16. Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
T he chilled surf splashes around my ankles, and my heart hammers in my chest as I rush toward the king. I don’t stop to consider the wisdom in touching a man who holds the power of death, my feet driven forward before my mind can catch up. His long legs crumple beneath him, and he tumbles face first into the surf. I dive toward him, sand and salt gritty in my mouth, my feet slipping in the silt.
His silk shirt is logged with water, and slick beneath my fingers as I paw at him, struggling to turn him over and keep him from drowning. His ribbons whirl frantically in the air above us both, as I grunt in exertion, leveraging my own weight against his shoulder. His head lolls listlessly, as I finally manage to flip him onto his back, the force of the movement sending me flying backward, tripping over the hem of my godforsaken dress.
I slink through the sand on my knees back to his side, checking the king for signs of life. His eyelids flutter wildly, and though his breaths are faint and irregular, they still come. He isn’t dead, and I don’t know whether that’s a blessing or a curse.
My eyes search the beach, the sand still littered with the bodies of the Strayed. I count thirteen, and though it’s hard to tell from the bloated condition of the corpses, none of them appear to be Dawson. I’d been so preoccupied with the siren’s agony, I hadn’t considered where he’s gone.
I’ve already wasted too much time. The remaining Strayed could be back with reinforcements at any moment.
We have to get off this beach. Now.
My hand hovers over the king’s chest. Though his ribbons are no longer wrapped around him like thick ropes, they’ve draped themselves over his body from his throat to his feet, and I don’t dare touch him. They appear as injured as Niko, lying still and lifeless, but I’d be a fool to believe them benign when I’ve seen what one touch can do.
Niko’s breath hitches, a painful wheeze sucked between his pale lips. His eyelids begin to twitch, his muscles pull taut, and he begins to seize.
“Niko!” The name is a desperate yelp, my hands fluttering over him before snapping back to my own chest. I can’t touch him—not with the way his ribbons are splayed. His teeth clack together violently and a groan of pain bubbles low in his throat, the sound so guttural, it echoes between my ribs like a vibration, teasing my panic higher and tighter.
Dawson and the Strayed could be back at any moment, and Niko is in no condition to fight them off. I have no way of contacting Marina or Sam, and no way of knowing who else to trust. Which means I need to do what I do best—find somewhere to disappear. With one last brutal shudder, Niko’s body relaxes. His head lulls to the side, spittle and black sand crusting to his snow-white skin.
The terror of being found has me reaching my hand out once more; desperation has me tracing a finger delicately over the ribbon shrouding his heart in the mimic of a caress. Though I don’t actually touch it— can’t touch it—it vibrates beneath my ministrations and the air between us sparks with energy. I continue the motion over the others, caressing my finger through the air above each ribbon. As they all respond in turn, I wonder if my earlier instinct was correct: the death Niko wields is somehow sentient.
Tilting my head, I rake my gaze over where they’ve lain, shielding the king’s most vulnerable parts. I assumed he’d called them to him as a final barrier of protection, but maybe…maybe his death is choosing to help him.
I continue the soft path of my finger through the air. “I won’t hurt him. I want to help,” I whisper, my voice little more than a breath. “He won’t be able to protect himself if Dawson comes back.”
The ribbons still, as if mesmerized by the sound of my voice. As if listening to it. “Please,” I plead softly. “He helped me. Let me help him.”
When nothing happens, I withdraw my hand with a defeated sigh, feeling foolish for even trying.
Despair crests over me in a looming shadow, when the ribbon draped over the king’s heart flutters. Once, twice. Slowly, each one of the satiny black sashes begins to writhe. Their subtle movements gradually grow more excited, until all of them are slithering over his body like a pit of angry snakes. They sweep over Niko’s skin, weaving together so furiously, they blot out the intricately stitched seams of his clothes, and the tattoos spiraling up his throat.
Then, the ribbons rise into the air as one, flapping and hovering over Niko like a swarm of dark butterflies. They are beautifully lethal in the starlight, seeming to pull every bit of color from the world around them into their fathomless depths. With one last great shudder, they drop to the ground beside me in a limp pile and go still. Like they’re waiting.
