Chapter 13
Chapter
I vow to lead her far from this place.
To protect her heart from all who aim to break it.
But give it away, I cannot.
Iwish I would have been afforded the time to bathe before being promptly removed from the premises.
There’s no covering the less than dignified huff as I sink into the age-worn bench of the carriage.
Of all the finery people thought to sew together, how has no one created pants for women?
I have tried to smooth the same spot in my skirts at least half a dozen times now, to no avail.
It’s an utterly useless expenditure of my time, especially given I spent the other half bent nearly in half.
A frigid wind whips through my hair, tussling the tulle of my skirts. My nose crinkles at the smell of dried blood and sweat clinging to the tattered remains of the gifted gown I sorely regret ever putting on.
Great. I not only look like death’s bride, I smell like her too.
“You’re running on borrowed time.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the images from last night out of my head.
“Did you know, Gally? Did you know that your time was up too?” I ask as if the dead can still hear me. What a tragic habit to have.
Thanks for that, Riven.
Turning from the busted out window featuring the thorny blue walls that hide the horrors of last night, I take in the grim magnificence that is—was—my home, and wonder…
Will Riven look for me in all the places I searched for him?
In the vast great halls with their vaulted ceilings, where more cobwebs than chandeliers hang?
Or in the narrow corridors that wind like living, brooding veins through the castle, lit by tepid flames?
Will his hums still be heard if I’m no longer there to hear them?
Will he return to haunt these walls if he’s no longer haunting me?
The jagged points of the castle’s highest spires glint in the partial moonlight, casting shadows on all the places we used to venture. The place I nearly died.
I should have never said the things I said…
“I hope you’ve found your happily ever after, Riven. Wherever you are.”
“Miss Sunday?”
“Ah!” I startle at the large, dark figure waiting for me in the door of the carriage, then laugh when I realize it’s only Frog. “I thought you were a ghost.”
His brows lift high, exposing the tiniest sliver of what appear to be flushed cheeks. Oh, god. I’ve offended him.
“I’m so sorry.”
“My apologies.”
We both sputter, and I can’t help but hide my smile. He’s captivating in an unexpectedly tender way. He’s not at all acting the way a frightened person would. I know what that looks like and this, the subtle flex of his hand toward mine when we’re together, is not that.
No doubt noting my sudden fixation, he pulls his hand away, hiding it beneath his cloak as he nods for me to speak first.
I sheepishly oblige.
“I didn’t mean to imply you were a ghost. Or a frog,” I jest, recounting our previous conversation.
He smiles at that. At least, I think he does. It’s hard to tell with the heavy mask covering half of his face. There is definitely a lightness to his eyes, even as they shy away. Always just out of view. And why is that? I wonder…
“A frog would be better at this,” he mumbles, assuming I can’t hear him through the mask.
“I disagree,” I reply, pursing my lips.
His brows furrow, then his eyes blow wide. “I only meant, I—”
“Wouldn’t leave this idiot in charge of the group’s gear for even five minutes if you were a frog.” Wolfe sends his elbow into the side of Merrek’s chest, forcing a lung full of air to whoosh past his puckered mouth.
The dark knight straightens, clearing his throat. Neither of us noticed them approaching, a fact that doesn’t appear to sit well with the war-battered commander.
“Right.” He nods, turning on his heel toward lord knows where, followed closely by the elusive Wolfe.
The twins don’t move from where they stand, one with a hand playing with his already mussed hair. The other leans into the door’s frame, his arms folded over his chest.
It’s almost comical how bad they are at this whole babysitting thing. Though, I suppose that would make sense. It’s not exactly a skill required for the art of dismembering someone.
My stomach sours at the turn of thought. Having now seen the devastation brought on by senseless violence with my own eyes, I can confidently say that war is not something I ever hope to play a part in. Or bear witness to.
I’ve lived in the shadows of its ruins for long enough.
Now I get to live the rest of my days in the sun.
With him. I shudder.
That is a problem for future me. And I simply will not be bothered with the happenings of another day.
Instead, I focus on how the heavy curtains I’ve pulled shut offer me the first semblance of privacy I’ve received in days.
How the timeworn velvet seat hugs my aching limbs.
How the waning flame in the iron lantern flickers with unnatural steadiness, casting the space in beautiful amber light.
All things considered, it’s not a bad setup.
Sure, the destination is less than favorable, and my ending may not be a happy one.
But if there’s anything I’ve learned spending years upon years with my nose stuck in a story, it’s that every chapter counts.
And something tells me this next one has room for surprises.