Things really took a turn for the worse.
Given the new circumstances, I’m left with one option … and it goes against the grain of my tender, aching heart.
My soul.
I won’t think about that right now.
Can’t.
A wispy white blur snags my attention, and my heart leaps into my throat, hope pooling through my chest. I don’t dare turn my head as my gaze chases the little sprite frolicking about us at lightning speed, like a bee bopping about on the hunt for troves of pollen.
Please be the sprite that saw me leave Graves Inn …
“All I wanted was a bit of fresh air,” I blurt, receiving sideways looks from the guards. “Oh well. It’s a lovely morning for a stroll to the palace with suchspritelychaperones.”
One of them clears his throat. “Are you okay, Mistress?”
“I’m fine!” I yell in the most upbeat voice I can conjure, stomping through a puddle of something putrid that slops up my calves. I grit my teeth. “Perfectly fine.”
The two guards behind me whisper between themselves, voices so low they probably think I can’t hear them pondering over my withering sanity.
Whether or not Cainon’s promised to a dud.
“Though I do wish I had a chance to tell Cindra I won’t be meeting her for breakfast,” I continue, praying the sprite understands my bizarre ramblings and passes my message on. That it gets down the line to Zali—her name too explosive to throw around in front of Cainon’s guards.
“Guess I’ll get in contact with her later.” I dodge another puddle that looks suspiciously like the contents of somebody’s emptied chamber pot. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”
The sprite darts off in the direction of Graves Inn, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
We round a corner, a quenching blow of sea breeze ruffling my hood, and I catch a glimpse of the lapis lazuli palace glimmering in the morning light. My skin prickles at the thought of what I’m about to do …
Fall to my knees before Cainon and beg to reignite our coupling.
A grieving sprout pokes above the surface of my aching heart and crawls up my spine, delicate tendrils curling around my ribs and anchoring it in place. Floret unfurling, it tips its head to me and bares a flush of silver petals that make the backs of my eyes sting.
It looks like a grayslade.
I snip it at the stem, untangle its twining length, and stuff its coiled corpse beneath a dome where I don’t have to look at it.
* * *
Wooden rowboats pock the ocean, fishermen stooped in their bows with glistening lines threaded deep. The salty air is baked with the smell of fish guts, the gentle slap of water on rock echoing off the underside of the bridge as we draw closer to the looming palace.
I’m no longer marveled by its beauty. By the gold trim that glints in the sun or the massive, buffed blocks of rich, blue stone I’d never seen before I stepped upon these shores.
All I can see are those shacks barely holding together. All I can smell is the putrid taint of rotting things still clinging to the back of my throat.
How many men, women,childrenfrom Ocruth and Rouste are making the perilous trip to Parith in the hopes of finding refuge behind its impenetrable wall, only to end up in that Blight-infested band?
Gulls squawk, scrapping over some tossed offal, and I’m reminded of the woman who fell too fast.
Screamed too short.
Cracks pop across the surface of my many crystal domes, and my hands bunch into balls that shake.
Don’t think. Just do.
I pluck at the dimming forest inside myself, squishing beads of luster. Lids growing heavy as I bog up the holes.