I blink at the silky pile for a few long moments, hardly daring to believe I’ve not only spoken to death itself but convinced it to help me. An icy wind whistles along the beach, jolting me from my awe to the present task. I pick through the rotted corpses of the Strayed, quickly searching the sand for supplies. I find my sword, along with an assortment of knives I stash in the pockets of my cloak, and a canteen of water I hang around my neck.
Then, I wedge my hands beneath Niko’s arms and begin the work of hauling him up the beach.
The wind whistles across the lagoon once more, pelting my face with sand and freezing the sopping fabric of my dress against my legs. Goosebumps having nothing to do with the cold rise on my arms as I remember Sam’s words about the meddling wind. If it somehow tells Dawson and the rest of the Strayed about Niko’s condition, we’re both done for.
The king’s ribbons slither a few paces behind us in a tangle as I wrestle with his unconscious form, trying and failing to work faster. Though he appears thin, he’s impossibly tall, every long bit of him carved in lean muscle. Moving him even a few feet is grueling work, and I quickly realize we’re never going to make it back to the carriage.
I drop Niko back to the ground, bracing my hands on my knees in an effort to catch my breath and focus my thoughts. Glancing around the lagoon miserably, I find no shelter. Sharply cragged rocks surround both the beach and the water in a protective halo, all so steep that none appear to be climbable. Even if they were, there’s no way in hell I could manage to drag Niko up one of them.
The wind howls through the forest, and though its song doesn’t settle in my bones like the siren’s had, it is no less chilling. Branches and leaves rustle in the canopy, the restless sound echoing my own restless thoughts, as I scan the dark spaces between the trees. The tiny lights wink and flicker, and though some float along on the sharp wind, none leave the cover of the wood. I’d thought them beautiful observers before, but after the events of the evening, their silence no longer feels comforting. It feels ominous.
What if I take Niko into the trees only for those lights to somehow give away our location to the Strayed? What if the wind has already spread word of the king’s downfall? What if I stand here so long trapped by indecision, that another of my conjured nightmares attacks?
Hopelessness begins to press down against my shoulders. Refusing to grant it purchase, I straighten and shrug it off with pointed determination. I take a sharp breath, and with newfound resolve, look to the ribbons.
“Where do I go?” I ask. “Help me hide him.”
They shiver excitedly in response, and slowly begin to unravel from their tangled mass. One slithers steadily over the sand, its silky length pointing me toward the north side of the beach.
With a strained grunt, I haul Niko back into my arms, following the ribbon dubiously. I still don’t know if they can understand me, but I hope they at least understand the danger their master is in. More join me, swirling at my feet. Though they don’t touch me, their presence serves as encouragement as my breath begins to saw uncomfortably fast in my chest.
Both of us are slick with sea spray and gritty with sand, but I don’t dare stop for a break. Somewhere in the shadows is the maniacal glint of Dawson’s eyes. The depraved smile carved in his face.
The thought has me adjusting my grip on Niko and working faster. His mouth has gone slack, his arms dangling heavily at his sides, but his heartbeat is steady enough as I drag him across the sand. My arms, back and legs all burn, but I keep moving, spurred on by the eager swirl of his death ribbons around me and by muttering things like, “Heavy fucking bastard,” and “Move, you useless asshole,” repeatedly. Cursing at Niko doesn’t make him any lighter, but it keeps me from focusing on my exhaustion.
When we reach the face of the tallest rock spire, I stare up at it in confusion. The ribbons swirl around my feet, urging me forward until I realize they don’t mean to lead me up, but around. Into the lagoon itself.
Panting, I squint out at the dark water uncertainly. It’s once again so still it could be made of glass, but I remember what the swirling abyss beneath the surface holds. I’d barely made it out the first time; how am I going to do it with an unconscious man in my arms?
The ribbons shudder and jerk, clearly agitated I’ve stopped.
With a disbelieving sigh, I tug Niko into the surf. If it’s a choice between drowning and the Strayed—I’ll take my chances with drowning. Perhaps the sirens will take mercy on us both after bringing their sister home.
