Slowly, I pull my hands free and scrape off the mud, simmering over why I put up with Sereme’s torturous, controlling shit for so many phases. I should’ve found a way to rid myself of this blood bind phases ago.
A little bit of open-sky freedom and everything suddenly looks so different.
It’s an effort to mask my limp as I make for our small pack now gathered at the tree’s base, thankfully all too busy watching Roan quietly root through his satchel to notice I almost ate mud.
Roan empties a vial of brown elixir into his cupped palm and smears it across a knobble on the trunk, revealing a line of luminous runes that simmer and spit. A hidden doorway slurps inward.
Kaan passes a quick scan over me, frowning at the fresh mud on my hands before he bends his knees, turns to the side, and barely wedges through the gap. Roan makes it through more easily, while Pyrok struggles almost as much as Kaan, failing to dip his head enough to avoid banging it.
The moment I slip through, the entry glugs closed, dousing us in darkness.
Kaan flicks the lid on his weald.“Heish ath sith, vista thah.”
A chill climbs my spine as a flock of tiny flames flutter up the tree’s hollowed inside. They splash against several wall torches, igniting a twirl of stairs that travel all the way up as far as I can see.
I clear my throat, drop my satchel, then work to unlatch my black, muddy cloak and hang it on the wall beside the others. After wiping my hands clean, I kneel and begin unbinding my boots, muscles spasming so much I almost lose balance. Something that adds another scoop ofpissed offto my already toppling pile.
“We can take turns washing up. Privy and the bathing chamber are down there,” Kaan says, stomping something hollow-sounding.
I peer over my shoulder to see it’s a trapdoor, then shove up, kick off my boots, and begin pulling blades from my sheaths. One by one, I check their edges—making sure they’re sharp.
Sereme-slittingsharp.
“The dam won’t move from her nest until rising. We’ll bunker down for a meal and rest while Roan finishes his invention meant to locate this young protégé.” Kaan’s words blend into the background noise of everyone else removing their boots and bags, though my ears twitch when he says, “You’re aware that Líri followed us?”
“I am,” I murmur, stuffing an iron blade back in my sheath, pulling out another. “Thankfully, she appears to understand the need to be quiet and not damage any branches.”
“Raeve.”
“Kaan.”
“Look at me.”
Brow arched, I turn, glancing from the rolled sleeves of his brown tunic, up past the open neckline that boasts a glimpse of his broad, hair-smattered chest. I meet his ember eyes—warm in the firelight, though shadowed with concern.
He frowns, scanning me from feet to face. “This is a stealth mission. We’re not here to kill anyone.”
If only.
“We’re in enemy territory.” I stuff the blade away and lift my satchel off the ground, drape the strap over my shoulder before meeting his gaze again. “Way I see it, failing to prepare is akin to digging a muddy grave.”
He watches me for a long beat, then grunts, heaves the weight of his own laden satchel on his shoulder, and turns, leading the charge up the twirling staircase.
Roan follows.
I wait for Pyrok to move first in case Sereme decides to fuck with me again, but he just stands there, watching them go. Once they’re out of sight, he turns to take me in, chewing the inside of his lip piercing. Something I’ve noticed he does when he’s gnawing on a thought.
“You’ve been acting strange ever since you locked yourself in that room.” He cracks the lid on his flask. “Something wrong?”
I watch him draw a deep sip, like he’s sucking air, wondering if he should turn his concern inward.
“You know me, Pyrok. Just frolicking through life.” I clap him on the shoulder and urge him around, up the stairs. Certain I won’t be resting this slumber.
Not fully.
I’ll be braving my internal lake, bracing for a gulp of trauma at my Other’s icy trade station in exchange for another scoop of Bulder’s gritty language.
Sereme’s working extra hard to break me down, no doubt expecting me to crawl through her ugly door and kiss her purple boots. Joke’s on her because all she’s doing is stuffing me full of vehemence, encouraging me to swallow more of Bulder’s words—sharp and hard enough toreallymess her up.
