Pyrok curses, moving to peer up the hole, his next words echoing. “This is fucked, Raeve.”
It’s not ideal for me, either.
“I have an entire armory of weapons in there, working water, a privy, and a place to slumber, but you’ll still have to slip out while Gruffin’s napping and raid for food.”
Pyrok pulls back out, his hair notably more askew. “Anything else I need to be made aware of before I embark on this climb of doom?”
Yes.
I look out on the mist-smothered south just as the sky opens, offering me a fleeting glimpse of the small, wonky silver moon I love so much—tangled with the middae aurora ribbons.
But a smile doesn’t come to me as it usually does at the sight of Hae’s Perch. All I feel is icy grief that squeezes my heart almost hard enough to burst … encumbered by the memory I touched in my Other’s den. A moment I lived through her, discarded immediately after I swam back to the surface of my conscious self, not wanting to look it in the eye. To understand it.
But now I understand too clearly.
My Other was trying to show me that she hasalsoloved.Alsolost. That we’re more alike than I want to realize—
I look away. Push it all down.
Gone.
“There’s one rule,” I rasp, meeting Pyrok’s emerald eyes, vibrant in thedim surroundings. “Do not, under any circumstance, go up through the hatch in the ceiling.”
The words come out cold and hard. Not at all as broken, bleeding, and charred as they sounded in my head.
His brows pinch together. “Dare I ask why not?”
“Because I said so.”
I charge past them all, refusing to look Ahvi or Kaan in the eye as I move out onto the perilous path beyond.
Adensethumprips me awake.
I groan, though it quickly morphs into a dry heave spurred by the taste of vomit still tainting my tongue.
Fucking Raeve and her fucking vomit runes.
I blindly slap around for my looted flask, pop the cork, and tip it above my wide-open mouth … only to remember it’s as empty as my current will to survive.
“Creators end me.” I roll to my side so I can wedge onto my elbow, every muscle in my body aching from what was, without a doubt, the worst sleep of my existence.
Raeve invested in vomit runes but seemed to forget the basic necessities. Like a comfortable pallet with even a single fucking feather inside. Or a blanket. Or a pillow. Oranythingbesides enough blades to wage a war, a few fancy gowns, and some finger-smudged moons on the ceiling.
I rub the ache from my eyes, then reach for the mug of water I glug back, washing the rank taint from my mouth while squinting through the window etched in frosty runes, out toward the south. The Mists have receded for a bit, allowing me to scan the snow-covered plains and the colorful moons above, poised to fuck us all up.
“At least the view’s good,” I mutter, slamming the mug down. Ignoring the ache in my chest that tells me it’snota good view at all, but the scape of one of my most painful memories. An ache I wish I could burn away with a flask of something caustic enough to make me think less.
I sigh, scanning the horizon. Fail to find a single peek of the aurora ribbons.
Still slumbertime, then.
Checking the hatchling coiled beside me in a prickly knot—thankfully still breathing—I gather I haven’t slept long. Had I, the little fucker would’ve woken me screeching for food. He hasn’t even shat, which is great since he’s using my cloak and shirt as a nest.
At least someone’s getting a good slumber.
I lift the lid on the small wooden box I found beside Raeve’s pathetic excuse for a pallet, making sure the sowgrubs I picked off the wall down in the Ditch are still squirming, munching on the clump of moss I lined the base with. Getting nice and plump to be stuffed down Gruffin’s gob.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
