Chapter Thirty Zephyra #2
The dangerous current around Arion intensifies.
“What we need is to shut the fuck up and listen to Zephyra.” Though he doesn’t take my hand again, his wings brush my shoulder encouragingly.
We both know that if I don’t speak, there’s a high chance we’ll all fight to the death instead.
Vesper’s gaze snags on the soldiers’ weapons.
Gavriall eyes the skull nervously. And thunder continues rumbling around Amaya as if we’re seconds from incineration.
As if we are all standing at the edge of a cliff, centimeters from tumbling off.
I hasten to say, “The heart isn’t inside the castle—at least, not that I’ve ever seen.” Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. I count each one, forcing myself to keep going. To remember, to relive the worst moments—years—of my life. “I used to hear noises at night though. From beneath the castle.”
“And…?” Gavriall asks.
I swallow roughly. “I asked the sorcerer about them once, and he told me there is no beneath the castle.”
Vesper crosses her arms, entirely unimpressed. “So he lied.”
“He wouldn’t have lied. Not about that.” At the heat of Arion’s gaze on my cheek, I clench my jaw and stare at the ruined map.
My stomach churns viciously. “He would’ve wanted me to fear whatever was down there.
He would’ve wanted me to know.” Anything to torment me.
Torture me. Punish me. I try swallowing again, breathing, but this time… I can’t.
“My sweet, sweet Zephyra,” his voice croons in my ear, though I can’t see him. The halls darken. The shadow of the walls begins to warble around me. “Are you trying to escape?”
“N-no,” I manage through unsteady breaths. My lungs ache. I’ve been wandering the castle for three days straight. I’ve been searching for any way out, but there is nothing. Nothing. I’m fucking trapped.
And he knows.
“Ah, ah. No lying, dear.” The walls converge then, slamming into me with unbelievable force, and unconsciousness drowns me in the echoes of his laughter.
I wake on the cold floor to the same strange sound of whispers below me.
Always below me. The shackles on my wrists are nailed to the floor, and purple bruises cover my arms.
Even with the winds raging around us, there isn’t enough air to work my lungs.
“So that’s your plan?” Vesper ignores my panic as her lip curls on a sneer.
“To follow disembodied voices to the ruins of a fabled utopia that may or may not exist? You can hardly even speak about it. How the shit are you going to navigate us through it? You have never been able to lead. You have always been a liability.”
Each word is an arrow that impales my heart exactly as intended. It’s a stupid plan, and I am the wrong person to trust. But we’re out of time, so I cross my arms against my chest and hold myself together. “Do you have a better idea?”
The table quiets as Amaya regards us both with pointed scrutiny, drawing another knife from her belt and toying with it almost absently.
She runs her tongue along her teeth before clearing her throat.
To Vesper, she says, “The pink-haired merrow is right. There is no other plan.” And to me, “Tell me more about this castle, Zephyra. We may stand a chance if we know what storms lie on the horizon.”
I swallow. “Well, first of all, it’s in the water.
Deep in the water.” I wave a hand when Gavriall opens his mouth to interrupt, needing to finish this despite how hoarse my voice has become.
You have always been a liability. “That won’t be the problem.
I can drain the water myself, but the rest—the hallways shift every ten to fifteen minutes, rearranging themselves on an endless loop.
Most of the objects within those halls are cursed, not unlike her”—I flick a glance at Amaya’s great-great-great-grandmother, who cackles wildly—“only they’re more inconspicuous.
Doorknobs with teeth.” The scars on my palm burn at the memory.
“Mirrors that beguile you.” That make you never want to leave.
“Fountains that explode with white-hot flame.” The entire table stills at the last, but I continue on regardless.
“If you touch the wrong object—even look at the wrong object—that’s it.
If it doesn’t kill you, it could trap you, enslave you, torment you until the sorcerer decides to let you go.
And he won’t.” My voice breaks slightly, but I ignore it.
Everyone ignores it. Even Vesper. “And if we do manage to navigate the halls intact, we’ll still need to contend with his guards—scores of them. ”
Amaya presses her thumb to the tip of her knife. “Those will be easy to deal with.”
“No,” I say sharply, and Arion frowns as the cord snaps taut between us. It thrums erratically with the spike in my pulse. “I don’t want to… we’re not killing anyone.” When thunder crackles in response, I add, “They’re enslaved. They shouldn’t be punished for the sorcerer’s cruelty.”
