I’ve lost track of the hours beneath the earth. Twice I have slept, shallowly and fitfully. Zephyrus assures we have been traveling for three days, but it feels longer, the hours frayed to threads, and my nerves along with them. Soon, we will reach a place of openness, light. I have to believe it.
Eventually, we drift to a complete stop. Harper shifts beside me, her breathing erratic.
“Hello, Bringer of Spring.”
A voice slithers from the shroud of encompassing darkness. It is ancient: the oldest seas, the cleaving earth, a time predating the Text, when all the world was a void. It sounds like an end. To what, I cannot say, but an end nonetheless.
Zephyrus inclines his head. “My will is yours.”
A pulse in the gloom skates across my skin. “So you remember.” The voice softens. “It has been some time.”
“A god never forgets.”
The air whispers as though the dim has become tangible. “Gods? No. But those who worship us? The world shines brightest for mortals. Every day brings something new. Forgetting is to be expected. But what brings the Messenger so far from his master?”
Even at a distance, I sense Zephyrus’ rising tension. “We request safe passage.”
“I assumed as much. Brave of you.” Something faint clicks against the rock. “And terribly foolish.”
I struggle to control my breathing, but I fear the creature hears my increasingly fitful gasps. This cannot be the Stallion, can it?
“The tithe nears, Bringer of Spring. Whatever it is you’re planning, I urge you to reconsider.” The clicking unfolds with rapid punctuations. It reminds me of a thousand insectile legs scuttling over rock. “Do not underestimate Pierus’ wrath.”
“Let me concern myself with that,” Zephyrus snaps.
Something splashes in the distance. “Very well.” I hear the smile in its voice. “You are aware, then, of the payment.”
A dagger appears in Zephyrus’ hand that I’m certain wasn’t present a moment ago. He digs the tip into his palm, twisting. Blood wells black within the hollow. Tilting his hand, he allows three droplets to fall into the water.
The ruby shine streaking the walls softens to a rich pink. A sigh of relief fills the cave, and a moment later, the gates groan open.
Zephyrus directs us through with stone-faced resolution. We are nearly through the opening when something twitches above. I tilt back my head, scanning the top of the tunnel. A wing curls inward,limp feathers rustling. Whatever creature those wings belong to is not quite dead.
My head snaps forward. Harper hasn’t noticed the movement, her gaze downcast. I remember my first visit into Under, the ways its perverse nature had pried open my mind. Willow. The two fair folk coupling beneath the tree. Zephyrus’ voice commands my thoughts more often than not these days.Closing your eyes will make no difference. You have already seen.
A frigid breeze wafts through the space. I rub my arms in an attempt to regain warmth, but to no avail. The sweet reek of rotting plants billows from the cavern ahead.
“I thought you said only mortal women could enter the Grotto,” I whisper to Zephyrus.
He pushes the pole through the current, angling it so we drift into a turn. “This is not the Grotto,” he replies. “We are entering the wilds of Under, where Pierus’ influence has failed to reach. Those who live in these parts are mostly water-dwelling creatures. They live by their own rules.”
“And the Orchid King has no issue with this?” For a man bloated on power, I would assume no corner would be left unmarked by his hand. Once more, I question the why and how of Zephyrus’ relationship with him, the events leading to the Bringer of Spring’s unwilling participation in that gruesome ritual I witnessed.
“Sometimes, the best manner of control is to let people think they are free.”
“I see.” My attention drifts to the River Mur, black on black, bend upon endless bend.
“Don’t touch,” he murmurs. “It will likely be the last thing you ever do.”
Taking a deep breath, I settle in for the remainder of the journey. The darkness has thickened since we passed through the gates. It is like none that I have experienced. We could be traveling in any direction. The river could suddenly drop off and I would not know until the fall.
“Why do you fear the dark?”
Zephyrus’ voice, coaxed from the shadows.
I stare down at my gloved hands. It’s so opaque I cannot make out their shapes. “I never used to.” In truth, I loved nothing more than to wander the forest on the threshold of eve. “But that was before the storm.” Before a lot of things, really.
“Storm?”
