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"Nothing justifies sacrificing an innocent girl," I nearly snarled, thinly concealing rage unlike any I had ever known.
"Perhaps," Duarte conceded, his eyes gleaming with malice. "But as you well know, the line between innocence and guilt can be a fine one indeed."
His words struck me like a blow to the chest, my mind reeling with the memory of past sins—sins that he had forced upon me. A bitter taste filled my mouth, and my vision blurred with unshed tears. But through it all, one thought remained clear: I would find Carmen, and I would protect her.
She wouldn’t end up like Beleza.
She was something to me I could scarcely believe.
Chapter2
Corre, Carmen
A few days earlier…
My legs were hurting. I must'vealternated between running and walking for hours at this point. My body was tired, but sleep was the furthest thing from my mind.
Sleep wouldn’t be possible until I was safe.
While my eyes had adjusted to the dark, everything was still pitch black. A living, breathing darkness that threatened to worm its way into my brain and make me go mad. My way had once been lit by the golden glow of my skin, but the magic had long-since faded. A part of me considered cutting myself again just for the light, yet both instinct and experience had taught me this was a singular tunnel and it would be a waste to further deplete myself for fleeting comfort.
If I just kept following the wall, I would make it out alive.
The darkness was a second set of lids, robbing my eyes of sight and forcing my mind to replay memories; blood pooling on the ground, soaking into my skin, and burning my bones. I was coming from the Old Palace where I had killed Martina de León, Isaac’s mother. The boy who made the mistake of wanting to marry me.
Tears slid out of my eyes as I hurried through a dark, winding tunnel, feeling the surrounding walls with my fingertips. The damp, sour smell of rot and frozen earth filled my nostrils. While the underground was warmer than the surface this time of year, there were patches of ice coating the walls and ground. My numb fingers slid easily across the smooth-as-glass frozen water, causing a high-pitched zing. The noise roared in my ears. After feeling my way around a new corner, a frigid chill ran through me. I braced myself, fully expecting to find myself face to face with a Guardia any second.
But, no. I was alone.
I should be more grateful for that. If they found me, they would kill me.
A curtain of fear draped itself around me.
Inhala.
Exhala.
My tears chilled on my cheeks and I thought of Maestra Cecelia. It was the eve of the Winter Solstice, and two weeks before the Blood Tournaments, which I was supposed to compete in. There were no solstice oranges, no dances, no warm hugs and even warmer liquor.
There wouldn’t have been even if I hadn’t run away.
Shock had completely worn off at this point, and I was left with living nightmares to walk alongside me. Isaac was dead. His death had been an accident by the hand of his mother, but Martina’s demise had been borne out of my own sense of self-preservation.
There will be no forgiveness for me,I thought.
I could still smell their blood on my dress, drying and crusting in the cold air. Santiago had given me his jacket just before I walked into this dark hell. The clean scent of his foreign cologne was overpowered by that ugly, metallic smell.
I'm going to die here.
And honestly? That would be the better alternative to being killed by the Canciller, or one of his Guardias.
The rhythmic sound of my feet continued, and the memories shifted to my best friend, Magda. She was at the castle for a reason unknown to me, and she was with Santiago Flores. A sliver of betrayal was wedged under my skin. I saw Santiago often, and they seemed to know each other well. Why didn’t he tell me?
Why hadn’t she come to Antonio’s estate?
They probably had some bullshit reason, like my safety and preserving my past. At this point, it was likely that many people knew who I was, so their worry was pointless.
Magdalena and Santiago had saved me by bringing me to the old king's escape route, but I was angry and alone in this endless snaking tunnel. Even the air in this place was old, and I was sure that even though Santiago’s father had known of its existence, he had little idea exactly where it would let out. That part would be left to me to rediscover. My hands traced the rough walls, trying to make sense of where I would exit. I imagined it was supposed to lead to Ciudad de Rubíes, but the finer details were impossible to predict.