Amaya waves her knife irritably. “Fine. We’ll knock them out. Continue.”
“If we can find them before they find us. The sorcerer doesn’t allow any of his puppets to roam free.
Most of the guards remain dormant until he has need of them—or until the castle senses danger.
Many have been there so long, they’ve begun to grow into the walls and twist into the furniture.
We’ll never see them coming.” I never saw them coming.
Time after time I tried to escape, and there was always someone there to drag me back. Someone there to lock me up.
I close my eyes briefly, forcing myself to breathe through the pain. The shame.
There was always someone there… until there wasn’t.
“Let me get this straight.” Gavriall pinches the bridge of his nose and starts to pace.
“Not only do we need to drain the Sceleratus Trench—the deepest part of the ocean, mind you—but we also need to navigate a cursed, labyrinthian castle while locating, incapacitating—but not killing—the enslaved guards within it.” He shakes his head, pacing faster.
“All in an effort to follow these disembodied voices to Mortem’s heart, or Abysses, or whatever nightmarish horrors reside beneath the castle.
Am I forgetting anything?” Snapping his fingers for dramatic effect, he continues before anyone can answer.
“Oh yes, we also need to displace or defeat an agoraphobic sorcerer who refuses to leave said castle. Ever.”
“That isn’t true,” I rasp. “He leaves to make deals.”
“And to hunt you,” Arion says quietly.
At last, his gaze falls away from my face, and his wings curl inward. I shiver at their absence. He doesn’t look back up again as he adds, still in a murmur, “He wants you, Zephyra.” A pause. “How long has he been searching?”
I want your soul, Zephyra of the Syl. I want you.
Every bone in my body begs me to flee this. This conversation. This table. This ship. They’re staring again. Everyone except Arion. Enemies. Strangers. And I—I don’t want to say it aloud. I don’t want to say any of this, but… running isn’t feasible anymore, and I’m tired. So fucking tired.
“Six months.”
Arion’s gaze snaps back to mine, and his jaw hardens as he searches my face, incredulous.
I can feel his fury building with his power; it smothers the cord, overwhelming my senses.
I expect him to say something, but instead it’s Gavriall who speaks.
“It’s only been six months?” He exhales heavily, blinking once.
Twice. “Are you… sure you want to do this? To return?”
I refuse to cower, to shrink, beneath the question.
Beneath their pitying stares. Because I can’t stand their pity.
I don’t deserve it—not after everything I’ve done.
Everyone I’ve hurt. Killed. My skin crawls with regret, but there is nothing I can do to fix it now.
Tightening my arms across my chest, I turn away from them all and struggle to collect myself.
“Of course not. But what choice do we have?”
No one answers that, and I can’t blame them.
Because Arion is right. The High Sorcerer of the Four Seas never leaves his castle unless he has something to gain—a deal, or me.
Even if we risked the former, it wouldn’t buy us the time we need to search for the heart.
Which means… “It’s me,” I whisper, almost too softly to be heard above the storm.
Arion still hears, however. When I turn back to face him, he’s moved closer without me realizing it, his expression blazing.
My throat constricts to a knifepoint, but I force the words out anyway, placing a trembling hand on his chest. “We need to lure the sorcerer out with me.”
“No.” He shakes his head fiercely. “Not a fucking chance.”
“If what Zephyra says is true,” Amaya disagrees, “this is our only fucking chance. It cannot be coincidence that you found her, Warlock Stone—this one merrow at the center of everything. You. The sorcerer. Abysses and the heart. She is the moon, and you are the tides. We would be idiots to throw away such an opportunity.” She spears Arion with a keen look. “It will not come again.”
Arion tenses beneath my fingers, his muscles coiling as if ready to do something rash.
He cannot tear his eyes away from mine, and through the bond, I can almost feel Amaya’s words echoing: She is the moon, and you are the tides.
The princess is undeniably wrong. I have never been the center of anything.
I’m just a fool. A goddess-damned fool who was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and made every wrong choice.
But Arion—for a second, he makes me believe it.
Something dark and fathomless shifts in his gaze, and it makes my face hot.
He is a warlock. I am a mermaid.
What are we doing?