Chapter 3 #2
A strained laugh bursts through my lips as I push myself back to standing. “Never been better.”
Her furrowed brows relax. “Guess it’s not too bad if you think this is funny.”
“C’mon, it’s a little funny. Survived a near spotting from a prisoner transfer train, only to get taken down by my lack of coordination.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Fairly sure our wine bottle cut into my ass, but nothing feels broken.” I give my arms and hips a wiggle, proving my bones are indeed intact, then use the wool shawl to swipe at the wet stains along the backside of my chambray dress.
“Thank the shadows for that. Come over here so I can pull—”
A groaning rumble shakes through the ground beneath my feet, sharper than the previous tremors.
Violet light illuminates the whites of Gem’s eyes. “Another train?”
A growing roar nearly drowns out her words, and I shake my head. This isn’t the metallic grating of the train. This is deeper, more violent. Clumps of clay and rock rain down around us.
“Take cover!” I shout, kneeling to do the same.
The meager purple light pouring into the trench forsakes me while falling debris clouds my vision. A sandy avalanche descends as a fissure rips through the ceiling. I bend further into a crouch, wrapping my arms behind my head to protect myself from the cascading rubble.
A plume of grainy dust fills the air. I shelter here, waiting for the series of thundering snaps and violent tremors to subside.
Seconds feel like minutes as the earth finally settles.
I fight the urge to inhale, but my resilience has already been pushed too far today.
I succumb to the breath my body so desperately desires, accepting the consequences.
Coughing violently, I cradle my nose into my shoulder and try to blink my eyes open to assess the damage, but an unforgiving light makes it a near-impossible feat.
Blinding streaks of gold pour into the tunnel from a split in the earth above, diffused by the haze enveloping the trench.
Finally, my lungs begin to clear, but my voice chokes through the debris in my throat.
“Did my clumsy ass somehow cause a real earthquake this time?” I ask rhetorically—but Gem doesn’t respond. “Gem! You okay?”
Still nothing.
My stinging eyes refuse to stay open. Relying on touch alone, I swing my arms around until I find the edge of the trench and lean into it, rising on unsteady feet. Something hot spreads across the back of my right hand, and I pull back.
“Gem!” I call again, straining to peel my lids open long enough to adjust to the onslaught of light. In all my three decades of life, not once have I seen something so painfully bright. It takes several watery blinks before I’m able to peer through squinted lids.
When I do, I immediately wish I could unsee what’s in front of me.
My hand is . . . glowing.
A golden, tingling energy pulses through the veins in my fingers, traveling down my palm and stopping just past my wrist. The heady warmth of it stands in contrast to the permanent chill residing within me.
I gawk at the appendage like it’s betrayed me.
No.
It can’t be.
Head whipping upward, my gaze fixes on the dusty shaft of light beaming through the parted ceiling. Though narrow, the vertical spotlight stretches dozens of feet across, from the surface above to the packed earth along the edge of the trench. Particles of clay dance in its illumination.
Sunlight.
In the exact spot where I placed my hand a mere moment ago.
My exposed hand.
“Are Sols human?” I’d once asked my mother. She was in the middle of a history lesson, and I’d just learned that the monsters that lurked above began as humans. Prior to that, I’d thought the Sols were evil creatures from birth.
“Not anymore,” my mother replied. “As soon as they allow the sun to mark their veins, they lose their humanity.”
I’d gulped, knowing from that day forward that I’d have nightmares about getting trapped outside with no shadows to shelter me from that fate. “Forever?”
“Forever,” she’d confirmed.
My chest heaves, the weight of that memory condemning me.
How long do I have before the mutation begins? Will I still remember who I am? Who my friends are?
Gem.
“By the darkness,” I whisper as I look past my tainted flesh at the pile of rubble cutting an angled line across the raised pathway—exactly where I’d last seen Gem.
“Gem!” I shout, dismissing my concern of being discovered. There’s no way an earthquake of that magnitude went unnoticed. A horde of day-shift guards will likely arrive in a few minutes to inspect the damage.
Stumbling closer to the edge of the trench, I skirt around the edge of the beam of sunlight and attempt to pull myself up onto an unmarred portion of the path. My wrists buckle, unable to bear my weight, and a few rebellious coughs escape my lungs expelling the last of the debris.
“Sun’s pits.” I groan, wiping my palms along my dress as if clamminess is the issue and not my lack of upper body strength.
After the fourth failed attempt, my shoulders hunch, and I scan the surrounding debris for a rock large enough to use as a stepping stone.
“Here,” a masculine voice says from behind.
With a yelp, I clasp my glowing fingers behind my back and spin to find a broad-shouldered man cradling a small boulder in one excessively toned arm.
