38. Fog
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Fog
His hands flexed around my arms until they hurt.
“Why have you been so cold toward me?” Cassiel asked, his voice harsh. He shook me enough for it to pinch. “You never look at me with the kindness you grant others. You never care for me the same way.” His voice wavered. “Why do you retreat from me?”
A flash of anger tightened his lips.
“Let me go.”
“I cannot,” he murmured. “I cannot and will not let you go.” One hand reached for my face. “I know I have no right to keep you, but I will.” His voice turned into a whisper. “Please, love me.” His voice wilted at the end, features crumpling.
“Cassiel.” I blinked, astounded.
“I do not know how to express my thoughts—what I am feeling.” He slammed his fist against his chest.
This emotion was not like him. His immovable facade had utterly broken, and it left me stunned. “I . . .” I shook my head.
“I know what I have done to us is my fault.” His eyebrows furrowed, and he let out a visceral, choked sound. “How I harmed you.” He dropped to his knees, bringing us to a closer eye level. I was so stunned that I could not move.
Cassiel grabbed at his chest, and the fog following each move veiled what he grasped. “Kill me.” He pressed the blade into my hand, forcing the silver against his throat. A black, inky line welled.
I floundered for words, attempting to pull the blade away. His maddened eyes moved side to side.
“I harmed you. Many times. I broke your body. I called you vile names,” he hissed. He almost seemed angry. “Just do it. I refuse to live without your care.”
I grasped for words, confused and stricken in the face of such emotion.
“You said you did not care for my love,” I accused. “You forced me into accepting you as my husband.”
“I want your love,” he whispered, his hands shaking. He seemed to deflate, curling forward over his legs as a sob wracked his frame. It tore at the last barrier I had built. “I tore myself apart for you. And I will do it over again. If that brought a smile to your face, I would do it.”
Another sound gusted from his throat. He continued dragging himself over the shards of stone, leaving behind streams of black blood.
He clawed at his chest. “I will give it to you.” His fingers pierced flesh, and blood burst.
“Cassiel!” I gripped his wrists.
It managed to rip me out of the pressing feelings crowding inside me. The fog was affecting me too. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the sounds of Cassiel sobbing.
I squeezed the grip of the blade and cut my hand hard enough for it to grow numb.
Blood welled, but the act did as it was supposed to. It ripped me out of the feelings of hurt and betrayal that resided in the recesses of my mind. Cassiel continued sobbing, his body curled forward. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Cassiel, look at me.”
His sobbing continued. I crouched, resting my bleeding hand on the floor. The blood line was easier to see from lower. Now I knew which direction to go.
“My lord!” I shouted.
He finally lifted his head, piercing me with glazed eyes and streaks of tears down his face. “I do not like when you call me that.” It was faint, almost as if admitting a secret.
“Will you do something for me?”
His eyebrows furrowed, face still pained. “Anything.”
“Stand up and follow me.” I pushed to my feet and held my hand out. He looked at it, then my face. Cautiously, he reached out, placed his oversized hand in mine, and stood.
I pulled him in the direction of the blood line. We walked for a bit.
“Will you love me?” His question was infused with uncertainty.
I squeezed his hand, and he held it harder.
Peering back at him, I found tears still streaming down his face.
The fog ended ahead abruptly, as if something stopped it from spreading further.
I stopped right before exiting it and guided Cassiel to the barrier.
Reaching up, I clasped his face. He leaned into my touch.
I rubbed my thumb over the hollow of his cheek.
“Take twenty steps backward,” I ordered. “Can you do that for me?”
He nodded, rubbing his face into my hand.
I drew back, and he began to walk backward, crossing the barrier. The milky sheen over his eyes disappeared, and he blinked quickly. He grasped his temples.
“Stay. I have to get the others,” I called.
He turned his head side to side. “Amara?”
I did not think he could see me. I turned and ran the way I had come, following the blood. Grief and anger battled with each other, attempting to swell out from inside me.
Thoughts of Piper came unbidden. Tears drenched my face, but I continued forward, slicing my arm when I could feel it overtaking me.
Archer, Liadan, and Jude lay on their sides, shivering. They were all an arm’s length away from each other. I ran to Liadan and grabbed his unbroken arm. I shook it.
“I didnae kill her,” he bit out, eyes glazed similar to how Cassiel’s had been. “The bastard Duke framed me for their deaths.”
“I know, Liadan,” I whispered.
I kept coaxing him until he stood. He did not stop arguing his case. He had mentioned at the brothel how he had been set to hang. I managed to get him across the fog with much more ease than Cassiel.
“Get over here,” Cassiel ordered as soon as he saw Liadan come through. He peered behind Cassiel. “Amara, get out of there.”
I ignored him and returned for Jude and Archer. Both mumbled. Archer about Tabby, and Jude cried over Wilem. It was then I discovered they were siblings. My heart shuddered for him. I got them through the veil until we stepped out of the mist.
Cassiel took the blade and seized me, wrapping me in his arms. Sweat beaded on his temple. He looked ragged. As if he had gone through various trials.
“Thank Saints,” he breathed.
I grunted from the force of his hug. “Is everyone okay?” I mumbled.
“We’re all intact,” Archer answered.
