Perhaps I would do just that, were my fingertips not itching to gouge Rekk’s eyes from their sockets, then puncture his fucking heart.
Snarling, I shoot toward one of the taller columns and shift to the edge. Look into the dark chasms woven between the pillars, hoping to find something helpful, squinting to make out the distant shape of—
Stones.
Thousandsof stones jammed between the crevices like long-forgotten junk.Mystones, each mossy mound belonging to a memory or moment I’ve tossed away with the intention of never seeing them again.
I spot a particularly sharp one I lobbed down while Essi was bundled in my arms—unmoving.
Lifeless.
I flinch, ripping my gaze away.
Fuck no. Not going down there.
Which only leaves one option.
Hands fisted, I study the large pile of silver egg-shaped stones covered in luminous moss that sways with the water’s churn, frowning when I notice a long pearly tooth wedged amongst them. From what I can see, it’s longer than my foot and likely strong enough to split ice, though it’s odd I don’t recall tossing it down here …
I ignore the part of me thatknowsI didn’t. The part that’s piecing together the shards of this strange, shattered puzzle, shaping it into something too big and round and heavy to bear.
I kick over the chasm and land on the buffered slope of ice, sliding deep into the massive nest. So large, Rygun could coil up in it, though he’d mostly be hanging off the edges.
The angle mellows, and I shift closer, pausing before the mound of treasures almost taller than myself to assess the situation. Unlikemystones—tossed away like trash—these look lovingly shaped. Cradled.
Nurtured.
A thought I squash like a bug.
I need to move at leastonebefore I can free the tooth. Unfortunate, since tampering with someone’s treasure is a sure way to piss them off.
Shifting around the pile, I hunt for the best angle. Realize my options are dimmer than the chances I’ll be able to deliver my well-planned monologue to an evenpartiallyconscious Rekk.
Do I move the velvet-looking stone that reminds me of a lump of coal or the blue, teardrop-shaped crystal that appears a little easier to reach?
Fuck it, no time to dally.
I swish away strands of silver moss, shove my hand down the cleft, grip the teardrop, andtug. It comes away, leaking a dulcet sob of song that weeps through the water—words sung from a voice I recognize, laced with mourning so deep it drenches my skin. Floods my bloodstream.
Sloshes against my heart.
Shrieking, I toss the crystal with such gusto it arcs through the water, plunging into the crevice while I heave big bouts of icy water into my laden lungs. The slow, sorrowful tune infesting my essence, lodging in my mind like a seed of sadness I certainly didn’t ask for.
There’s a reason I don’t listen to Rayne. I don’t want to make space for understanding her language. Now some of it’s wedged in there like a sordid splinter that’ll probably fester.
I fucking hate this place.
I force down the unwanted thickness in my throat, crack my neck from side to side, and eye the pile before me.
Definitely best not to touch the others. Who knows what they’ll dislodge.
More careful this time, I thread my arm down the gap and grip the smooth ivory saber, giving it a tug.
It doesn’t budge.
I tug again, gritting my teeth as I strain, putting all my rage and frothing thirst for vengeance into the heaving motion—
The tooth comes away so suddenly I’m tossed back, a few of the egg-shaped stones shifting with the disruption. One of them brushes against my retreating arm, those mossy tendrils caressing me like the stroke of a Moonplume tail, tossing me into a swallow of …
