Page 22 of A Sea of Fate and Starfire

I’d rather stab my fucking eyes out. Rather overindulge in Leal’s toxic homemade whiskey, then waste my day vomiting my regrets. Rather spend a fortnight in a ship’s cabin twice as miserable as the one below Darkness’s Hourglass.

Anything but the slow, dead-silent violation of the sand below my boots.

Ahead, Maren froze, raising her ear in the air. It was quiet; I’m not sure what she possibly could have heard. Our hearts didn’t beat and our lungs didn’t breathe. The sand masked each footfall, muffling it into nothing.

But even from here, the fine hair along her arm visibly lifted. And her body halted into rigid stone, waiting for an attack.

What is it? I asked, unwilling to break the air by speaking the words aloud.

Her forehead creased. She hesitated. Then whispered back, Voices.

My brows flickered in question, fingers wrapping around the soul-tied ring on my hand as I listened for whatever might have entered her mind. But she shook the hair away from her temples, picking her feet up to continue.

I followed, pushing through the stretch of deadened leg muscle, ignoring the wince that shuddered through my mind as sand rolled under my weight.

Worthless.

The word vibrated within my thoughts, soft as a breath against my cheek. Not in Maren’s voice. My own.

I paused, straining to ensure I’d heard it right.

Nothing.

She glanced over her shoulder at me, dark eyes wide and alert. Climbing to my height, Cebrinne flinched in pain, halting in her tracks. Maren’s gaze shifted to her mother for a moment before swerving back to me.

Ignore it, she instructed softly.

I took another step.

Failure. Coward. Traitor.

Each word burned a little louder, fizzling against my senses. Branding itself into my mind.

Worthless. Wretched. Spineless.

My feet grew heavy with exertion. Either that, or the fucking sand was thicker. Or I was sinking in deeper with each step. Those first few strides, my feet had only driven an inch or two into the silver grain. Now, I realized, I was down to my fucking ankles.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

Ahead, Maren’s hands shook. She pushed on, the mountain drinking her next step up to her calf. Her voice rang out in a sharp cry, and she stumbled back, yanking her foot out and desperately dusting the sand away as though it had scalded her.

Miserable fool. You can’t do anything right, can you? Helpless, powerless. Pathetic. Couldn’t save your mother. Can’t save your brother. Left the woman you already loved on that island to be imprisoned. Mocked her while she sat in a cage.

I forced myself forward, my heel carving deep into the sand Maren had stepped through the moment before.

What a sad, sorry little man, my own voice hissed. Pitiful. Can’t help the people he loves, so he runs instead. Why do you always run, run, run? Why do you hide, hide, hide? Why do you leave them all?

They’d begun as murmurs in my head. But now they echoed through my skin, reverberating in my veins. The sand blazed against my embedded leg, scorching deep, impervious to the barrier my boot should have supplied. I flexed my hands through the pain, jerking my leg out. Sand glided down the hole I’d created, swallowing it in a smooth gulp. I half expected my pant leg to be singed. But it was perfectly intact, the skin below it untouched.

Maren bent to wrap her hands around her knee, volcanic eyes suddenly like glass, locked into the space she’d just vacated.

I offered her my hand. “Whatever you heard, it’s not true.”

Her jaw worked. “This is the Mountain of Truth.”

“Your deepest truths, maybe. False truths.” I brushed a fucking curl away from my ear with a sand-soaked forearm. “Not real truths.” But the sentiment was hard for me to believe as I let my foot sink in once again, thoughts attacking me from every angle.

Not good enough. Never good enough. So you flee. Coward. Running from the palace, from your father, from the crown. From every problem you’ve ever faced. Run so you can hide from yourself. Poor little victim, Nikolaos. Poor, sorry prince. Illegitimately born into gold and jewels. A belly always full, a bed always warm. It must be so hard to not starve, not freeze, not beg. Poor, sorry, worthless little victim.