Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"
Автор книги: Ruby Dixon
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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 40 страниц)
Chapter
Seventy-One
Six Weeks Later
The ship bobs on the water, the air disgustingly still and humid under the shelter at the far end of the ship. I’ve torn a few pages out of one of Nemeth’s books and fan myself with them, because sweating day and night makes me dehydrated and we’ve precious little extra water as it is. It rains often enough to fill the barrel we have on deck, but we keep that for drinking water.
I thought I loathed the tower, but it turns out I loathe the sea even more. Weeks of endless travel. Weeks of rolling waves and storms that shake our tiny craft. Weeks of everything tasting like saltwater. Weeks of raw fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Nemeth can spark fire with a spell, but without anything to burn, it’s not very useful.
“I can see the mountains,” Nemeth tells me as he lands on the front of our ship, making the entire thing sway in the water. “We should be there in a few hours.”
I sit up, lacing the top of my bodice in case some Fellian flies overhead. It gets so hot on the water that I try not to wear much, but if we’re going to land soon… “I never thought I’d be excited to see Darkfell’s borders, but after spending the last several weeks on a ship, I’m more than ready for land.” I glance over at my mate. “You don’t think they’ll treat us like the Alabaster Citadel, do you?”
Nemeth shakes his wings out, flicking away droplets of water, and then settles to a crouch next to me. “We’ll be welcomed. It’s different than with the citadel.”
Is it? I’m not so certain. We’d hoped the Alabaster Citadel would welcome us and give us food and supplies. Instead, they’d turned us away at the harbor, keeping the holy temple closed to us.
“Traitors,” the archbishop had cried, pointing a shaking finger in our direction. “It is your fault we have had two years of misery. It is your fault the goddess sends her wrath down upon us. You will receive no welcome here.”
They’d refused to let us leave the docks themselves, keeping us at bay with pitchforks and angry cries. It was only later, after we’d changed the sail’s spell and left the Alabaster Citadel that we were able to think properly about what we’d seen. That the men there had been of the clergy, and yet they’d been thin and dirty and unkempt. Whatever famine that was wrecking the land in Lios was no doubt wrecking the arid, desert lands of the Alabaster Citadel as well.
And their words had made no sense. “Two years?” I’d questioned Nemeth. “How can they blame us for two years? We left the tower less than a month ago.”
Nemeth had no answers, either. “Perhaps they’ve been hit by misfortune since the beginning of the war and we are an easy target to blame. We did leave the tower, after all.”
He’s not wrong…but must we be blamed for everything?
We’d sailed on from there, a tiny ship in the middle of an endless sea. We saw no other craft on the water, and when we ventured close to land, we saw no people, either.
And now we are nearing Darkfell and I am just as unsettled as the day we left the tower. I lean forward in my seat, fanning myself with the pages. “Do you ever wonder if the gods are playing tricks on us?”
“Tricks?” Nemeth asks, rotating one powerful arm as he regards me. “How so?”
I gesture at our surroundings. “That when we left the tower, we stepped into some upside-down world and that’s why nothing makes sense? Why everyone is gone?”
Nemeth eyes me. “How does it not make sense that they are gone? They lost the war. Or is it that part that is so inconceivable?”
I shake my head, because I don’t want to pick a fight with Nemeth. “You know that’s not it. It just feels so…odd. Like when we left the tower, we left our world behind, too. This doesn’t feel like our home. Not anymore.”
He takes my hand in his. “Your home will be with me, Candra, and mine with you. Don’t worry over things we cannot change.”
Easy for him to say. We’re sailing to his homeland because mine has been decimated. Still, I can’t help but wonder what the archbishop meant when he blamed us for two years of misfortune. The goddess is angry at us, of course, but surely we cannot be blamed for the time we were faithfully locked in the tower? That’s the part that gnaws at me and keeps me up at night.
That, and the endless swaying of our damned ship.
Nemeth lifts my hand to his lips, giving it a peck. “I’m going to scout some more. Do you need anything? How is the babe today?”
I put a hand on my rounded belly. Somewhere in the last month, it’s swollen to double its size. It makes sense that I would have a large belly given that Nemeth is rather gargantuan in stature, but it’s not comfortable, and I worry what I’m going to look like when I get closer to my due date. The baby is calm now at least and not kicking my bladder. “Sleeping, I think. And I’m good. Though if you see shore, look for berries?”
