Chapter 22
I stayed informed by watching the news on the ship. They crowned Walkyer earlier than I expected. It bothers me that they aren’t telling the full story on social media, television, and blog posts.
News outlets claim Queen Ji-Sun committed suicide, saying “the Queen couldn’t endure another day being tethered to a king who was fooling around with sex workers.”
Many sympathised with her and claimed it was a thousand times more traumatic when someone from the tethering cheats. Not only are you aware that they are cheating, but you feel everything and can’t control it.
It’s disgusting when they put it like that. But it’s also sad they’re spewing this narrative when, in reality, I murdered the King, and she was just an unfortunate bystander tethered to him.
They are also aware.
Prince Reen slaughtered the two guards on duty with such intensity that it blurred most of the televised footage because of its graphic nature. He killed the guards on the left side, where I had entered.
Obviously, this was no suicide, and he is aware of someone sneaking in to kill the King.
That’s the unsettling feeling in my stomach.
Does he know who it is yet? Or is he only aware of the gate the elemny entered?
I pray he has no more information than that and is still looking for clues about who killed King Ragan.
Regardless, I need to see Nancy so we can get the fuck out of here.
I enter the apartment building, take the stairs three at a time, and then walk down the hallway until I reach my door. Keys jingle when I pull them out of my pocket, and as I find the right key, my focus lands on Nancy’s door. Skin peels away from my lip when I bite and gnaw on it.
No, I will see Nancy after I pack my belongings.
A cold and disturbing shudder creeps up my spine when I enter my apartment.
Prickles tingle my scalp like sweat-filled hair, causing an irritable itch to crawl over me until it’s overwhelming.
The bathroom door is open, the bra I left hanging out of my dresser is not there, and the drawer I often leave open has been closed by someone.
A two-minute noodle packet lies scrunched with the rest of the rubbish, but I always toss it in the bin without care, not to make room.
The towel that conceals the mirror on the stand isn’t placed how I like it, showing that someone moved it.
Also, the window that’s usually closed—out of fear of an air elemny entering—is now ajar, and the cool summer breeze drifts into my home.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath.
Leaving my apartment, I knock on Nancy’s door and wait. My foot taps on the ground, and I pinch my skin as I glare down the hallway, half expecting a Knight of Eraminia to appear. When she doesn’t answer after the fifth knock, I shuffle through my keys again until I find hers.
It’s dark, cold and uninviting when I enter. The dripping of a tap gives this place an eerie, unsettling edge. A shudder crawls up my spine, like stepping into a horror movie and waiting for the evil spirit that haunts this place to appear.
My hand pats down the wall until I hit the light switch. Yellow light illuminates her small, boxy apartment, drenching it in shadows.
Everything seems in its place…aside from the suspicious bed of flowers in the middle of her apartment. Its shape reminds me of a body bag. Yet, this body bag moves. The petals breathe, and the pollen they produce ripples in the air, puffing with every breath.
On my knees beside the bed of aconitum flowers, my hands tremble over the tops of them. Ice powers twinkle down into fragments of frost. Leaves, purple flowers and roots melt into the floor, revealing Nancy’s horrific, gaping mouth.
I wince at the sight, lower my hands, and move away from her. The aconitum flowers bloom around her once more, slithering across her skin like tightly fitted clothing. They cover her death with a sense of dangerous beauty.
There’s nothing more I can do here.
Back in my room, I shuffle through my drawers and shove clothes into the backpack with a sense of panic and pounding, frightened adrenaline. Then I dress in something comfortable: grey sweatpants and a quarter-sleeved black T-shirt.
Afterwards, I move to my bed and take the dagger hidden in my pillow.
My thoughts drift to bringing the gun, but it’s harder to conceal a firearm than a dagger.
A dagger can be self-defence. But a gun…
It’s illegal, so if I get caught with one, I may as well hand myself in now to save the hassle of my stupidity.
I move to my dresser, but I’m shaking like crazy, so it drops when I grab my lotion.
I stumble back, and it squirts across the ground.
Muttering swear words under my breath, I toss a shirt over it and leave my apartment quickly.
There’s nothing I can do about it. If my assumptions are correct, they likely already know about me, and I’m their prime suspect.
