Chapter 36
thirty-six
Iscreamed.
My voice welled outward with a piercing, primal cry.
I tried to come to terms with what I stared at and tightened my grip on the candle. But all roads of these leathery, dead men met at one horrid path.
They were eating I’phri. The open sockets where they’d pried out their eyes stared back. Hanging, undying voids.
The I’phri were never the monsters—we were. We’ve been the monsters this whole time.
Many were missing limbs. The ones that weren’t had meat cut from their jutting, umber bones.
Bile, the only thing remaining in my gut, came up. It spilled from me, meeting the wall of my sound.
The door exploded outward. It cracked off the hinges and became a flurry of guards with raised blades. Bloodthirst gleamed in their eyes as they set their sights on me.
If I died, would they eat me too?
There wasn’t time to ruminate. The first bloodshot-eyed guard grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward him.
Anger shot across my chest, and lumen exploded from my palms, pushing him and the rest of them back like gilt dominoes.
They crashed into shelves and swaying corpses. Only wafting blue mist remained.
A tunnel of downed men stood between the door and I. A small hall to freedom. I took it and slammed into the small kitchen. The half-nude woman shied from me, cowering in fear.
Disgusted as I was with her cannibalism, I still felt a small sense of gratitude and left the door open. Take it or not, I don't care.
I no longer clung to the shadows as I fled down the open street. I had to dodge piled corpses, my fingers ripping at my tunic, tearing ever-widening holes. One by one, I clawed them in, matching the horrid slap of my feet.
I rose a hill and when I reached its peak, a resonating metallic clank came from the other side. I threw myself into the nearest alley, flattening against the crumbling stone.
When the noise finally faded over the hill and into the distant quarter, I sank to my knees and wilted to the cold, stone pavers in the unfeeling and unmoving darkness. When my pulse settled, and the image of the hanging bodies flooded my mind, the bile came back up again.
I retched quietly in the empty alley.
The sky had begun to lighten, shrinking away the abysmal ink and replacing it with the icy blue of the frozen corpses. That bloodless color painted everything, including myself. As the night receded, a horrid dawn peeked just over the horizon.
When the sickness had ceased, I’d studied the surrounding alleys, trying to find any way out that didn’t involve walking among the guard-infested streets. They didn’t bother with these, but I’d have to find the caved-in wall if I had any hope of returning to Eltide.
With no more time to waste, I picked myself up from my sick and carried myself to the end of the alley. I found my steps had a sudden lethargy, with leaden feet and a shattered soul.
When I darted across the open road to the next alleyway, my mind should have been focused on prying eyes. But I thought of the many nights that I prayed to a being that consumed a people, slaughtered a race, and ate them—body and soul.
Of how I regularly wished for comfort from that being. The one who let his guards eat the I’phri.
Where was I when they were suffering and battering back the cold? When my people starved?
Gambling. Dicing. Sitting next to them yet never listening beyond the tales they spun. Never bothering to ask. I lived in a castle where I never wanted for a meal. I never wanted for anything except finding a way out of my responsibility.
The image of the swaying, cut, and consumed carcass flashed in my mind, so vivid I could have reached out and touched the decaying flesh. When I halted to lean against the wall and vomit, the bile came up black.
My body ached for me to stop. To pause long enough to collapse to my knees, but I pushed on.
I failed them.
I failed my people—I failed the I’phri.
When he wrapped his arms around me, and met my eyes, and murmured it wasn’t my fault—he lied.
This entire time, I’d had lumen. I could’ve stepped up on that stage at my mother’s behest. I could’ve thrust those spikes into my palm and bled for the kingdom.
There were so many times I could’ve listened to my people’s plight and made this world a better place, but I chose wrong.
I chose myself.
I could wrap my mistakes in a thousand beautiful bows and glittering gold, but it wouldn’t undo what I’d caused.
One guard’s raucous clanking floated across the next street, and I jumped back. The dark could hardly hide me anymore, rapidly evaporating with the rising sun. His steps were hurried, a steady, seeking, pacing.
Searching, no doubt for me. But I had to fix this.
I had to find him, get the truth, and sort this.
If I could just make it to the river, everything would be okay.
I was only a few blocks away. I could make it. But by the time I rounded into the next ever-lightening corridor, the clanking was at my tail. The patrols were increasing as dawn broke. I had to hurry.
The poorest district came into view, home to the Gelded Eye. When I ran past, I didn’t pause to see if they were looking out the windows. If they saw my rushed form darting in the distance, their whisper of hope leaving.
I wouldn’t bring them people. I couldn’t bear the thought of whether they would consume a person. So I kept my gaze on the road and my focus on my prize as it finally materialized: the crumbling wall.
Three patrols stood watch, some on the rubble, kicking stones.
A fourth stood in the middle of the square, shouting to them.
A small lip of bricks remained above the broken barrier, now a broken arch of masonry.
It hung with icicles—they must have been remnants of the previous storm.
I’d have to scatter the guards or accept a swift death.
It would be easy to hand myself over, take the quick demise. But I’d be taking the harder path.
Carefully, I bent and sorted through the broken stone of the road, where it met the surrounding buildings, and pocketed chunks of broken bricks.
Four should be enough, one per sentry. I ran back down the alley until it spat me out onto the previous street.
There, I gazed up at the broken shanties and hefty wooden scaffolding. Then, I began to climb.
Every inch was careful and hesitant, as the wood swayed beneath me. It creaked with every slide, yet I could see the distant crumbling arch coming into view. I had to slip myself between small divots and spaces between the slats, where they swayed away from each other.
Without an utterance of complaint, I continued until the wood stopped. From up here, I had the perfect view—so long as no one glanced upward. I was at eye height with the icicles and began mulling over what to do. The men were still down below, kicking rocks and laughing.
Their joy grated on my last nerve. I palmed a rock in my pocket, plotting who to pelt first. But as I rolled it, the world brightened further, and the icicles glinted and began to melt. Dripping down below, one guard yelled upward, clearly getting drenched.
If I threw a rock, they’d glance up and see me instantly. But if I threw an icicle, they’d scatter like the rats they were. That thought almost brought a smile to my face.
I fumbled with the smallest broken brick and let it fly. It bounced off the arch, tapping across the brickwork before it fell at their feet. All three looked at it before flipping their sights to the arching brickwork.
“Shite’s ready to fall,” one shouted. They all tilted toward the gray-sapphire sky.
I had a chance, a moment. They didn’t see where my stone had come from, and I wouldn’t give them a chance to guess.
This time, I aimed at the base of the largest chunk of ice.
When I pelted it, it hit where the ice met the stone.
With a great, thundering crack, three spikes came loose.
With horrified eyes, I watched as the largest came down straight into the gap of the man’s helmet, piercing his eye and whatever lay behind it. I stared as he collapsed into a pool of his blood and gurgling cries.
I watched as he died.