Rosalina
My briars part around me as I emerge at the back of NetherReach tower, hidden in a cluster of rocks by the stream. Searching through the moss, I find the leather satchel I’d hidden earlier. From it, I pull rags and clothes, dark and simple, that won’t catch the light. Quickly, I dunk a rag into the stream and scrub off all traces of the evening. The cool water bites my skin, but I don’t care. I have to be fast. On the other side of the tower, the revelry churns with jeers and laughter.
A breeze brushes the back of my neck as I skulk to the side of the tower and look out. Caspian slumps in his chair like a predator who’s grown bored with the game. His dark eyes lift toward the cage hanging above the celebration, where a cloaked figure clings to the bars. Keldarion, on the other side, observes the figure.
Me. Or what looks like me.
“You two can rot up there,” Caspian calls, voice curling with disdain. “I’ve had enough whore for the evening.”
Perfect.
They’re all looking at the cage now, every pair of eyes locked on the illusion. Heidi, veiled by Caspian’s shadows in my shapeand wrapped in a black cloak, plays her starring role perfectly. None of them sees the real me move, the briars stirring at my feet as I slip from my hiding spot straight into the crowd.
I am shadow. I am thorn.
My heart drums against my ribs as I pass through them, close enough to smell their wine, their perfume. One step. Another.
The rose sits in the center of the courtyard, forgotten among all the revelry. No second thoughts. I have to be quick and quiet.
My fingers close around the bell jar. A wave of repulsion runs through me. Even through the glass, I feel its magic: cold, slippery. Like oil and ice. Wrong.
Tucking the jar into my satchel, I shove the unease down and dart through the crowd. Briars surge at my command, dragging me under the earth. No stopping.
I must get to Castletree. Caspian will follow with Kel and Heidi, and we’ll all be?—
Something hits me.
A tidal wave of grief so loud, so raw, it knocks the breath from my lungs.
Farron.
His pain is everywhere, thick in my throat, hot in my eyes. It’s him—it’s him. My mate. I feel it like a scream in my bones.
I don’t think. I follow that pull.
He’s in the Below. Close.
Why is he here?
I know I should get to safety. Protect the rose.
But my mate needs me.
I go to him.
51
Ezryn
Grief riots through my mate bond, a colossal torrent of it,enough to steal the breath from my lungs and bring tears to my eyes.
But it’s an echo, not belonging to Rosalina herself but to one of her mates.
A mate of my mate is in terrible pain.
We haven’t found Kel, Rosalina, or Caspian. Cas’s palace was empty, his bedroom devoid of any clues, no sign of the rose. But I remember the direction Dayton, Farron, and the twins were headed when we left them.
George and I tear out of the palace grounds and into the main artery of Cryptgarden. The city, thick with strange mist that hangs over the black cobblestone, glows in jewel tones from the gems embedded in the buildings. The place seems to have deteriorated from when I last walked these streets. There are piles of rubble, and gleaming graffiti shines in back alleys.