I’ve had the most ridiculous cravings for fruit recently. Never mind that there’s no food anywhere on Lios’s shores, and here I am asking for berries. But my mate gives me a wink, kisses my knuckles again, and then surges into the air with another powerful thrust of his legs. The boat rocks back and forth and I clutch at the side, steadying myself.
Nemeth’s flying has grown better during our travels. He’s constantly in the air, scouting or just looking for fish he can dive and catch. I imagine that now that he’s free of the tower, he has no desire to be tied down to our crappy little boat. I can’t blame him. If I could leave the boat behind myself, I would in a heartbeat. The damned thing leaks and every twitch makes it rock, and it’s just a wretched form of travel, especially for someone that can fly.
Sometimes I worry Nemeth will just fly away and abandon me. On my crankier days, when the baby’s kicking me and the smell of raw fish makes me want to punch something, I think I’d leave me behind, too. But he always comes back, and he’s always patient and gentle with me.
I sit up on the trunk that’s been my seat for the last six weeks, the trunk full of books and our meager supplies. I cast out my fishing line after baiting it with the head of a minnow and ease the line into the water. Might as well fish for my lunch. I eye the mountains that have been growing increasingly dominant on the horizon with every day that passes.
I’ve always known that Lios is a land of rolling hills and plains and that Darkfell’s people live under the mountains, but I’ve never really visualized the differences in the land until now. The Fellian continent looks as if it is hewn directly from rock, the cliffs steep and forbidding as the rock itself climbs so high that the clouds cover the tops. I can’t imagine how anyone can live here. There’s no place for a farm or for livestock on the outside, and it makes me wonder what the interior looks like.
I don’t tell Nemeth that I’m nervous. Of course I’m nervous. After seeing what’s left of Lios, it makes me wonder if my head will be on a pike before the next day. How do I know they won’t spear me with a dozen swords like they did Lionel? I abandoned my sacred duty in the tower, after all. Being Nemeth’s wife might not be enough to keep me safe.
My line tugs with a bite, and I jerk on it, trying to snag the fish. It goes still and I relax, gazing up at the forbidding, looming mountains once more.
Nemeth will protect me, I remind myself. You carry his child. He loves you.
A shadow soars overhead, and I shield my eyes, glancing up as Nemeth sails through the skies, his wings outstretched, his form as powerful as it is dark. He’s beautiful, and he looks at home here among the menacing, mountainous land. He’s growing in strength by the day, and I feel as if I’m…not weaker, but more dependent.
Is this how Ravendor felt when she left the tower? That everything she’d thought she knew felt different?
But Ravendor killed her mate, if the stories are to be believed. I don’t think I could ever harm Nemeth.
He soars overhead again and I wave at him, smiling brightly to hide my troubled thoughts.
Close to dark, Nemeth drops into the ship again, a worried expression on his face. “We’re close enough that someone should have come out to see us.”
He voices aloud one of my fears. I raise my hand to my brow, shielding my eyes as I gaze at the mountains. I’ve been sailing towards them all day and they look no closer, but I’ve also never traveled much. I have no idea how close or far away they’re supposed to look, nor do I have a clue if we should be seeing people. I don’t even see a beach, just endless craggy mountains right up to the edge of the sea. “All of Lios seemed to be deserted. Do you think the same has happened to your people?”
The thought makes my stomach clench uncomfortably. If there’s no safe haven for us here, either, what is left? There’s a flutter in my belly that reminds me that there’s more at stake than just myself and Nemeth—our child needs a home, too.
“I don’t know,” Nemeth tells me. “I want to keep scouting and see. Will you…will you be all right here?” He hesitates, clearly torn between protecting me and finding out what he can. “It’ll be dark soon and I don’t want you to be afraid.”
I gesture at the small boat. “Afraid of what? A rogue wave? A sea monster? I would think if sea monsters existed, they would have already dined on us.”
His hard mouth twitches with amusement. “There are no sea monsters on the shore. They’re in much deeper waters.”
“I hope for your sake that you’re joking,” I say tartly. Then I make a shooing motion at him. “Go and have a look around. I don’t mind. I’ll be fine here alone. You’ll be able to find the ship? Even in the dark?”
“Always.” He reaches for me and the craft sways and bobs on the water, making my gut lurch. I hold onto the sides of the boat, grimacing, and Nemeth spreads his wings to steady himself. “I am more than ready to get off this damned ship and hold my mate again.”