The waves lap gently against the black rock in a hypnotic rhythm as I wade in up to my waist. The cold temperature steals my breath as I struggle to keep Niko’s face above the surface.
After a moment, the icy shock gives way to an aching numbness, and because Niko’s weight is lightened by the water, I’m able to follow the path of the ribbons far faster than I had on the beach. To my relief, they don’t lead me into the center of the starry lagoon. They keep close to the edge of the spires, their silky form nearly invisible against the dark rock. Only the devouring lack of starlight on their silky lengths keeps me from losing them entirely as they circle around the base of a cragged outcropping.
My feet slip against the silty bottom of the lagoon, nearly submerging both myself and the king. Regaining my footing, I round the towering spire and nearly cry out in relief at what I find.
Niko’s ribbons have led me to a cave. Perfectly hidden by the shadows of the lagoon itself, perhaps only visible at all at low tide.
“I could kiss you!” I tell the ribbons, no longer caring how ridiculous it is to be talking to strips of death. “This is perfect.”
They vibrate in what I take to be a pleased manner, before unfurling further into the mouth of the cave. The water slaps against the black rock, slicking the rock with brine. My toes are entirely numb as I brace my feet on the edge and haul Niko upward with a slew of fresh curse words. Panting, I drag him out of the water inch by inch, dumping him unceremoniously onto the ground to catch my breath.
Niko’s ribbons slide over his cheeks and flutter along his throat, their worry at his condition clear. It heightens my own, giving rise to the panic I’d shoved down to the recesses of myself in order to make it this far. But now, trapped in a strange cave in a strange world, it threatens to flood through me like an icy deluge.
Taking a shaky breath, I turn away from the lagoon. The cave ceiling and walls are lit by the same bioluminescent moss that lives on the trees of the forest, the magical light casting everything in shimmering shades of blue. Moths flutter through the damp air, their patterned wings glowing an iridescent white in the darkness.
The ribbons dart into the air, streaming up a small path that winds along one of the walls. They curve deeper into the bowels of the cave before disappearing behind a bend. Only one lingers, curling wildly above my head in indication I should keep going.
We’ll be safer further inside, but if the tide rises, we’ll be trapped for god knows how long.
The thought sends a wave of acid barreling up my throat and pooling in my mouth. The idea of being confined, of being ensnared with no way out, makes my skin feel too tight for my bones. I glance down at Niko, as the tendons of his neck pull taut once more; so tight, I fear they may snap. Spittle beads at the corners of his mouth, and his head jerks as another spasm wracks his body.
I don’t know what’s wrong—how he’s hurt or how to fix it—but whatever it is, it happened because he came to save me. I’ve always been alone in my survival. I’ve been acutely aware since I was a child there was no one coming to my rescue. But Niko came for me, and it means something; something that softens the edges of my hatred, even as I wish it didn’t.
I haul him back up with a grunt, as something full expands in my chest. It isn’t the softness of empathy or the tenderness of worry. It’s heated and powerful, like a crest of fire. I don’t examine it more than that. Just use its power to drag Niko up the slippery rock edge toward where his ribbons disappeared.
“Useless—” A powerful tug. “—arrogant—” And another. “—His Majesty of Putrefaction and Snobbery—” One final jerk sends me sprawling backward on my ass. Niko slips from my numb fingers, and I wince as his head cracks against the stone.
“Leave it to you to be a royal pain in the ass even when you’re unconscious,” I bite out, gingerly climbing back to my feet. My entire body aches and my throat is dry, but I momentarily forget all of it, including my now throbbing tailbone, as I stare out at the expanse of the cave.
The cave appeared small from the outside, the entrance hardly tall enough for a grown man to stand up straight. Even the rock spire itself hadn’t seemed large enough to encompass the pure breadth of the cavern I’m now standing in, at least double in size of the Lunaedon throne room. The ceiling towers so high above me, the moss looks like individual stars sparkling in a night sky. The walls are a shining obsidian, curving down to a wide ledge that circles around the entirety of the rock womb.
