Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I wake up still asleep—and drowning. Freezing cold water, growing heavier by the second, presses in on me. Crushes my ribs, squeezes my skull, stiffens my limbs. I’ve had this dream before. Patiently, numbly, I drift downwards, waiting for my toes to touch the bottom. To sink into the soft silt.
No. Wake up! I stir, my eyes flashing open. The icy water stings like a thousand needles, and all I can see is dark. I will my arms and legs to move, but they’re cold. So, so, so cold.
My joints barely bend, but it’s enough. My feet and hands push through the water, and slowly I start floating up. The further I rise, the warmer I get. I swim for the sun, certain it’s there, but when I break the surface, there’s nothing. Nothing but darkness, a pale moon, and an icy wind.
The water pulls on me again, thick and oily, dragging me down. Half a second before my head goes under, my ears pick up a shout. “Betts!”
It’s not until I’ve sunk at least twice the length of my body that I realize what’s happening. This is real. The ghost threw itself—threw me—into the fucking river!
And now I’m going to die.
I break the surface again, coughing and sputtering ice. I see the bank. It’s so close. Just a little doggie paddle, a few strokes, a kick or two. But the harder I swim, the further I seem to get from land. The current is stronger than a hurricane.
“Betts!”
I try to call back, “Leo!” but the cold grips my throat and lungs, and all that comes out is a cough.
My body drifts, heavy and tired, the water rocking me like a cradle. So peaceful. I could take a rest, just a short one.
No! I kick with all my might. A door flies open in my mind, freeing a long-lost, instinctual knowledge, and I begin to swim. The same way I swam in my meditations, alongside the fish and my friends and my lover.
Lower, a voice sings. Lower is warmer and calmer.
I dive several feet straight down, to the depth where the water hugs me from above and buoys me from below.
I spread my arms wide, pulling myself forward and kicking like a frog.
When my lungs scream for air, I push up to the surface, long enough to inhale and to hear the birds crying overhead.
Then I dive to the deep, quiet calm again. And swim.
I should be freezing to death. Literally. I’m at the bottom of a mountain river in March, but I’m not even shivering. My limbs move with ease, my mind sharp and my lungs strong—olympic swimmer strong. It’s as though the moment I decided I would swim, I could.
When I come up for my next breath, I’m greeted by the howl of coyotes and a flash of silver mist hovering above the trees. The distance to the bank is shrinking. Only one or two more swim-breath cycles will bring me to land. I plunge below the surface, pushing the water aside with cupped hands.
I’ve progressed only a few yards when a pulse of horror hits me so hard it brings me up vertical like a seahorse. I try to swim again, determined to push through the fear, but it worsens with every stroke. Terror gives way to fury, vengeance, and ruthless cruelty.
Ember’s emotions.
I face them head-on, swimming straight for the energies. They’re in the waves and ripples that roll along my body, but they don’t penetrate to my core. The water insulates me, shielding me like my velvet cloak.
Just a little further, the voice urges, propelling me forward. Keep swimming. You’re safe.
The riverbank looms before me, a wall of shadow in the moonlit water. And above it, a ghost floats, a mere yard away.
When I break the surface to breathe, the ghost shoots out over the water, its icy breath scraping the top of my head. “Leave or die!”
I sink under again, hoping ghosts are like bees.
Through the ripples, I watch as it swings above me in a frenzied panic.
One second it’s an amorphous mist, the next it’s in the shape of a man.
It whirls like a tornado, dives like a torpedo, but however determined it is to get to me, it refuses to break the surface of the river.
He’s a guard, I realize. Browne conjured the spirits of his dead friends to watch over the bracelet.
And the fact that he’s losing his shit must mean I’m within reach of his charge.
I kick for that dark wall until my outstretched hand smacks into its muddy surface. Slimy weeds grab at my limbs as I secure my feet between the underwater rocks and hook a shoulder under a thick root. On nothing but intuition, I start to dig, clawing into the wet earth.
The ghost goes wild, his glow darting on the surface above me, and his muted shrieks penetrating my ears.
The more panicked he gets, the faster I dig.
It’s here. It has to be. One last breath should be enough.
I tip no more than my nose and mouth above the water’s surface, sucking in air, sharp and deep, then return to the crumbling hole.
By the ghost’s light, I spot a black, oddly square shape in the wall of roots and earth.
Browne’s stone house. The ghost gets louder as I shovel deeper.
As does Ember’s energy. I don’t know if it’s her craving for power or my determination that rages like a fire within me, but whatever it is, it’s fuel.
My lungs and muscles hold out as I rake at the mud.
When my fingers scrape painfully against stone, I stop digging and start pushing instead. Eroded mortar and sharp-edged stones cut my palms, but I don’t give up. One hard thrust with the heels of both hands, and a whole foot or more of the stone wall collapses.
My lungs sputtering on fumes, I reach in blindly, groping in the watery cavity until I strike something rough and square.
Something only a human could have made. My fingers close around the box while my blood pounds in my head and pulses behind my eyes.
Panic shoots from my oxygen-starved heart to my fingers and toes.