“For the most part,” Liadan added with wry cynicism. I pulled out of Cassiel’s arms, and he slid the blade into the sheath attached to the leather. Liadan had bound his arm to his side.
“What the fuck was that?” Jude rubbed the top of his closely shaven head.
Archer and Jude tossed around theories. All things that crossed my mind. All the emotion that being within the fog caused what already lived within me to burst free.
Cassiel’s reaction . . . I shook my head. I could not dwell on that at this moment.
The cenote was what I should be focused on. The blood line led to a stone mountain. I stepped onto the first flat stone. It began the path that wound around the ominous mountain with fog hiding the top.
“We are almost there,” I announced. The incline slowed my stride, the sting at my hip becoming more prevalent.
“Yer about to fall over,” Liadan mused from behind.
“I am fine,” I huffed. Cassiel lifted me into his arms. “Put me down,” I ordered.
Sweat beaded at his forehead, slicking his hair to his skin. His face was drawn and pained.
“Are you well?” I asked.
He nodded jerkily as if it took great force. With the progress we made, it seemed we slowed more and more. Cassiel dragged, breaths pumping from his lips.
Liquid dripped onto his top lip. I reached to swipe under his nose. He caught my hand.
“Your nose bleeds.”
“It is nothing,” Cassiel rasped, swiping his shoulder against his nose and continuing forward. This was the second time he’d bled. I had been with him the entire time, and he had not used his necromancy gift. Now he could not brush me off with that reasoning.
“Cassiel.”
He pierced me with a look. “It is nothing, Amara!” he snapped, teeth bared. I was startled by the volume of his shout. He shook his head hard, sending his hair all about his face. “I am fine,” he insisted and moved forward.
“Very well,” I murmured, subdued.
Liadan raised his eyebrows at me. He, at least, was not fooled.
We reached a cavernous entrance. Large and wide. Cassiel’s grip slipped and my feet slapped on the ground. I held on to him to balance myself on the uneven terrain. The bottom of the slipper protected me from the harsh divots in the floor.
“That scent is familiar,” Cassiel murmured, inhaling. I could smell nothing but damp rocks.
“If this was what was necessary to Awaken a Warlord, how do you not recall the fog or the travel here?” I wondered.
Cassiel scanned the stones, his tongue pushing out the inside of his cheek. “I do not know. All I can remember is this smell.”
“Perhaps your centuries have faded your memories, ancient one,” I muttered, attempting to bring levity into the tension lining his body.
He snorted and reached a hand back to me.
“Let us see what all this is about.”
I slid my hand into his. He helped me balance as I trod over uneven surfaces. A drip echoed through the cavern. The light’s reach lessened the further we entered.
A fallen pick lay against the uneven surface. Cassiel let me go, crouched, and eyed gashes slashed into the stone. Archer took the handle of the pick. The head fell off and he caught it before it landed. The tipped edge was blunt and broken.
“Looks like someone attempted to carve a path and was not successful,” Archer said. Cassiel stood and retook my hand.
“We should have brought a lantern,” Liadan mused from behind us. He sounded weaker.
“How is your arm?” I called, the slight raising of my voice echoed off the cavern walls.
“Hanging on,” he replied.
A laugh escaped, and I clamped my lips shut. “I am so terribly sorry.”
Liadan was chuckling.
Cassiel squeezed my hand. We had come to the point where no light penetrated and all I could rely on was his hand guiding me.
Many close falls later, a glow led to a rounded exit. The jagged edges of the cavern seemed to be teeth. As we reached it, the glow beamed throughout the space. We crossed the mouth into the cenote.
The cenote exuded a light cyan glow. Jagged stones ringed the water. Other than the luminescent glow, it looked to be the cleanest pond I had ever laid eyes on. Cassiel and I approached it; at the edges, pale sand could be seen. The cenote deepened until darkness consumed the depths.
The hair along my arms raised, and something felt terribly off.
“I figured out how they might have gotten him in here without his awareness,” Archer called. I forced my gaze away from the glowing pond with more effort than should have been necessary.
I followed Cassiel to what Archer stared at. Broken remains of carts rested in a mess.
Cassiel rubbed the back of his neck, rolling it. The corners of his eyes remained pinched.
“Are you well?”
“Yes,” he answered abruptly. Sweat slicked the back of his black shirt to his skin.
“There is a body,” Jude called from the opposite side we stood.
Cassiel was there in a blink. It took me a while to reach his side with the uneven ground.
A headless corpse leaned against the wall, pierced through the chest by a sword.
The bones were thicker, longer, yet still humanoid. Clasped in the bony hands was fabric. A corpse, ivory bones. Long and thick . . . fit for a Warlord.
Cassiel grabbed the dusty lapel. His fingers closed on the fabric.
‘Volcan.’
My gasp was the only sound. He spread out the fabric in the bone hands. Frills made up the collar of the dress.
“Why is he holding a dress?” I croaked.
‘It was that redblood woman he loved.’
It was not lost on me that he had only spoken in my head. He pressed the dress back into Volcan’s bone hands and stood up. He rubbed his pinched mouth.
I reached for his arm, and he withdrew. My hand hovered between us. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“How do we go about this?” Liadan called.
Archer was already beside the pool, dipping a jar into it. He hissed out a pained breath, wrenching his hand back.