The ledge dips down into a large basin which must fill with water at high tide, as its floor is carpeted in silt and driftwood. And standing proudly in the middle of it all rises the most peculiar thing:
A ship.
The most majestic ship I’ve ever seen, its beauty far exceeding any of those I’d glimpsed in the city’s harbor. Though there is no way the ship could have sailed into the cave, the shining black hull is in perfect condition, as if it was polished this morning and is ready to set sail over the dry rock. A gangplank stretches from one of the upper decks, and proud masts spear up toward the sparkling ceiling, the dark wood gleaming in the odd blue light. Though there is no detectable wind, black sails billow softly in the quiet of the cave.
Is this another trick of the island?
I blink wildly, as if the movement will clear the ship and any lingering hallucinations from my vision. But no matter how I squint, the ship remains. Empty, still.
The longer I stare, the more bereft I feel. Like the empty facade of the vessel echoes in my own heart. Something that beautiful should not be left to rot underground. Not when it was built for freedom.
I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at it when Niko begins to seize again, startling me from my stupor. My heart leaps into my throat as I spin, kneeling quickly beside him. His body jerks, his muscles tightening and loosening in turn. His teeth clack together, the sound painful and sharp. His ribbons have pooled beside his head, and though I feel their attention on me, they make no move to prevent me from reaching out to tentatively place my palm against his chest.
I expect him to be cold—maybe because of his magic or the smell of winter that follows him—but warmth radiates through his clothes. That has to be a good sign, right? Or maybe it means he has a fever?
His heart thrums beneath the thick waterlogged fabric of his vest, its beat frenetic and rushed. I assess him as quickly as I can, searching for any sign of injuries. There’s a rapidly blooming bump where his head collided with the rock, but I find nothing else. No blood, no rips in the fabric of his clothes beyond the scrapes from dragging him in here.
The pile of ribbons jerks in time with his spasms, and it occurs to me that whatever is ailing him, affects them as well. Which means whatever is wrong with him is probably something magical. Something I don’t understand.
Frustration spikes through me, even as the seizure ceases. I’ve never been a patient person—always preferring to do something, anything, rather than waiting in stasis. Stasis has always felt like death. Like the moment I stop moving, I’ll become frozen in place forever.
“I don’t suppose you have any ideas?” I ask the ribbons, not truly expecting them to answer. But for some reason, speaking to them makes me feel less alone, even in the foreign light of this cave, in a world that isn’t mine. Which is absolutely absurd. Death should be the loneliest thing in the world, but something about the way Niko’s responds to me is oddly soothing.
It wiggles slightly in response to my question, or perhaps simply to the sound of my voice.
“Maybe a fire?” I suggest mildly, looking around the cave. It’s warmer here than it was at the cave mouth, but there’s still a distinct chill to the air. The death ribbons wiggle a little more, which I take as their agreement.
I don’t relish the idea of leaving Niko alone, but the only sign of life appears to be us and the moths. I decide to treat Niko’s condition like I would any other seizure, magical or not. Which means he needs rest, warmth and fluids.
Shrugging my cloak off, I drape it over his body. The fabric is mostly soaked through, and it’s far too short, leaving his feet to stick out the bottom, but it’ll have to do for now. Then I set about finding kindling for a fire.
My father was the one to teach me survival skills, and I’d been eager to learn as the lessons were always disguised as fun. Camping beneath the stars, fishing at dawn. Neither of us had known I would later be forced to use those skills to actually survive—to stay off the grid as I shed one identity and donned another. Forever running from a world that wanted to drain me of everything I am.
Shoving the thoughts aside, I carefully climb down the rolling edges of the basin. In the shadow of the ship, the feeling of grief balloons beneath my ribs once more. There is no name painted on the side, but I feel an inexplicable kinship with the ghostship nonetheless. Trapped in a place it was never meant for.
I explore the entire bottom of the cave and find nothing to burn. Beyond that, I have no source of a spark. For a moment, I consider venturing up the plank to the ship’s upper deck, but something keeps me from it. Like to disturb it would be to awaken something I’m not sure I want to face.