There’s a splash close by and the force of a body displacing the water. Fuck. Is someone coming to help me or to hurt me?
The box is slippery with moss and algae. I wrestle to get a solid hold of it, the strength draining from my hands. Kick, kick, kick. Why is the surface so far away? I’m going numb, my vision graying around the edges. From behind me, an arm hooks around my chest, pulling me up.
I channel every ounce of my dying strength into my gripping hands. Cold air hits me—not just my face but my entire head and shoulders. Sensing air, my mouth and lungs open, heaving in a raking breath that burns my chest and punches my ribs.
But I haven’t let go of the box.
Whoever has me drags me up the muddy bank, gripping me tightly as he slips and struggles to get us both clear of the water. With his arm still locked around my chest, he collapses onto his back, rasping and coughing the water from his lungs.
His body is familiar. Safe.
I kick at the dirt until he releases me, rolling onto my knees and spinning to look at him. “Leo.”
He hoists himself onto his elbows, his anxious eyes scanning my face. I move to throw my arms around him, but the box in my grip draws me up short. He sits up and grabs my shoulders with trembling hands. Water drips from his lashes and streams down his face and neck. He’s shivering. Violently.
So am I.
And without the river to protect me, the bracelet does its work, waging a full-scale war on my psyche.
I recognize these feelings from the path.
I know they’re Ember’s. But an all-at-once assault of rage, self-pity, murderous vengeance, and terror is more than I can bear.
My insides are liquefying, my brain melting, my heart exploding.
I thrust the box at Leo, hitting him in the chest. “T… t… take it.”
With a grunt he lets go of my arms and looks down.
Then up at me.
Then down again, his chin slowly dropping and his eyes growing wide.
His swallow is loud and hard, his hands hesitant as he slides the box from my frozen fingers.
He blinks at it for a moment, and even in the darkness, I can see the realization register on his face.
He knows what he’s holding in his hands.
To my shock, he takes one more glance up at me and all but drops the box into the mud and sodden leaves behind him.
“Look at me,” he commands, grabbing my face with his icy hands.
I tear my eyes from that stupid box. I’m so damned cold. So fucking exhausted. I try to say his name, but only a whimper slips past my chattering teeth.
“Harness, a chroí. You need to harness.”
Harness? How? The river must’ve washed away my brain.
Leo’s palms grow warmer. “Don’t fight me.”
Fight him? How could I? I can barely move.
Heat seeps from my neck and cheeks into my skin, radiating up to my head and trickling down my torso and limbs. No longer seized by shivers, I take a long inhale. My mind clears and my muscles spring to life.
Who is this man touching me?
I snarl at him and claw at his hands.
“Betts, don’t,” he warns.
Weakling! Doesn’t he know how powerful I am? I throw all my weight onto his cold, brittle body. Kill him, my instincts demand, he’s in your way. I go for his throat, hungry to choke the life out of him.
When he pushes me back, I laugh and lunge for him again. The poor beast, he’s afraid to hurt me. Gallant, but stupid. I call on the trees around us, commanding them to do my will.
Nothing.
I flick my wrist, but the hemlock above us doesn’t bend. Curl my fingers, but the brambles don’t so much as shudder.
And this man won’t stop grabbing me.
I let out a howl of rage and snatch the nearest rock. No sharp edges. I hurl it away from me in disgust and claw at his arms. He’s strong, and for some reason, I’m weak. I’m never weak. He traps my arms at my sides and pins me to his chest, his calming magic tingling on my skin.
I will not be subdued.
With my bottom lip trapped between my teeth, I slam my chin into his shoulder. Coppery warmth floods my mouth. It doesn’t matter where I bite him; I only need to break the skin. I open wide, baring my teeth and summoning my poison as blood streams down my chin.
Dark, horrified eyes meet mine as I home in on his jaw, hard and sharp and handsome, easy to tear when teeth meet bone. He cries out to the gods and shoves me back. But he’s too slow, too stiff with cold. I scramble to my knees and aim for him again, this time for his throat.
With a cry, he grabs me by the shoulders and dashes me to the ground.
A lightning bolt of pain shoots from my hipbone, stilling me long enough for him to pin me.
His arms vibrate with such force that my brain rattles in my skull.
Heat emanates from his palms, sweeping through me and chasing away the bloodthirsty rage.
I’m sandwiched between him and the ground, his cold body flush on mine, his skin like ice, and his lips blue. I croak out his name, and he stills.
“Betts.”
“Wh… wh…” My lips won’t work. I try again, “Le… wh…” I sound like a bleating lamb.
Liquid pools in my throat, choking me.
Blood.
“Stop,” Leo hisses, laying fingers on my mouth. “Don’t talk yet.”
I don’t realize how much my lip hurts until Leo’s magic begins to heal it. When I flinch, he gently admonishes me, “You bit clean through it, a chroí. I have to fix it.” He manages a smile. “Otherwise, how will I be able to kiss you?”
Tears fill my eyes. I tried to kill him. I forced him to hurt me.
He whispers, “Don’t cry.”
But I do.