I’m a little surprised at his strong words. Nemeth is unfailingly cheerful when it comes to the boat, maybe because he knows how miserable it makes me. I’m glad I’m not the only one that’s tired of traveling…and more than ready to be in each other’s arms again. It’s been torture to be this close to him and not be able to sleep in his arms. We’ve just enough room to stretch out on the boat, but there’s been no more than a few furtive touches here and there, and far too few kisses. Everything is salty and damp and smells of raw fish. Every movement makes the boat sway. It’s not conducive to lovemaking, especially with Nemeth’s large form and my increasing belly. “Soon enough. The moment we get to your home, I’ll suck your cock dry and nibble on your knot for hours, and you can feast between my legs for days. We’ll be so unrepentantly amorous that people will think I’ve enchanted you with my evil Vestalin cunt.”
He doesn’t laugh at my joke.
Oh, by the gods. Surely the Fellians don’t truly think I have an evil enchanted cunt? What a pile of dragon shite.
“I won’t let anyone harm you, Candra. Do not worry over that. You’ve cast no spells on me.”
“I know that,” I sputter. My hands go to my belly, rounded with our child. “Don’t you think if I would have, it would be to travel in a less fishy environment? Or do you think I like waking up with salt in my hair and leaning my arse over the edge of the boat?”
This time, Nemeth’s somber expression breaks into a grin. “I will wash every grain of salt from your skin when we get home, I promise. You’ll see that Darkfell is pleasant and welcoming, for all that it is underground.”
Pleasant, maybe. Welcoming to one of the Vestalin name? I doubt it. But I’m out of options, and I won’t leave Nemeth. So I blow him a kiss to show him how I feel. “Go do your scouting before it gets much darker, love. I’ll be fine here.” I gesture at my line. “Don’t hold your hopes out for dinner, though. Nothing’s biting.”
“We’ll be home soon enough and you’ll dine on the finest Fellian feasts,” he tells me, a hint of excitement in his voice. “And I will return as quickly as I can. I swear it.” He rubs the spot on his hand where my bite is tattooed on his skin, and it’s as good as a kiss. With a wink to me, he launches himself into the air once more, and I cling to the edges of the damned rocking boat.
At this point, I’ll happily run straight through Darkfell’s doors if it means no more boats.
I catch nothing for dinner, and when the stars come out, I pull my line in and recline on my seat at the end of the boat, rubbing my rounded belly and gazing up at the stars. The golden moon is huge in the sky tonight, as if the goddess is watching everything we do with a judgment-filled gaze. The stars are pretty, though. You can see them a lot better from out here in the ocean than in the palace. I gaze up at the sea of twinkling lights and hope that if the Gray God and the Absent One are watching from above, they know we’re doing the best we can.
A shadow moves over the bright face of the moon. It’s brief, but I catch a glimpse of wings. “Nemeth?” I call out. “Any luck?”
Heavy cloth smacks into my face, covering me like a blanket. I squawk with indignation, because what a time for the sail to fall apart. In the next moment, a tight arm goes around my waist, and I’m dragged from the boat itself, claws digging into my skin.
I’m so surprised that I scream, only for a blow to land on the side of my head. “Quiet, human!”
That voice isn’t Nemeth’s. Dizzy, I flail, only for a heavy arm to push my limbs down. There’s a strange puff of air, and then I’m dropped a few feet onto what feels like a cold stone floor.
“Get up,” says a terrifying voice.
I don’t, though. Panting, my head spinning, I try to make sense of what just happened. The air feels different. Out on the ocean it’s humid and damp, even when it’s not raining, and there’s a hint of salt that permeates everything. I don’t smell salt now. The air is cold and dry, and when I press my hand to the floor underneath me, it’s hard and chilly.
The shadow. A hood over my head. The claws that dug into my waist.
That wasn’t Nemeth. Some other Fellian has kidnapped me.
Chapter
Seventy-Two
Aheavy boot thuds into my back, and I cry out in pain.
“I said get up,” the voice tells me, impatient. “Lazy sack of shite. Stand up or I’ll make you stand.”
