Chapter 7 On The Cliffs
The Pox's kiss: a cruel sculptor, molding flesh with a fever's heat. It leaves behind a canvas of scars, a chilling reminder of the battle waged within, an exemplification to the fragility of life. Once touched by the disease, not even the gods can save you.
—excerpt from 'The Nature of Afflictions, A Treatise on Viral Humors, The Alchemist's Observations of the Great Sickness'
There's a terrifying silence as he stares down between us, that awful scar curling against the corner of his mouth. His eyes narrow; the milky, ruined one a stark reminder of the absolute and imminent danger I’m in if he remembers me.
Part of me already knows he will, even before the light of realization floods his face.
Pox powder may have changed my hair from a shade of vibrant, gleaming chestnut to sickly, pale white, but my face is the same.
I’ve been seared into his memory—you don’t forget a person who did what I had to.
My eyes betray me, flicking down to my móeir’s hunting knife strapped at his waist. The small movement, alone, has him lunging forward to grab me like an eagle snatching a fish from the sea.
My reflexes are practically non-existent at the moment, my dodge slow and pathetic.
His rough hand catches my throat, the other twists within my hair, dragging me forward.
Rowan rushes him, but his heavy boot finds her chest and she goes sprawling back against one of the trees.
I struggle with what’s left of my strength, but it’s hardly anything now that I’m no longer holding the crown piece.
His hand is a crushing vice. He slams me down to the ground and releases my hair. I hear a distinct ring—the sound of Aurelian steel being unsheathed, see its silver glint as he draws it up towards my face and the wicked point touches the top of my forehead, light as the wing of a butterfly.
My vision dances; above me, he comes sharply in and out of focus.
“I knew this day would come,” he croons over the sound of Rowan taking in painful breaths a few feet away.
“That it would be today of all days is an unfortunate inconvenience. The plans I have for you—the beautiful masterpiece the sound of your screams will make—” His eyelids flutter and he smiles down at me, a baring of teeth. “I can almost hear them now.”
The edge of dark that’d been lingering in my peripheral expands.
The world is going dim, caving to the will of oblivion when his fingers loosen.
“Oh, no you don’t. You aren’t getting away that easily.
We’re going to take our time, you and me.
” Air floods my lungs and the black recedes.
Curse that Skelfir, god of the nether realm, would not even grant me a quick death after everything.
“It looks like someone’s already got a piece of you.
” The blade skims over my cheek, down to my weeping neck.
The slightest of pressures harder, and the steel would bite through my layers of skin as though they were nothing.
From the way I came, there’s the sound of heavy footsteps. At the brief distraction, Harlow glances up and Rowan lunges again, this time successfully leaping onto his back and bringing a cupped hand down hard and fast against his ear.
Harlow releases a snarl of pain, bucking so that Rowan is thrown askew and has to lock her limbs tight to maintain her perch.
Unfortunately, she’s never been much of a fighter.
It’s all too easy for him to stand tall and thrash backward into one of the trees until she has no choice but to relent, releasing her hold on him and slipping back toward the ground.
He snatches her up by the front of her tunic, the blade pointed at her chest. “Lift a finger against me again, you Centurist bitch, and you’ll be meeting your precious goddess here and now. ”
It’s an awful shock to realize I can hardly move—that my blood is flowing almost as freely as it was when the monster took her first bite.
The owner of the heavy tread approaches, hovering less than a foot away. I stare at his black boots, coated in cavern dust.
“Aren’t you meant to be guarding Solomon’s waterfall?” Harlow growls over his shoulder.
“Where do you think this one came from?” Blue Eyes shakes crumbling bits of rock from his hair. The tip of his boot meets my shoulder with a pointed nudge. “She was hiding inside the cavern.”
The look on Harlow’s face transforms into something sinister as he shoves Rowan more forcefully into the tree, gripping his knife.
“Caught somewhere you weren’t meant to be again, little fury?
” His eyes are gleaming, crazed, as they flick up to the guard standing over me.
“Search her. She may have it. I can’t turn my back on this one again, but killing a member of the sisterhood without Solomon’s okay would start a war with the Sons.
They like to do their own punishing.” He says it mournfully, like he would savor ending her life. My stomach roils.
