His grin is infectious, and I fold forward, wishing I could stay right here forever.
But the moment I close my eyes, those shadows rear up, and every drop of happiness falls right off my face.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I say past the lump in my throat.
I swear the ocean calms a little, like it’s listening in.
A long pause, and then; “I’m not going anywhere, Treasure.”
I bite down on a sob. Maybe he’s not ...
But I am.
Every footstep is a proclamation, like I’m staking war with the stone. There are no torches blazing my path down this staircase, the darkness almost too dense to breathe through, let alone see anything. But I’ve walked this staircase thousands of times.
Toomany times.
I’ll probably walk it a thousand times more.
My grip tightens on the hooves, the stag’s sodden underbelly warming the back of my neck. The ground is slippery beneath my boots, and not just from the blood running down my body, wetting the floor, casting the otherwise stale air with the stench of death.
This deep below the castle, the walls seem to weep.
Perhaps they’ve seen too much over the years ... I know I have. My eyes are just as weary as my soul, but unlike these walls, I’m all dried up.
I come to a landing barred by a door with a small grate inviting a peek into the room on the other side—a little less obscure than the stone stairwell I just descended.
Balancing the animal on my shoulders, I clank the deadlock aside and kick the door. It swings open, rusted hinges protesting with a squeal.
The hairs on the back of my arms lift.
She’s looking,watching ...
I step into the holding chamber the size of Orlaith’s quarters, stone walls on three sides and strong, metal bars lining the other. A round shaft of silver moonlight shoots down from the high rooftop window, offering little reprieve other than to etch out the shape of the square room and to highlight the blood on my body, casting it black.
I let the stag slip off my shoulders, landing behind me with a wet thud. My hands drop to my sides, and I crunch them into fists, chin falling to my chest ...
My wrist feels too light.
You lied to me.
Her voice may have been fragile, but everything else was the opposite. Her upper lip was curled with hate, she had fire in her eyes, and she looked at me like she saw through my skin to the monster I am beneath.
Part of me was relieved—screamed for her to look deeper. To delve until she ripped herself on all my sharp bits. Perhaps then she’d see why I’m stuck in her orbit ... unwillingly. Why drifting too close would destroyeverything.
But instead of looking, she told me to go.
Guess I should be happy.
I shake my head and sigh, knuckles popping, wishing I could pop the bubble on my fury just as simply. It’s knotted in my shoulders; my neck. It has claws dug into my back and my lungs and my fucking chest.
Stepping toward the bars, I look down at the chain bolted to the ground. It’s thicker than my arm, tugged taut, traveling straight to the roof where it’s threaded through a hole in the stone.
I grip it with both hands, lean all my weight back, andyank.
There’s a shuffling sound in the distance, a soft mewl as the length of chain wrestles me. But inch by stubborn inch I lug it through the hole, until sweat is dripping down my spine and there’s a mound of metal links coiled on the floor at my feet, rising to my waist.
I hook the chain on a prong protruding from the ground and let go, shaking my hands out, fighting for breath.
