Chapter 22 River
River
River had been locked up for so long, restrained by magical ropes that prevented her ability to teleport, that she’d taken
to listing aloud the things she missed.
Well, it was supposed to be things. That was how it started. She talked about how she longed for a cup of scalding brew. How
she’d do anything to feel sunshine on her face in the late morning. All the ways she’d sell her soul to sit her aching muscles
in a tub of hot water.
Eventually, her mind turned to what—no, whom—she really wanted. She started whispering her name like a prayer.
Celine.
Celine.
Celine.
It was water on parched lips. The only balm for this horrid situation.
If Celine could invent everlasting memory as a magical gift, so could River. But she had everlasting memory for one person,
and one person only.
She thought of Celine at sixteen, gritting her teeth in determination as River helped her walk across a tightrope that was
only two irons off the ground. Celine had squeezed River’s hand with so much force that River started to lose circulation
in her fingers. But she hadn’t minded one bit. She couldn’t believe she was the one Celine trusted enough to stop her from
falling.
She thought of Celine in the dimness of her childhood bedroom, whispering her hopes of someday writing grand tales of adventure.
Tales she’d make up for River on the spot, spinning them into lullabies until River drifted off to sleep, lost to a land of dreams where she and Celine slayed dragons and danced on clouds together.
She thought of Celine as the woman she’d become, still full of the same grit and determination. Her firebird, fighting so
hard to do what was right, keeping secrets in the name of protecting herself and others.
Oh, how River missed her.
River had never had regrets before. Not any she’d admit to, at least. She had more than she could count now. If only she hadn’t
pushed Celine away, ended their kiss. Told her she never wanted to see her again. If only she’d stopped trying to fix things
before she even knew what was broken.
Dougal Farkenstomp opened the door of the squat, windowless cell where he’d been holding River captive. He’d survived his
time in the boat on the Sweetwater Sea. Of course he had. You didn’t become one of the guild’s best assassins without a hardheaded
resourcefulness that stretched beyond all logic and sense. River never should’ve let Thessia load his boat with supplies.
“Sorry it took so long,” he said, smiling as his gloved hands sprinkled fresh leaves into the bag he’d been putting over River’s
head. “Couldn’t find where I’d put the rest of my nightmares. But I see you’ve been keeping busy. Celine, eh? She works for
the Mythria Spectator, right? A shoddy place for a scribe of her talent, but we all start somewhere, don’t we?”
“Don’t say her name,” River warned him through gritted teeth.
Dougal scoffed. “But you can? That hardly seems fair. You’re the one who took everything from me.
I think I have a right to some things that belong to you.
I appreciate you finally talking about her out loud.
I’ve been pretty sure she’s the woman you fancy.
It’s nice to get confirmation. Sure took you long enough, but I knew you’d crack eventually. Everyone does, in the end.”
River thrashed. These damned power-silencing ties.
They were—as Dougal hoped they would be—torture.
“These leaves are from a cursed forest in Mythria. Have you ever been to Featherbint?” Dougal continued. “It’s a strange little
town. I haven’t visited, myself, but the nightmares I’ve had other guild members procure from there have saved me in more
than one torture situation. They’re a wonderful addition to any assassin’s arsenal. They make you drift off to sleep, climb
into your mind, and haunt you with your worst fears. It’s great stuff.”
“Sounds wonderful,” River deadpanned.
“I agree. Now, do tell me, what do you think of the ropes that stop your powers? Aren’t they impressive?”
“No,” River said, even though she could think of a dozen situations she’d found herself in where magical ropes such as these
would’ve been a great help. She’d never seen such a thing before.
“You want to know where I got them, don’t you?” Dougal intuited. Though River said nothing, he still smiled. “They came from
Myke Lycroft, the now-dead magical weaponeer from the Fraternal Order. He could take the powers of others and replicate them
inside different implements.”
“I know who Myke Lycroft is,” River said. “He was one of the most prominent faces of the evil the guild used to fight against.
Or so I thought.”
“Enemies always come back,” Dougal said ominously.
“Todrick did. Myke is dead, but his power remained in these. You tried to send me away, but here I am. The guild won’t be able to get rid of me, either.
Since I was unceremoniously fired, I didn’t see a reason to return them.
