back into place.
The fingers of my good arm begin shredding the soft earth, paying no heed to the havoc it wreaks on my nail beds, careful to keep the blood from my weeping arm away from the site.
Without giving myself a chance to hesitate, I shove the crown piece inside, sending a silent prayer to the gods—something I haven't done in years.
Quickly, I pat the soil back into place and dust my shaking hands together.
It feels like failure to drag my tired body up off the ground and push through the dense foliage towards the rocky hills that line the rear of the cove.
I'm almost out of the treeline, shooting a final look back toward the buried spot to see if I'm being followed, when something slams into the front of me.
I choke on a gasp of both pain and surprise as I'm knocked back by the force behind it, falling to the ground. The weight lands on top of me, filling my mouth with long hair. Hands tighten around my arms. There's a mess of auburn and gray. Two wide brown eyes blinking at me.
"V-Vale? Vale, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to—" She's drawing in ragged breath, her pale face tear soaked and stricken.
"Rowan?" I gape at her through my swimming vision, uncomprehending. What is she doing here? What does she mean?
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She's sobbing and gripping me so tight it hurts. "I couldn't just let you come here alone—I followed you, b-but I led him right here. I panicked—I didn't know what else to do. H-he's coming. He knows I'm here."
"Who? Who knows you're here?"
She chokes on another sob, and before she even gets the chance to speak his name, Harlow Black's shadow is looming over us.