I struggle to get the heavy hood off of my head, and when I finally pull it free, my eyes take a moment to adjust. The cool moonlight is gone. I’m inside a dark, shadowy cavern of some kind. When I look straight up, I can see a ceiling, curved and high overhead, made of stone. Near the ceiling itself are the same round magic globes that we used for light back in the tower. Nearby, I hear the slap of water against stone, and when I look around, I can see a few small ships in the distance, along with an enormous cave mouth that leads outside.
But I’m not outside. I’ve been taken into the depths of the mountains by a stranger. Looming over me is an unfamiliar Fellian, his face hard and unpleasant. When he glares down at me, he bares his teeth, as if the hated sight of me makes him violent.
“Get up, human—”
“I’m up,” I snap back. “Where’s Nemeth?”
“Prince Nemeth?” The Fellian reaches out and shoves me the moment I get to my feet, nearly knocking me to the ground again. What a bully. “He’s in the tower where he should be, doing his duty. Why do you care?”
I stare at him. Do I tell him that Nemeth left the tower? That I did, too? That I mated to Nemeth and I’m carrying his child? Something tells me he won’t believe me. “Why did you take me from my ship?”
“Did I say you could talk to me?” he snarls, reaching out and slapping me.
I’m so shocked that I put a hand to my cheek and stare at him. He’s treating me—a princess of Vestalin blood—like this? Then my anger kicks in. Because how dare he treat anyone like this? “Take me back to my ship. My mate is waiting for me there.”
“Your mate,” he sneers.
“Yes. My Fellian mate,” I emphasize, and decide to tell it all. I show him my hand, with its tattooed bite. “Prince Nemeth. That’s my mate.”
He blinks at me. Looks at my palm. Then he throws his head back and laughs. “You humans are coming up with more and more clever ways to get out of work. I’ve never met a lazier lot.”
“I’m not lying. Look at my hair. Look at my eyes. I’m a princess—”
He grabs my face so hard I know I’m going to have bruises, his hand covering my mouth. I let out a muffled yelp, fear flooding through my veins. For the first time, I realize that I’m just as vulnerable as any human. There’s no Nemeth to protect me here. He might not even know that I’m missing.
“Humans don’t get to make demands of Fellians,” he sneers at me. “You lost the war. Humans say ‘yes master’ and ‘no master’ and do as they’re told.” He flings me away and I stagger backward, catching myself before I fall. He turns and glares at me. “Now…you tell me, female. Who’s your owner? Whose ship is that?”
“Yes, master,” I say sarcastically, wiping a line of blood off my cheek from where his claws have cut me. “No, master.”
His wings, tucked against his back, rattle in a way that I know means he’s angry. He strides forward and grabs me by the front of my dress. “You think you’re smart, human?”
“Yes, master,” I jibe. I’m no longer scared. Now I’m just pissed. “I’m a lot smarter than you, because you’re slapping around the pregnant mate of your prince.”
“You?” he sneers.
“Me.” I say it with such confidence that I think it rattles him.
He stares at me long and hard and then shakes his head. “Lies.” He grabs me by the shoulder. “You’re going in the dungeon until we figure out who your master is. He can whip you for your impudence. I’m tired of this shite.”
With that, he drags me down the hall as if I’m a piece of luggage.
I try to break free from his grip, but it’s like one of iron. I’m surprised he’s not flying, but I’m grateful, too. Walking to the dungeon—if that’s where we’re going—gives me the opportunity to have a good look around at this new, strange kingdom I find myself in.
Because Darkfell—if this is indeed Darkfell—is very, very strange.
Nemeth had told me that Darkfell was a sprawling city under the mountains, but I wasn’t able to visualize just what he meant. Now I can see it. The mountain itself is hollowed out, the “roof” of it so high in certain spots that it disappears into shadows. The rest of it is carved, and between the square houses that are stacked like blocks along cobbled paths, there are houses farther up, lining the high walls of the mountain itself. It’s like a hive , and everywhere I look are homes gleaming with the artificial lights at their doors. There are bright cloth awnings over what look like street booths, and as my captor drags me forward, we pass a fenced-off area that resembles rows and rows of Nemeth’s mushroom-farming board. It’s all neat and tidy and industrious.
What I don’t see are people.
There are a few, of course. There’s a Fellian in the mushroom garden who disappears into shadows the moment they see me being dragged down the street by my captor. I see a few men in uniform, dark-winged and hard-faced, watching as the male at my side hauls me along after him. But the streets feel strangely empty. I thought Darkfell would be crawling with people. With their limited space and so many houses, I thought I’d see nothing but people on top of people.