I scale the sloped rock once more, almost tumbling right back down it when I breach the edge and come face to face with a pair of bottomless obsidian eyes.
His Majesty is awake.
The king is still sprawled out on the rock, his long legs stretched at the odd angles the spasms left them, but his head is turned to where I cling to the ledge. His lashes flutter wildly as he tries and fails to focus on my face.
My heartbeat ratcheting higher in my chest, I crawl up over the edge. Slowly, I rise to my feet, warily holding Niko’s gaze.
I’ve seen what the king can do when he’s angry—who knows what he's capable of when he’s vulnerable and in pain.
His gaze sharpens, drinking in my face with an intensity I don’t understand. I brace myself against it, like if I don’t, it’ll claw beneath my skin and hook there irrevocably.
But Niko only says, “Water.”
I flinch at the sound of his voice—at how the normally sleek cadence, the alluringly smooth tone, is now strained and weak. I scramble over to where I dropped the canteen. When I turn back to him, Niko has squeezed his eyes shut once more in an attempt to swallow, his throat working like even the small act is unbearably painful.
Clutching the canteen awkwardly, I debate whether to shove it into his hands or somehow help him drink. I’ve never played nursemaid to anyone but myself, and as my only patient, I can confidently say my bedside manner is absolute shit.
But then Niko’s eyes open, and he reaches out a gloved hand for the water, sparing me from having to pretend to know how to take care of someone. Without bothering to sit up, he takes a few careful sips before handing it back to me. His fingers spasm and he grits his teeth, as some of the water splashes over both our hands.
His eyes flutter shut once more, and he’s quiet so long, I’m certain he’s fallen back asleep. Just when I’ve relaxed, relieved I’ve avoided what is sure to be an unpleasant conversation, he asks hoarsely, “What happened?”
“You—you collapsed. On the beach…after—well, after everything.” I twist my hands in front of me, wondering how much to say. It probably isn’t wise to remind him the only reason we’d been on the beach in the first place was because I hadn’t heeded his warnings about the dangers of Letum.
“Some of the Strayed escaped, and I didn’t want them to come back and find us.” I shrug with a casualty I don’t feel. “So…I dragged you into this cave.”
Niko blinks up at the ceiling for a few long moments, before tilting his head once more to the side. Unfettered rage flashes over his features as his gaze finds the shadows of the ship’s mast. It’s gone as quickly as it came, and he lets out an abrupt scraping sound that could be a laugh.
“No matter how far I go, I always seem to end up in the belly of the crocodile again.”
I furrow my brows, staring at him uncertainly. “There are… crocodiles here?”
It wouldn’t surprise me, given everything else I’ve already encountered in Letum. But a different worry threads through me that has nothing to do with giant reptiles. Worry that the strain of what Niko’s been through tonight has damaged something irrevocably; that he isn’t thinking clearly.
With great effort, Niko turns his head away from the ship, his eyes finding mine once again. They’re rimmed with exhaustion, a stark red against the harrowing black, his normally handsome face sallow and wrung out.
“Don’t worry, Darling,” he laughs harshly. “The cave is the crocodile.”
I follow his gaze to the black stalactites hanging down from the ceiling. They are eerily similar to teeth, glistening in the blue light like the dripping maw of an ancient beast.
Niko’s eyes fall shut once more. “It ate that ship. A very long time ago.” A cough rattles through him, and my chest tightens even as he continues dreamily, “It eats time itself.”
He sounds so unbearably sad, so unlike the arrogant, cruel king he usually is, that for an absurd moment, I want desperately to reach out and touch him. To reassure myself with the steady beat of his heart. To reassure him with the beat of mine.
“Did I—did I do something wrong by bringing you here?”
“No, Willa. You did everything right.” When his eyes close this time, they don’t reopen again. His breath rattles in his chest, and my anxiety rises as I watch it. Like if I tear my gaze away, even for a moment, the breaths will stop entirely.
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask in a small voice.
A ghost of a smile pulls at Niko’s mouth. “Are any of us?”