I promised the ships. I promised myself. But there’s no guarantee I’m going to crawl out of that bowl, and even if I do, no guarantee I’m going to be around after the coupling ceremony to ensure the fleet comes to fruition.
It’s time to take matters into my own hands.
I sit until the moon has lifted from my frame of view. Until I’m certain it’s late enough that most servants have gone to bed. Ripping my stare from the sky, I bag the chisel, crawl out from beneath the table, and push to a stand, wincing as the heavy material of Gael’s cloak abrades the tender, throbbing area on my right shoulder.
The spot where I snipped the bloom.
I unclip the cloak, ease it off, and drape it across my vanity. With a mix of dread and revulsion swirling in my gut, I raise my gaze to the mirror.
Nothing.
I pull a tight breath. Finger the patch of scratched skin; all that is left to pay homage to the disgusting pain I’m wearing beneath my mask—like it doesn’t exist at all. There’s no black vines creeping across my shoulder. No strange bulges, or seeping, headless stems.
Meeting my own vacant stare, I turn from the mirror and exit the suite dressed in the ornate, strapless gown I don’t have the energy to peel myself from, loosely tied at the back and barely keeping me contained. I move through the lobby and rip the door open, coming face to face with a yawning Kolden leaning against the wall, bathed in sleepy, golden light from the chandeliers.
Shit.
He shoves off and blinks at me, rubbing his eyes.
I walk straight past.
“Orlaith!” The word is a whispered hiss wrapped in desperation, casting my feet in stone.
Slowly, I turn—just enough to look at him down the line of my shoulder. “I’m not leaving the palace grounds, so you won’t get in trouble ...”
“I’m not worried aboutthat,” he growls, stealing a look past me and stomping forward. Jaw clenched, he takes me in—from the tip of my bare toes peeking out from the bottom of my dress, to my cupla, and finally my eyes.
He swallows. “Avoid the third floor. He’s in a meeting there.”
I blink, working through my brief wave of shock before I give him a brisk nod and spin, making for one of the back stairwells I became acquainted with while I was hunting for the library.
Threading my hand into my bag, I wrap it tight around the chisel, feeling the sharp edges pucker my skin.
I have a tunnel to dig.
* * *
Tucked between the wall and a thick, heavy tapestry, I stab at the stone with fierce, shattering force, cracking off shards of blue that collect on the floor. I sweep them into my knapsack, which I then lump onto my shoulder, lugging it all the way back up the stairs to my suite.
Kolden lifts a brow when he sees me approaching. “What the hell have you got in there?”
“Part of a wall,” I mutter, and the other brow bumps up as he opens the lobby door, shutting it behind me.
He can’t get allfrankon me if I tell him the truth.
I dig my raw, blistered fingers around the side of my dressing room mirror and ease it open, hit by the stagnant wash of lukewarm air. I don’t bother with the lantern sitting on the top of the stairs, instead easing down Old Hattie’s tunnel by sense alone.
Pushing out into the damp jungle, I’m painted in the prickly perusals of the Irilak nesting in the shadows—so stark on this bright, moonlit night, creating a maze of lit paths woven across the ground.
I dig my hand into the stone shards, gripping a fistful and sprinkling it through the underbrush, the mindless motion keeping the ugly thoughts at bay until I’ve emptied my knapsack. Realizing I’m halfway down the path toward the tree Old Hattie showed me, I keep on.
Easing from the jungle’s patchy protection, I step out into the rinse of moonlight pouring down from the clear night sky sprinkled with stars. I reach into my bag and pull out the chisel, holding it tight as I climb the tree, folding up on the lower branch with my back against the trunk. Knees caught close to my chest, I watch the jellyfish dance—all those bright little souls drifting through the waves. So beautiful and free.
It makes my heart ache.
I look to the sky instead; to the moon and the stars and the nothing in between.
In the moon, I see a clock that won’t stop ticking.