Instead, this place feels nearly as deserted as Lios. And as we head further into the city itself, the sprawl continues—streets forking into narrow alleyways, buildings clustered atop one another, even more of the nest-like homes high above—and yet many of the homes have no lights on at all. Some of the houses have a strange red symbol painted on the door, and whenever we see someone, they cover their mouth and move hastily past. The mountain seems to echo all around us. Surely a crowded mountain wouldn’t echo?
I turn to my Fellian captor. “Where is everyone?”
His expression grows ugly. He raises a fist to me and I flinch, throwing my hands up to protect myself. “You’ll shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you, female.”
I try to wriggle out of his grip again. “Prince Nemeth—”
“—is in the tower,” the man says, his claws digging furrows into my skin. He’s almost bored, as if capturing humans is an everyday thing with him. As if it’s no big deal to see a human near Darkfell, whose border has been closed to us for hundreds of years.
“I’m his wife,” I try once more. “Prince Nemeth—he’s my husband. Can’t you cast a spell to see if I’m telling the truth or not? Use your magic.”
The man hauls me up so quickly that I yelp. My feet come off the ground and I dangle in midair, held aloft by the hand on my bodice. He snarls at me, showing huge fangs and a nasty demeanor. “Where did you hear that?”
“About Nemeth? He was in the tower with me. We left a few months ago—”
He pulls me closer, and I can smell his fetid breath. His pupils flick back and forth, studying me. “Who is your master?” he hisses. “Who showed you magic?”
Am I not supposed to know? “Nemeth showed me,” I say again. “In the tower—”
My captor growls and flings me away. I skid across the cobbled floor, wincing when my head smacks against stone. That one’s going to leave a mark. I manage to pull myself upright, panting. “If you hurt me again, he’s going to kill you,” I warn. “He didn’t keep me alive for two years just for you to beat the stuffing out of me.”
“Female, I am warning you.” He points a claw at me. “Cease with your lip and get to your feet.”
If this cretin wanted me on my feet, then why’d he pull me off of them? With a huff of irritation, I stand up—and immediately get dizzy. I haven’t eaten since a few bites of fish this morning, and clearly my body has a problem with this. I shake a finger at the Fellian man. “Nemeth will not be happy about this.”
And then I pass out at his feet.
I wake up with a foul taste in my mouth and a horrible headache. Groaning, I put a hand to my forehead and remain where I am, just in case the dizziness is lingering. There’s a rough blanket under me and it’s very quiet, so quiet I can hear the drip of water somewhere nearby. Somewhere nearby, there’s a drag of chains and a low murmur of conversation.
Human conversation.
It excites me so much I almost bolt upright again, so desperate to see the faces of my people. I never thought of myself as particularly patriotic until now, when I’ve lost everyone and everything. It takes everything I have to remain still, and I turn my head, looking at my new surroundings.
My captor is gone. That’s a good thing. He was getting far too rough and arrogant for my tastes. But his disappearance also means no one knows that I’m here, or that I’ve been asking for Nemeth. Panic later, I tell myself. Figure out where you are now. A quick glance around makes it obvious, though—I’m in the dungeon. The walls are narrow stone that enclose the thin pallet I’m lying upon, and there’s very little light to see by. I stretch an arm out and confirm my suspicions—with both arms extended, I can touch the sides of my cell at the same time. Near my feet, there’s a bucket, and the bucket is by the door, which has a window covered by a metal cross-hatch of bars. I crawl forward on my bed and gag at the smell of the bucket—this is clearly not the first time it’s been used for a toilet. I use the door to help me to my feet, leaning on it for balance, and press my face to the bars, desperate to hear more of those Liosian voices.
When I look out, I see a dark stone corridor, lined with more doors just like mine. I still hear voices, though, and as I watch, a pale arm reaches out of the mesh grid toward the next cell, only to be met with another hand. They pass something between them—a hunk of bread—and then quickly disappear again.
They were human, though. Those fingers weren’t tipped with claws.
“Hello?” I call out. “Let me out. Nemeth is looking for me.”
A large, heavy figure emerges from the shadows. I know from the sound of his wings that he’s a Fellian, even before those creepy green eyes meet mine. “Quiet, you.”