I’m sure they are quite sad to lose such a rare magical weapon, and that warms my heart.
I do wish I had my hands on more of the new poison they’re making out here, though.
Cinderflower. It’s quite unique, and I’ve already used up my supply. Ah, well. What can you do?”
River wanted to scream. The Fraternal Order and the Deathrose Guild, two organizations supposedly on opposites sides, were
working together.
“What do you want from me?” River asked for easily the hundredth time.
“You really haven’t figured it out? I thought by now you’d get it. I want to break you.” He said it so casually, as though
placing an order at Harpy & Hind. Then he tugged the bag over River’s head.
She plugged her nose and squeezed her lips together, knowing if she breathed in the scent of the leaves while they touched
her skin, the nightmares would start.
She couldn’t hold them off forever. Still, she fought for every last scrap of dignity she could maintain.
“Thanks to you, the career I’ve built no longer exists,” Dougal said. “The guild thinks I failed the same way you did. Silly
them, though. They had me come to Vestriya to build this holding cell months ago. No one ever told me I couldn’t use it for
my own activities. Really, no one said what it was for at all. I’m sure you can relate to how tedious the guild’s secrecy
can be. I got much less of it than you did, but even I wasn’t immune.”
River heard singing again. It was faint, and it had been happening on and off for a while, occurring somewhere above her.
It was the only clue that she had about where she was being held. She’d started to believe she might be hallucinating, because
the singing almost sounded like her favorite musical act, and that made no sense at all.
With every passing minute, hour, day—she had no idea how much time had gone by, no way to track it without light—retaining these kinds of details had become less important.
No one could save her here, and without her teleportation gift, she could not save herself.
Soon all the little clues she’d gathered about her location would cease to matter altogether.
So she let herself believe the Brethren, a trio of musically gifted brothers, were indeed practicing their soulful tunes somewhere above her.
Dougal, as if reading her thoughts, pressed his lips against her ear. “This will be a suitable place for you to die. Dignified,
really. We’re so far underground, you’re already buried.”
River could wait no longer. She gasped for breath, and the nightmares strangled her thoughts until their darkness took hold.
In her mind, River was back on the carousel. Only this time, it was night, and everything was gray. The entire circus had
been coated in ash.
River smelled it then. The stale remnant of a long-extinguished fire.
Though the circus felt deserted, the seats that lined the carousel were not empty. There was Hugh. Ario. Galwell. Mona. Thessia.
They’d all been burned to death.
River knew this the same way she’d known the guards in the stadium were dead, but still, she moved to search their bodies
for signs of life. Only, her feet were glued to the ground. She could do nothing but look at their corpses.
“No,” she cried out. “No!”
These were, she realized, her friends.
She had friends.
River spun hopelessly around the carousel, searching for a solution, a way to turn back time and save them. It didn’t matter
that she knew this was a figment of her imagination, an all-too-vivid rendering of her fears. That was the trick of nightmares.
You knew they weren’t actually happening, and still, you could not escape.
“Help!” a voice cried out.
At the center of the carousel, in the booth where the ride operator usually spun the wheel, was Celine, tied up with ropes.
River knew then, too, the way you know things in dreams without reason or proof, that this fire was not Celine’s fault, but
that she would be the one blamed for it. She’d be burned herself as punishment for all the people they’d say she’d killed.
And River could not stop it.
The carousel spun faster and faster until it was moving at an impossible speed, and all the other people were gone, leaving
River alone to die.
Her worst fear.
There was no way to squeeze her eyes shut. The dread could not be avoided, for this was a nightmare, and the dread was the
point.
Suddenly, the smell of smoke evaporated as the bag was ripped from River’s head. The scent of dank, rotting earth surrounded
her, dragging her back to reality.
Dougal lay unconscious at her feet, and Vandra Ravenfall stood above him with her hands on her hips, smiling.
“Pretty impressive, right?” she said.
River struggled for breath, for words. For understanding. “How did you find me?” she stumbled out.
Vandra smiled her easy, eager grin. She had on some of her finest attire—a golden-yellow velvet tunic with matching blouse
and high-heeled boots—but that was the least surprising part of this whole ordeal. “I’d tell you it was difficult, but that