An understatement.
The chasm left by Raeve’s absence is packed with restless anxiety that feels like lightning bolts, forking into all my tender muscle and sinew. I’d let Grihm beat me into a pulp just to draw the focus elsewhere, but he’s not around.Nobody’saround.
“Ahh. Let me consult.” Borg gusts to a respectable distance, withering into a sheet of mist that drifts across the ground.
“Take your time,” I murmur, then fill my mouth with another gulp. Doing my best to numb myself.
I’ve almost emptied the glass when Borg recongeals into his regular shape. “I have information on your alchemist,” he announces, voice pitched with hungry glee. Like a loyal beast that just caught a rodent and dumped it on my pillow.
“Nothing on the others?”
“Not at this stage. But my brothers are listening.”
I nod and pour myself another drink that I drain in three deep gulps, burning my throat raw. “What are you craving this dae?”
“Young Kaan,” he blurts, vibrating with excitement—his fingers clawing at the air like spindly tick legs. “Something truly mouthwatering, given you stuffed me in a drawer for so long.”
“Fair,” I mutter, thumping my empty glass on the table. Truth be told, it could’ve been worse.
Given the current state of things, relivinganymemory from after Elluin left for Arithia might’ve kicked me over the edge.
I tip my head against the headrest and close my eyes, feeling Borg encroach like a sticky cloud wafting against me, hands padding at my shoulders, neck, then jaw, fingers splaying around my cheeks.
He finally finds balance.
There’s the distant, cyclonic sound of his mouth opening, heaving with intensity until it overshadows the thumping pound of my heart. Then the plunging sensation, like a cold tongue is slithering down my throat, shoving past my physical layers.
Through the fibers of my soul.
Still, it pushes … finally slitting up into the shape of a hook fierce enough to flay me from within.
I fist a particularly painful memory nesting in the embers of my volcanic insides, lift it up, and wrestle it onto the hook. Borg hums with glee, dragging it up in steady increments—
“He’s just a youngling!” Mahmi’s voice is so loud and sad it makes my heart hurt. “Please, Ostern! Please, have mercy—”
“Get her back to the Fortress!” Pahpi growls over his shoulder, his big hand squeezing my arm so tight I think my bone is going to snap as he charges across the courtyard, dragging me behind him. Four of my fast, scrambling steps for every two of his.
Guards rush to grab Mahmi despite her big, swollen belly, hauling her back the way we came.
She screams my name so loud her voice cracks, cut off as the doors slam shut between us.
Pahpi’s dragon circles overhead, close enough to stir the air, blasting sand into my eyes.
I screw up my face, blink really fast, trying to force my tears back down. If I can just stop crying, maybe I’ll be allowed to run back to Mahmi and make sure she’s okay.
But the tears won’t stop. No matter how hard I try, more keep coming out.
We pass from the courtyard, under wiggly trees, down some jagged stairs while I scramble to keep up.
My legs finally give way.
The burning ground grates skin from my knees and hip, leaving a trail of blood. Like one of my clay markers smudging across the parchment.
I’m chafed raw, stinging all over by the time Pahpi lets go of my arm and stands over me like a tower. As I scramble back, my hand falls down the edge of something, making my heart jump.
I peek over my shoulder at the hole behind me, like a dark throat waiting to swallow …
A warm wetness spreads through my pants.