But it leaves a weird funk rising in my stomach. If they know I’m the culprit, why aren’t they waiting here for me? Did the commotion with King Ragan cause them to return to the Kingdom of Flesh? No, it sounds stupid to think they would leave without the killer.
Unless they only assumed Nancy, then I’m off the—seriously, Pandora. Stop with your fucking ignorance. You know that’s not true. It’s why you’re stumbling down the fucking stairs in a desperate act to flee before they find you.
How do I get to the Kingdom of Crystal now that I’m alone?
I am not knowledgeable enough to navigate a damn boat, nor do I trust anyone here to take me near the Kingdom of Crystal—even if I were to hand them a large slab of cash.
If anything, I need to find Nancy’s allies, hoping they will smuggle me somewhere for the right price.
“Shit, I’m so fucked,” I hiss.
Leaning against the bank, overlooking the ships waiting at the pier, I see a drugstore nearby, across the street from where I stand. My focus lingers on the wall displaying cigarette packets and burner phones through the glass window.
After a couple of minutes, I leave the drugstore, rip open a burner phone, and insert the SIM card into the back of it.
When I add the credit, I punch in the numbers Nancy made me remember in case something happened to her.
Pressing the phone to my ear, I monitor my surroundings, worrying that someone is watching me.
They answer, saying, “Good evening. This is Maya, the Orphan Keeper. How may I help you?”
“Uh, hey, Maya. Is Andrew available?”
There is a slight pause before she says, “Andrew is feeding the children at the moment. Can I leave a message for him to call you back in about fifteen minutes?”
“Yes. Tell him,”—I look up at the office building—“The Miller’s Law Firm from Oceanview Harbour has donated clothes, blankets and fresh pillows.
We have packed them, and they are ready for shipment.
It will be on the last ship this evening.
Tell him to keep an eye out for it. I know how wet it gets in the Kingdom of Storm. ”
“Of course! Thank you for your donation. We hope to work with you more in the future!”
She hangs up. Two minutes tick by before she finally messages me a virtual passport and ticket to gain entrance to the Kingdom of Storm.
Pushing off the building, I head for the ship that will travel toward the storm.
Upon reaching the line, I walk behind a couple snuggling and holding hands.
We wait for the line to settle down. As I wait, my frown deepens as I watch the couple stare with love, adoration, and a hint of lust in the way their bodies move.
They are very much in love. It causes me to think back on Xavier and what he’s up to. Since he’s marked, it may diffuse his worry about tracking me down and wondering where I’ve fled. I hope he’s with his marked one, and when someone mentions my name, it’s a “Pandora who?” moment.
But Sara and Kylie, though…They will worry about me, which could complicate things if Prince Reen gets his hands on them.
The line dies down, and I’m up next. I flash my phone at the ticket man servicing the ship, step onto the deck and find my room. As I enter, I notice it’s bigger than the one Nancy ordered when I returned from the Kingdom of Flesh.
Dumping my bag on the bed, I lock the door to the room, untie my shoelaces, drag the dresser near the door, and tie my shoelaces to the door handle from the dresser. If anyone tries to enter, it will wake me even in my deepest sleep.
Afterwards, I grab the chair in the kitchen, drag it to the doors leading out to the small balcony, and press it underneath the handles. Then I close the blinds to prevent any air elemny from peeking through.
Scanning the room, my body stiffens at the mirror in the corner, watching me. In the cabinets, I grab a spare fitted sheet and cover the mirror. When I can no longer see myself, my erratic heart eases.
What’s next?
My focus settles on the door to my right, across from the kitchen.
Bathroom.
I remove the butter knife from the drawer, enter the bathroom, and notice a rectangular window above the sink.
I crack the window, slide the knife through the gap, and ensure it balances without falling on its own.
If someone were to open it, the knife would tip, clattering into the sink and making a hell of a noise.
Back in the main room, I shuffle through my bag, grab my precious dagger, and settle onto the bed until I’m leaning against the headrest and glaring at the glass sliding door. Even if I want to, I doubt I’ll get any sleep until I arrive at the Sweethearts Orphanage.
Wretched screams erupt through dry and torn lungs. Frost filled with crimson explodes in the air, then rains down like shaved ice and melts across my pale skin. The broken, frostbitten limbs rip away from the body of the fire elemny over the top of me.