I ignore that, because quiet never got a girl anywhere. “Where exactly am I, kind sir?” I flutter my lashes at him and lick my lips in what I hope is an enticing manner. “I fear I’m lost.”
He swipes at the bars with his claws, making me yelp and surge backward. “You’ll listen to me when I tell you to be quiet, female.”
“But where am I?” I stay out of reach behind the bars on the door, just in case. “My name is Princess Candromeda Vestalin, and I’m looking for Prince Nemeth of the First House. He’ll be looking for me as well.”
The guard’s eyes narrow at me and he sneers. “So you’re royal, huh?”
“I am.” I try to look as dignified as possible.
“What if I told you all the royal wenches from Lios were busy sucking cock down at the barracks? You still going to claim to be royal?”
My eyes go wide. Royal wenches? In the barracks? “W-what?”
“You heard me. Still claiming to be a princess?”
I say nothing.
“Good. Now if you want your food, you’ll be silent, won’t you?”
My stomach growls and I decide that maybe it is best to say nothing for now. I cross my arms over my chest protectively and glare, keeping to the shadows of my cell. He can come in anytime he likes, I realize, because a Fellian can move through shadows. I take another step back, twitching, in the hopes that my movements look erratic enough that he won’t teleport in and bother me.
What if I told you all the royal wenches from Lios were busy sucking cock down at the barracks?
That’s a lie. I know it’s a lie. There are no “royal wenches” other than myself and my sister, because Lionel had no siblings and Meryliese is dead. but I’ve got enough sense to know that I don’t want to push him. No one here believes I’m a princess anyhow. It won’t do me any good.
And I’m starving. So hungry that my stomach feels hollow and painful. I need to eat, or I’m going to become dizzy and sick. Well, sicker, considering I’m going to get sick anyhow if I don’t get my medicine soon. “I would like to eat.”
“Oh would you?” he sneers. “What a fine lady you are. Remember that here, you’re nothing but a slave.”
I don’t respond. Nothing I say is going to make a difference. I could tell him that I’m Candra Vestalin all day long and he’s not going to believe me. Candra Vestalin should be inside the tower, after all, resolutely fulfilling her duty to mankind and the goddess, and I’m the wretched creature that ran from it.
He grunts at my silence and then disappears in a flare of smoke. A moment later he returns, looping a skewer full of mushrooms onto a hook just outside my cell’s “window” and sets a stone cup outside on a ledge. “Your food, lady.”
The guard emphasizes the word as if I’m lying. “I need medicine, too. I have to take it every day.”
His reaction isn’t what I expect. Instead of sneering at me, his eyes widen. He grabs a length of material loose around his neck and immediately covers his mouth with it as he takes a step back. “You’re sick?”
“No, of course not.” His alarmed reaction has me worried and I decide to lie. “For my woman’s time.”
The look the guard shoots me is both one of relief and irritation. “Eat your food, female. If I catch you acting up, this’ll be the last meal you get for a while. Understand?”
I nod. I hate being such a weakling, but I’m no use to anyone if I’m too sick to function. Nemeth needs me—and the baby—alive and well. So I wait in silence until the guard gives me one last glare and leaves. Then, I reach through the bars and grab the skewer with the loop at the end, pull it off of the hook, and drag it into my cell. The mushrooms were grilled hours ago and are cold, but they remind me of Nemeth’s mushroom farm back in the tower, and those were always delicious. I gobble them down like a mannerless child and then lick my fingers. The mug is full of cold water and I drain it, too, then replace the dishes in their spot and retreat to my pallet.
Laying down, I listen to the noises of the cells around me. There’s a woman crying somewhere. A cough. A low murmur of voices. They all sound female, except for the occasional barked command of the guard, who’s male and Fellian. There’s no sunlight around here, and few of the magic lights that lined the walkways as I was dragged inside. I don’t know how deep I am in Darkfell.
I don’t even know if I’m still in Darkfell. How will Nemeth ever find me?
Pressing a hand to my forehead, I fight back frustrated tears. I just have to survive. He’ll come for me. He will. He won’t stop hunting until he finds me, because I’d do the very same for him.
Even so, I’m frightened.
“Psst.”
The sound is so low I’m not sure I hear it at first.
“Psst.”
I turn on my side, staring at the brick wall next to my shoulder, where the hissing sound is coming from. A finger wiggles through a crack in the mortar.
“Psst.” It says again. “Princess. Is that really you?”