Blue Eyes kneels beside me and for a moment his hands hover in the air above my body like he expects me to release another burst of wild flame.
I can’t, even though I desperately want to.
The crown’s power has already drained from my body and it was the only thing keeping me going.
If I’m lucky, I’ll bleed to death here and now before they can try to torture the truth out of me.
To my surprise he reaches over and grabs a fistful of deep green plants near my head, studying them for a moment.
Harlow sniffs, and his knuckles grow white around the blade hilt. “What are you doing? I said search her.”
“I will,” Blue Eyes says back, his tone even but focused.
“But I recognize this bite pattern, here, at her neck. Terror maris. Sea Siren, of the Loligo line. Their bite thins the blood, keeps it flowing. If we don’t stop the bleeding she’ll be dead before she can tell us anything useful.
” He doesn’t wait for Harlow to respond before jamming some of the plants into my mouth. “Chew this, quickly.”
When I don't, his fingers find my jaw and he forces the movement, grinding the bitter greens to a pulp I'm forced to swallow.
Then he grabs for a small leather satchel strapped beneath his coat.
Opening it, there's a soft clink of vials he sifts through until he decides on one with luminescent green liquid inside.
His hand slides beneath my neck, propping my body up at an angle before tipping it toward my lips.
I clamp my mouth shut and his midnight eyes narrow. "Drink this now, or the minute you bleed out, your friend over there joins you in the next realm."
Rowan lets out a low whimper.
He's bluffing, I think. Harlow's already said he can't kill her. Why should I take anything when I can feel the end so near? Perhaps the bleeding has slowed some since he stuffed me with whatever plant that was, but the pain is so dulled. And I can't feel my legs. I could drift now…far away. Sleep.
He leans closer, and the clean scent of the sea fills my nose at the proximity and sends a low ache of fear through my gut. Harlow is scary, but the sea will forever hold domain over my terror.
"You think I won't because of the Sons? She'll die if I simply don't tend to her.
Harlow's fractured her ribs. The shattered bits could move with a single shift in her weight and bury themselves in her lung.
I can mend her, but I'll only do it if you drink this now," he says firmly, and in this I can see iron truth. A fortified promise.
Harlow makes a low scoffing sound just as Rowan collapses. "You a guard or some sort of magical healer?" he growls, though there's the slightest flicker of uncertainty on his face as he appraises Rowan’s bent over form. She's moaning softly in pain, the sound an agony to my ears.
Blue Eyes catches my jaw again with the four fingers not hooked around the vial before expertly maneuvering it up to my lips. Begrudgingly, I loosen them and suck down its contents. It has a surprisingly muted flavor, but I still gag and retch at the slimy consistency.
"Her," I say, once the gagging stops, flinging a finger towards Rowan, who is curled in on herself at Harlow's feet. "Fix her."
He stands and makes his way to her, kneeling, and Harlow quickly takes up his post next to me. Those rough, unforgiving hands jerk my chin to the side to inspect the wound. "It's closed," he gapes before shooting a sharp look over at the guard. "What was in that? Where did you get it?"
Before the questions can be answered, a second guard comes running from the beach.
"Black, he's here! Crow's ship just pulled into the cove.
They're loading onto the pinnace. Solomon wants you at his side, now.
" The guard's gaze flicks uncertainly between the four of us but he doesn't say a word more.
"Tell my brother I'm coming. And that I think I found the solution to our little problem." He drags me up to my feet again using a fistful of my hair. My legs wobble but hold. Whatever mixture was in that green sludge has given me back a fraction of my strength.
Seeming to sense this, Harlow grabs for the set of irons he carries everywhere.
What good is a nymph slaver without his most useful weapon?
He slaps the cuffs around my wrists and I flinch, even when the burning pain doesn't come.
My father's mortal blood has made me immune to the effect iron has on full blooded Nymphs.
Not that it matters—my power of flame is practically useless, it seems, unless the crown is curled in my fist.
He jerks on the long chain connecting the cuffs and I stumble slightly, catching sight of the first guard lifting Rowan to her feet.
Some semblance of relief fills me to see the color's returned to her cheeks.
I don't dare call out to her though. The bond between us has already been exploited.
I won't give them more to wield over us.