He’s notably shirtless, and I’m taken aback by the vibrancy of his deep olive skin—how it lacks the usual ashen undertone found on those of us who reside in the safe darkness.
But unlike mine, his veins show no sign of the sun’s corrupting light.
“What are— Where did you— Who?” I stop and start, not knowing which question to lead with. As he nears, I settle on a warning. “Look out for the sunlight!”
Without a glance in my direction, the stranger kneels beside me, his dark curls inches from brushing against my exposed calves. Raised scars stretch across his muscled back as he shoves the boulder against the wall of the trench.
I should put some distance between myself and this bare-chested man who came out of nowhere and potentially saw the damning evidence of my compromised hand.
Unwilling to heed logic, my legs stay firmly planted while I breathe in the stranger’s distinct scent that reminds me of smoky bergamot. A nightstone pendant thumps against his chest as he rises. Eyes like molten gold flick down to mine, gleaming with predatory intent.
I finally step back.
Those narrow golden irises leer at me through dark lashes. As if I’m the one who snuck up on him. As if I forced him to fetch the boulder for me.
And, shadows help me, I glower back. “Who are you?”
There’s a reckless bite in my tone—one I should temper if I want to avoid this man dragging me to the guards, though I’m banking on the fact that he, too, is out past curfew.
Between his loose linen pants and the absence of armor, he’s obviously not a guard himself.
Or perhaps if he is, he’s off duty. He does have the build of one.
I suspect there are more muscles in his back than there are in my entire body.
Yet there’s something untamed about his overgrown black curls and incandescent irises that makes me doubt this man would ever agree to the subservient life of a guardsman.
So, what exactly is he doing here in the transport tunnels in the middle of daylight hours, if he isn’t one of the chancellor’s men? What’s he trying to hide?
Our gazes lock in a silent battle of will. I raise a single brow. Both of his lift, like my reaction doesn’t align with his hastily constructed impression of a damsel in distress. He doesn’t strike me as a man who’s accustomed to his expectations being subverted or proven wrong.
I’d like to do it again.
The impulsive thought is enough to make me fold. I lower my head, breaking our prolonged eye contact.
“That should be enough.” The man clears his throat and nods to the boulder before turning on his heel, leaving my questions unanswered.
I stare at his retreating form for several seconds, then return my focus to the more important matter: Gem.
The boulder is just over knee-height—tall enough for me to climb atop and hoist myself over the ledge.
My ass cheek stings in protest as I do so.I stand, then twist to survey the cut.
Sure enough, there’s a blot of crimson leaking through the thin chambray material of my shift.
I tug the black wool shawl from where I draped it on my satchel, ready to tie it around my waist, but pause as the dense fabric extinguishes my glowing fingers.
I glance over my shoulder to verify that the stranger is truly gone and wrap the shawl around my hand.
Although the resulting makeshift cast is bulky, it’s less conspicuous than waving around my sunlit veins like a beacon of my transgression.
With the wrap in place, I rush over to where Gem last stood and clamber up the pile of rubble. Several rocks dislodge and tumble during my ascent, but I scale the stockpile without further injury.
I spot Gem’s prone form instantly, sprawled out on the packed clay path, a scarlet puddle encircling her head.
“Gem!”
Falling to my knees, I lower my ear to her chest. Fresh tears rush down my cheeks as her steady pulse beats against the side of my face.
Alive. She’s alive, thank the shadows.
“Gem, can you hear me?” I intertwine my left hand with hers. A new wave of panic chases away the brief relief when she remains unresponsive, and my grip tightens.
“Gem, I need you to squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”
Nothing.
We can’t stay here. She needs help, and I can’t carry her, nor do I think the guards will be particularly inclined to do so when they realize we’re deserters—or would-be deserters, if it weren’t for the earth itself halting our path to freedom.
I curse, then release Gem’s fingers. “Be right back.”
Once I’m on the other side of the rubble, I jog along the path, following the same direction as the gruff stranger. Flashing orbs dance along my vision as it readjusts to the shadows, and I call out, “Sir? If you can hear me, I really need your help.”
I wince at the raucous echoes.
There’s no way that man didn’t hear me.
Still, no one responds, so I press forward. “Please? I wouldn’t ask if—”
A callused palm wraps around my mouth.
The basic training offered twice annually to eligible women of marital age comes rushing back, and I slam my elbow backward, aiming for my attacker’s solar plexus.
Although a whoosh of air escapes his lips, the hand around my mouth doesn’t relent.
Before he can catch his breath, I raise my heel, preparing to stomp on his sandaled foot, but the stiff muscles in my leg slow me down.
A second arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off the ground entirely. Warm breath scalds my ear in warning.
“Do you have a death wish?”